The "Don't Be Stupid" Plan

I want the world. I want the whole world. I want to lock it all up in my pocket. It's my bar of chocolate. Give it to me now. (Verucca Salt, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory)

If I ever have to pick another trainer, I'm picking one who is not also my friend, one that I look in the eyes and say "I did everything you said.  I have no idea why I blew out my knees." I'd pick one I could lie to.  When he-who-trains gave me more specific instructions on running (don't pick up the pace, don't do hills, don't decrease your recovery time or increase your total time, don't go above 60-70% of what you can do, do keep it easy, etc) I'm sure he already knew that I was going to fight him on it. Before I could get in many argumentative words, he (rightfully) said "That's what you always do.  You feel good for five minutes and then you want to do as much as you can as hard as you can. You do it when you've been sick too. You only think of right now.  But your goal is to be healthy." I didn't tell him that I've pretty much already broken all of those things or that I was planning on doing a 5k in the fall, but that was pre-getting busted, so we'll just chalk that up to momentary, overexcited brain cramp.

I have a life's-short-so-make-it-count philosophy. When I'm committed to something (though that part doesn't always happen quickly), I want it done yesterday.  Radical short haircut. Painting the bedroom walls. Buying a new car.  Or, you know. Losing 90 lbs. Running a marathon.

I'm still fighting this stress induced/wacky hormones plateau, and maybe it's making me lose my brain. I'm getting so frustrated, that it wouldn't take much for me to get stupid. (Or maybe I already have?) I am always fighting the need for harder and more... and maybe a little bit of go until you have nothing left. I've regressed to the point where I'm having a hard time listening to my body.  I don't want to rest or heal. I'm back to scowling when He-who-trains tells me to take it easy. (Which is maybe why I have a nagging shoulder thing. I spent two weeks scowling instead of resting.)

But what is it I really want? Is it as "simple" as being in a lovely 135lb body? Is it as common as being able to wear the clothes I want to wear? No, it isn't.  What I want is bigger than that.  I want to be feel fantastic.  I want to be free to do what my heart wants to do without any lip from my body. I want to be healthy and strong through all my life stages.

So today was supposed to be a running day.  And I'm only "supposed" to get two a week.   And I was looking forward to it.  But my body said "Don't. Nuhuh. Sit your behind down and quit gettin on my last nerve." (And He-who-trains gave me The Look. Twice.)  I did some catching up for work. I've got on cozy pjs and will quickly fall asleep to Grays Anatomy on Netflix.  Even though I've made the commitment before and broken it, I'm gonna try again.  Long term health, not short term fun.  I'm signing back up for the "Don't Be Stupid" plan.

Booyah!

When I started working with He-who-trains, I made a hard promise. I would give up running for 8 weeks so that I could strengthen my legs enough that my knees didn't hurt.  That was 10 months ago. We made a deal--he'd be my trainer, but I wanted him to train me to be a runner.  

And I've been putting in my gym time.  I didn't much want to lift, but after some convincing, I began to like it.  I've smiled at how "the people" at the gym have become "my people."  But I've still wanted to run.  Until today, He-who-trains has had a no running decree--and has made enough (joking?) threats that I didn't push it.  I nagged, begged, whined, and made puppy dog eyes, and he finally gave his blessing...er, at least stopped making threats against my well-being.

Of course, he gave specific instructions.  One lap walking, one lap running for an hour or until my knee started hurting. Five miles later, I say Boo-yah! It wasn't fast or pretty, but boo-yah nonetheless. I'm not naive enough to believe that I'll suddenly become a runner and have no more problems.  I know I'm going to have to take it slow.  And ice, lots of ice.  And might as well buy stock in glucosamine and advil, but that's ok. 

I'm itching to run right now.   To be tired in that way, that somehow different from weight-lifting tired.  To have the time alone to not think-- because running for me is sort of like playing pool-- it demands enough of me that I can't think about other things. I won't give up my gym time, as I don't want to degrade the muscle I've worked hard to build, but this is a nice addition.  I'm pretty sure that my pace tonight disqualifies my time as a "run", but that's ok too.  I can start with a jalk.

