Friday, May 24, 2013


"Your tests all look normal.  Your total cholesterol looks great, and your trigylcerides are really low." I think these are words that most people pray to hear from their doctor-- to be affirmed that they are well and healthy.

These, however, are not the words I wanted to hear.  Because after ten or so weeks of being positively and maddeningly plateaued in the weight loss department, I wanted there to be a reason.  A cause.  An explanation.  Anything other than my body just adamantly refusing to cooperate.  I know that's sheer stupidity on my part, because being well and healthy is, after all, really the goal. (The 135 lb body being a VERY close second.) There are some things that may help, but there is nothing pinpointable. It could well be my lack of stress management showing up again. (Uh.  Note to self.  Time to get that under control. Seriously.)

I spent a long time talking to He-who-trains about the results.  And he is awesome--he's a veritable fount of information and new ways to do things.  He is always ready to adapt and change as necessary.  So... he revamped everything.  I'm going back to five days at the gym, but dropping the morning workouts, and instead of primarily doing resistance training, I'll be adding in several days of high intensity cardio. He's redone the nutrition end of things, so I'm back to eating 1600 calories (which is close to my Basal Metabolic Rate), only I'm dropping the carbs in favor of something that more closely resembles an Atkins diet. I'm great with all of that.  But when he started talking about how hard I was going to have to push myself in order to break through this, my first thought was "I just don't know that I have it in me. I've been pushing-- and hard. I've been giving it everything."
He-who-trains, and his "Push so hard your face looks like you're pushing out a cactus" face.

I'll be honest.  I threw myself a perfectly lovely pity party last night-- complete with that uncontrollable and unexplainable thing-- tears. (I'm gonna blame that on the fact that I really must've needed a good cry, and not the fact that I was lamenting the fact that my tests came back normal.) It's a good thing I don't keep oreos and ice cream in the house, because last night I would've caved.  I've been hearing mean voices in my head saying "It doesn't matter.  It's not working.  Might as well have fun and eat what you want." I've been trying the "Get thee behind me, Satan" line and it's kept the voices shut up.  But last night I would've listened.  My determination tanked. For the first time in months, I felt defeated.  Like my goal was completely beyond my reach.

And of course that's where DH piped in and reminded me of what I have achieved--the pounds I have lost, the inches that have evaporated.   And gave me a pep talk about not quitting. And told me that just the other night that someone who hadn't seen me in a few months came up and told me how wonderful I looked.  When I whined, "But I haven't seen any changes in ten weeks, he "helpfully" reminded me of the article I had written, No Buts -- in which I made a pledge to myself that I would elimate whiny and limiting "but" from my vernacular.  Yeah, about that...

Today I'm done pitying myself and have a ferocious need to push through, to own this thing.  To not be normal.  Because normal, to both me and to our society, has become quitting when things become tough and frustrating and inconvenient. Despite the "good" news the test results hailed, I'm not normal. I won't quit or be beaten.  I will find a way to dig deeper and push harder.  I will silence the destructive voice and I will quit whining "But" at the process. I will break through brick walls that tell me I can't.  I will refuse to settle for "normal." (And I, too, will make the Ugly Cactus face... )