At the four mile mark, when I was feeling really good, the Indigo Girls came on my ipod. They sang "Closer to Fine", and my head and heart joined them.  For tonight, anyway, that's my song. 

Kim 1, Knees 0.  Booyah! 

Remember who you are...

He-who-trains once told me about getting up from Christmas dinner (after eating everything he wanted, apparently including a good sized bit of pineapple upside down cake) and going to the gym for two hours. My initial reaction was "Why in the world would you do that? That's just ridiculous. What's wrong with you?" But what he said has stuck with me.  "I needed to remind myself who I was, and what I was about."

Today I understood. My afternoon tasks went long, and I was rushed and overwhelmed.  I didn't have time for my usual pre-workout routine.  And I'm stressed about a writing deadline that looms. (Which, of course, explains why I'm blogging.) Everything told me that today was a "Well, the world just got the best of me but I'll do better tomorrow" sort of day. It wouldn't have been the end of the world if I missed one workout, but coupled with the other one workouts I've missed lately, I realized I was starting a nasty habit.  So I slammed a protein shake, threw on gym clothes and ran out the door before I could change my mind, and rationalize more butt sitting. It was actually a good workout, but even if it wasn't, it was the best thing I could've done today.  It cleared out some of the stuff weighing on my brain which enabled me to be a little more productive.  It gave me a few minutes with "my people" where I could laugh and cut up and be a person away from the church. But more than that, I reminded myself who I was and what I was about.

I've been guilty of forgetting lately. If I let myself forget enough, I'll quickly turn into the apathetic person I once was. That person was 90 lbs overweight, too tired to do anything, plagued by asthma and bad knees, and had a crappy sense of self-esteem.

But I am not that person any more, so it's worth remembering who I am.

I am not someone whose priorities will be set by a nagging to-do list.  I am not someone who will let self care slide so that I can be more or do more.  I am someone whose health matters. I am someone who has goals and will achieve them.

Too much of nothing

"Too much of nothing
Can make a man a liar,
It can cause one man to sleep on nails
It can cause others to eat fire.
Ev'rybody's doin' somethin',
I heard it in a dream,
But when there's too much of nothing,
It just makes a fella mean." (Bob Dylan)

What is there to say when nothing happens? I've not lost a pound in five months. (Ok, to be fair, I am shrinking.  I wear size M shirts for the first time in probably a decade. People are noticing.  A dimple that I never knew I had is showing up when I smile just the right way. But the scale is resolutely refusing to move.) Frustrated doesn't even come close to describing it.  And any honest way of describing how I feel wouldn't be appropriate to write here. He-who-trains has tried what feels like bajillions of things to make my body snap out of this.  But there is an ugly truth that neither of us really wants to accept.

I'm stressed out.  And yeah, I got the Cortisol-is-nasty-business lecture several months ago. I did the research to see how it really affects the body. He-who-trains warned me that I may not be able to lose weight until I get the stress under control. But what I don't know is what to do about it.  Work stress isn't going away in the forseeable future.  I've been burning the candle at both ends lately, because I'm spending so much time putting out fires that I can't get my job done.  Nevermind that I'm on a writing deadline (though thankfully, that deadline is fast approaching, so at least that stress will clear off soon.) 

But here's my part in this.  My own commitment to self care is waning the last few weeks.  Due to sickness, and busyness that has gotten out of control, I've missed more workouts than I've made the last two weeks.  I've eaten later than I should, and not as well as I could have. I've not had a true day off in weeks.  

And my attitude is crap.  People tell me I look great, and I immediately say something about being stuck. Thoughts of "it doesn't seem to matter what I do, so I might as well eat what I want" are actually getting room in my head. I managed to resist the pizza we had at church the other night, but it was a genuine struggle for the first time in months. The truth is that at least some part of me has begun to doubt that I can do this. (The other part of me wants to eat mass quantities of Oreos.) And at some point, that must become a self-fulfilling prophecy. 

I said some words to my session the other night that have stepped on my toes all week. I said, "You want better than this, so choose better.  Make it better."  I want better than whiny and doubtful. I want better than sick and always keyed up.  I want better than this body. I want better than to feel like I'm being conquered instead of doing the conquering.  But if I want better, then I have to be committed to making it better.  I have to put on my big girl pants and grow up and handle my stuff. 

I feel like Scarlett O'Hara as she angrily faced a hopeless past and decided that she was done being the victim.  She shook her fist at the sky and said, "With God as my witness, I shall never go hungry again."  And she took the steps that made that true. 

I can't eliminate the stress yet, but I can learn how to handle it.  I can't make my body stop throwing a temper tantrum, but I can fix my attitude on the situation.

What's Saving Your Life?

Well, since fellow RevGal  (and generally awesome sort) MaryAnn McKibben Dana threw out the question, and since I've been thinking a lot about it anyway, and also because I've been needing (I mean, seriously, needing) to write something (anything, really), I thought this would be a good exercise.

Preacher and writer Barbara Brown Taylor often poses the question, "What's saving your life right now?" It's an open-ended question, leaving room for both the mundane and the big. It's been a hellish few weeks (months?) in lots of ways, but in some other ways, surprisingly affirming and grace-filled.  It's been an eyes-wide-open time, and a just-hunker-down-and-do-the-best-you-can time.  It's simultaneously been exhausting and refreshing. And it's been a time where I'm sort of acutely aware that I'm being held, and that things both beyond and bigger than me are saving my life.

In no particular order, here are my life preservers.

Writing I've not been blogging, but I have been writing. Not big or impressive things, but I'm reflecting on life these days. I'm writing something every day.  And I'm finding that my creativity is beginning to flow again.  (The Artist's Way has been pretty helpful at various places, and I'm picking that back up again.  Additionally, the author has written another book that I'm digging right now, The Write Diet, but that's a post for another day.) Writing is both discipline and gift for me right now.  A looming workshop sponsored by the Collegeville Institute is giving me a project about which to think.

Short, Sassy Hair Seriously. In the heat of summer, it's awesome. But more than that, I feel like a slightly sleeker, classier, less frizzy version of myself. It's forcing me to get up and to actually make the effort to fix my hair-- a new thing for this former step-out-of-the-shower-and-go curly girl.  And once I've made that effort, it seems silly not to make the effort on the rest of me.  I'm dressing better, and look a little more like a professional and a little less like a muppet. And oddly, I stand up straighter.

Strong Women I've been gifted, especially lately, with a lot of strong women who are becoming a community for me. The local ones are the ones who show up with fun things just to make me smile, who offer to off my detractors, and who love me anyway. They also make me snort unattractively on a regular basis. But there's also a profound sense of community with a group of writing Sherevs.

Paul Simon Every year when my family went from Tennessee to Florida, we listened to Paul Simon's Graceland. It's kind of become music for the journey (whatever the journey is...).  And it's on repeat as I go about my day.

The Gym It's become about community as much as it was ever about working out.  I've been too exhausted to focus on pushing myself as hard as I should (though I'm ready again... starts today.) but just being there with the same people who have the same goals and struggles has been a huge help. Besides, it's an outlet-- which I guess keeps me from being so mean.

Purple Fingers and Toes I guess this is dumb, but it makes me wildly happy.  Since becoming a pastor, I've chosen sedate and professional colors--or at least made certain to remove my wild polish before Sundays.  I was in need of some pampering on Friday, so I got a rare mani/pedi. The color that grabbed my attention was BRIGHT purple. So I did it.  And on Sunday, when I needed a little oomph in my life, the purple polish made me smile.  But it's more than that.  It's a letting go of the need to appear to be a certain way.  It's an embracing of who I am, instead of worrying about what people will think.

Real Friends Who know, and get it--who get me.  Who will ask if I'm alright, and not accept crap answers. Who challenge me to stand strongly, but who wrap me into a hug when I'm not strong enough to stand at all.  Who defend me if I need it, who push me if I'm not pushing myself.

Bella My 5 year old, 40 lb mutt lapdog.  She has this wonderfully joyful personality--and whether or not people agree that this is possible, she totally smiles.  She makes me smile.  And she makes me get out of the house and walk and breathe. We have entire conversations (ok, I do most of the talking, but she always nods in agreement... before slyly trying to drink my coffee.) And she rocks as a guard dog.

Text messaging Some of my techy church folks are super texters, and they get that I'm sort of in a place.  Yet they want to love me and support me.  So they send me rockstar texts before I preach or at random other times.

Hammock Napping Sunshine, gentle rocking--maybe a book.  Nuff said.

Grilling So let me just say it.  In all this revamping I'm doing, I've become a grill master. Porkchops, shrimp, chicken, steaks and maybe a fish if I get really brave. Love the smell of charcoal, and cooking outside without having to heat up my kitchen.  But more than that, I love that I did something new and wound up loving it.

I'm sure that while this is an expansive list, it's not exhaustive. A lot of things are saving my life right now.  And I'm able to notice and appreciate them, small and trivial though they may be.

Vacation Re-vamp

Note to self: Do not ever, under any circumstances, discuss upcoming beach vacation with your trainer.  (Unless, of course, you've been plateaued for weeks and you actually want to lose weight.)  But definitely don't expect that you can talk to him and do vacation as you've always done it.  "I know you're going to want to drink", He-who-trains said. "Yes, and your point would be? It's the beach. It's a week without responsibilities.  Everyone else will be.  It's the BEACH, for crying outloud." That's what I thought.  What I said was, "Probably so."  Which, of course, led He-who-trains to say, "You can have a light beer. Or two ounces of a blush wine, before or with dinner.  No fruity drinks." First of all, I can't politely express my feelings over beer-- and I cannot imagine that making it "light" would improve its taste any.  I'm cool with the wine part, but does he know exactly how much two ounces isn't?  But seriously, No fruity drinks?? Now, I'm not a girly-girl by any stretch of the imagination-- and  I like a good old man drink (Jack and Coke, White Russian, etc) as much as the next non girly-girl.  But I love a good, brightly colored, multi-alcoholed, umbrella bearing, fruity drink the size of my face.  Not for the alcohol content-- I'm getting too old to find feeling like crap appealing-- but I like the taste-- and the exoticness-- and the way it makes me long to put my toes in the sand.

I tried to suck it up.  I told He-who-trains that I could follow his stingy alcohol policies.  But the more I thought about it, the more I knew I'd be tempted if I didn't come  up with a reasonable alternative. So I did some research. First I looked at drinks I might actually order.  For a 3oz (and let's be honest, drinks the size of my face are probably not 3 ounces...) Rum Runner, there are 140 calories and 36 grams of carbohydrates. (Meaning the at least twelve ounces that I've probably actually drunk in one sitting comes in at 560 calories and 144 grams of carbohydrates.  That's a little over a third of my daily calories, and almost 1.5 times my daily allotment of carbohydrates.)  Ok, so at least I can understand the "No Fruity Drinks" decree.  And wow--how many times have I ordered the drink without knowing how bad it was?  Shudder.

Ok, so I thought maybe I could do a girl beer-- which has another less polite name.  But we're talking Mike's Hard Lemonade or Seagrams coolers or Smirnoff Ice or something.  I found a Smirnoff Peach Belini cooler that looked pretty good.  But alas. One bottle has 220 calories and 36 grams of carbohydrates. I could actually eat two whole delightfully delicious Reese's cups (the regular size ones, NOT the minis!)  for less than that, plus with the Reese's I'd get some protein.

I tried the Daily's "Alcohol is in it. Just freeze and squeeze" pouches, which look lovely and fruity and come in wonderful flavors like "Blue Hawaiian." I almost bought every flavor they had.  They're kind of like Capri Sun for grownups-- and bonus for the packaging that lets you take them even into "No glass allowed" territory like pools and beaches.  In one pouch-- a serving-- there are as much as 280 calories and around 50 grams of carbohydrates.  Ok. No Dice.

But desperate times call for desperate measures. I headed to the local ABC store as I remembered the new "Skinny Girl" alcohol that all the girl mags rave about.  I saw "Skinny Girl Mojito" and since I love Mojitos in the summer, that seemed like a good bet. A 1.5 oz serving has only 32 calories and 2 grams of carbohydrates. Best I can tell, a traditional mojito contains anywhere from 170-230 calories.  And of course, I don't make them with club soda. (BLECH!) So to add (I'm guessing) 4 oz of Ginger Ale adds at least another 40 calories, and 32 grams of carbohydrates.

So, I grabbed some mint out of my yard, and added it to the Skinny Girl mojito, and then added two ounces of diet ginger ale... and voila! A 32 calorie, zero carbohydrate icy glass of heaven.  Or at least a workable compromise.  Is it as good as a "real" mojito? No. But I can have some fun and not worry that I'll sabotage myself by drinking my calories.

Of course, that only handles one of He-who-trains vacation decrees.  When I explained to him that we eat pancakes every day (and this is probably the only time of year I eat them, but wow I look forward to them), he "compromised".  On ONE day, I could have (2) 2in pancakes.  He clearly didn't understand the family love of pancakes.  We've kicked people out of the family for not eating pancakes.  No really.
So.  Next challenge:  Find a workable, non cardboard tasting, low-carb option for pancakes.  But who am I kidding? Pancakes are really just an excuse to eat peanut butter.  And I can do that with a spoon!

Taking it to the next level

He-who-trains is to trying to kill me. Again.

Of course, I'm grateful, because I know he is trying to help me break out of this (nasty, awful, growl-inducing, whine worthy) plateau.  This latest "Force-Kim's-body-to-quit-pitching-a-tempter-tantrum" program involves two days of a whole-body workout, which is considerably amped up from the one or two muscle group workouts I was doing. But that's not the most fun part of my gym week. Because for the other three days, I'm on the bike.  The idea of sitting on my butt and having some time to think sounded lovely, but of course that's not what He-who-trains had in mind.  So it's thirty seconds of a hard sprint, and a minute of soft pedal recovery, for twenty cycles. I was pretty excited when he first told me about it, because hey! You can do anything for thirty seconds, right? And besides, it sounded a lot easier than the four minute sprints and two minutes of recovery that I've done for forty-five minutes. Or three minute sprints and two minute recovery that I'd do for ninety minutes. But let me be honest. When you're only sprinting for thirty seconds, you're supposed to be able to exert a lot more power and speed.  That thirty seconds, short though it sounds, is probably the closest thing to hell I've ever experienced.

I've gotten to the point where I'm talking to myself. I learned the "put-your-head-down-and-shut-out-the-world-and-push-as-hard-as-you-can" lesson several months ago. I've learned how to go to "that place"and dig deep to find reserves of strength and energy.  But now it's not enough. Because every single time the clock tells me it's time to sprint again, I want to quit.  I want to cheat and go a little easier -- or "accidentally" forget that it's time to sprint. So every single sprint requires a pep talk, which goes something like this. "You want the body more than you want to be comfortable. You want to be healthy. Fight for what you want.  Get mad. Use it. Dontgiveupdontgiveupdontyoudarequitonthisyoukeepgoingitsonlythirtysecondsgogogogo."

Every now and then, someone out of the group who has become my community will get on the bike next to me. As I get tired, they will begin to cheer me on.  That rocks to have people like that.  But it's funny, because while I'm vaguely aware of what they're doing, I can't really hear them. My head is down, I'm blasting my music as loud as it will go, and I'm making the ugliest face you've ever seen.  I'm in a place far away.  He-who-trains is always talking to me about taking it to the next level in the gym.  The next level, I'm realizing, is the place where I've learned to push myself to give it all that I have--not because someone is cheering me on, but because this is the thing I want for me. The thing I want most.

I saw this shirt the other day while I was shopping, and I should've gotten it.  Because when I look in the mirror, that's the question I ask myself. (Yeah, yeah-- I'm sure this is meant as a snarky, trash-talk thing-- but there's no one in the gym that I need to trash talk to. I don't care what "they" are doing!) When I leave the gym, dripping with sweat and too tired to move, I have to answer that person in the mirror. I always want to answer "Yeah, that's all I had. It wasn't easy, but I'm willing to work for what I want. I did it for me."