"...can't catch me-- I'm the stinky cheese man" (a slightly grumpier version of the Gingerbread Man)
I'm not the stinky cheese man--though I think my DH might argue that I'm fairly ripe by time I wander home-- but I feel like I'm running as fast as I can, not to be caught. (uhh... terrifically slow time notwithstanding...I don't think I'm actually running much faster than a good speed walk, but that's beside the point.) I'm on fire, having now convinced myself to run just shy of four miles yesterday. I wake up thinking about running, I get grouchy if I can't. It's becoming a beast inside of me. I am running a 5k next Saturday, and for the first time, I think I might run the whole thing. It's a small accomplishment, but huge to my mind--because for most of my life, that seemed like the obstacle I could never overcome. And being as big as I've gotten, the fact that I'm able to do this now is nothing short of amazing to me.
I'm getting ready to switch from the 5k app to the 10k app, and already have the date of a half marathon on my calendar. Uh...on my anniversary. DH won't mind, right?
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Better Together
He was my best friend in the fourth grade. Then four years ago, he became my husband. And now he's become my weight-loss partner.
I've been begging him to join Weight Watcher for me for quite some time, but it was never something that he wanted to do. But then he started going to the gym when a friend begged him, and while he suddenly became a weight-lifting superstar, he wasn't seeing the results he wanted. So DH joined with me, and for the first time ever, conquering this 60-lb bulge seems doable. We've instituted a new rule, which he calls "If I bite it, I write it". We plan our meals, do the dishes, and then get out our respective I-devices and track our meals. We cheer each other on, instead of accidentally sabotaging each other.
And God love him, he's even coming with me to Hot Yoga--which in prior times, might have been his vision of hell. (The room itself feels like hell--as it's heated to around 95 degrees...) But he goes, and contrary to my original thought, he's not even going because my spandex-clad body parts are in strange positions in front of him.
Certainly, all this "together" is good for our health-- it's a whole lot easier this way. And it sheds new light on "Two are better than one... for if one falls, who will help him up?" But the best part is that it gives us a common interest-- and for two people as different as we are, that's kind of nice. We are, after all, better together.
I've been begging him to join Weight Watcher for me for quite some time, but it was never something that he wanted to do. But then he started going to the gym when a friend begged him, and while he suddenly became a weight-lifting superstar, he wasn't seeing the results he wanted. So DH joined with me, and for the first time ever, conquering this 60-lb bulge seems doable. We've instituted a new rule, which he calls "If I bite it, I write it". We plan our meals, do the dishes, and then get out our respective I-devices and track our meals. We cheer each other on, instead of accidentally sabotaging each other.
And God love him, he's even coming with me to Hot Yoga--which in prior times, might have been his vision of hell. (The room itself feels like hell--as it's heated to around 95 degrees...) But he goes, and contrary to my original thought, he's not even going because my spandex-clad body parts are in strange positions in front of him.
Certainly, all this "together" is good for our health-- it's a whole lot easier this way. And it sheds new light on "Two are better than one... for if one falls, who will help him up?" But the best part is that it gives us a common interest-- and for two people as different as we are, that's kind of nice. We are, after all, better together.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Warrior
That's my new favorite pose. Because I feel like a warrior when I'm busy making my body all bendy at yoga--my fitness trend du jour.
I used to yoga-- I used to be ten shades of bendy, and my body parts never got in the way of whatever pose I wanted to do. But that was in high school, before my body parts decided on their grownup, albeit round, shape. Of course, I would've called myself athletic then.
It was a shock to finally see myself in the mirror when I signed up for a yoga class at the Y. Thankfully, they kept the lights pretty dim, so I couldn't really see my body parts sticking out. (And also because that was the only way I would have ever considered the necessary yoga evil-- spandex.) But I knew. I felt flabby, not sleek, like I used to feel.
But there was something else--something that reminded me why I ever loved yoga. There was power. There was a connectedness to this body, flabby and round though it may be. There was a chance to put a stressful world behind me for a bit, and to just breathe. And there was the after effect, which wasn't exactly like the ephemeral bliss that it looks like on TV, but was a genuine sense that I had given my body what it needed, if only for an hour. It was different than the running, which by its nature forces you to push harder than you can go. But that's too much like real life. Yoga, though, is about listening, and being gentle, and believing that your body--the one you already have, not the one you so restlessly wish for-- is where you do your living.
And that's warrior worthy. Not warrior like ready to conquer the world warrior, but like warrior who can calmly manage the chaos around her. I'll take it.
I used to yoga-- I used to be ten shades of bendy, and my body parts never got in the way of whatever pose I wanted to do. But that was in high school, before my body parts decided on their grownup, albeit round, shape. Of course, I would've called myself athletic then.
It was a shock to finally see myself in the mirror when I signed up for a yoga class at the Y. Thankfully, they kept the lights pretty dim, so I couldn't really see my body parts sticking out. (And also because that was the only way I would have ever considered the necessary yoga evil-- spandex.) But I knew. I felt flabby, not sleek, like I used to feel.
But there was something else--something that reminded me why I ever loved yoga. There was power. There was a connectedness to this body, flabby and round though it may be. There was a chance to put a stressful world behind me for a bit, and to just breathe. And there was the after effect, which wasn't exactly like the ephemeral bliss that it looks like on TV, but was a genuine sense that I had given my body what it needed, if only for an hour. It was different than the running, which by its nature forces you to push harder than you can go. But that's too much like real life. Yoga, though, is about listening, and being gentle, and believing that your body--the one you already have, not the one you so restlessly wish for-- is where you do your living.
And that's warrior worthy. Not warrior like ready to conquer the world warrior, but like warrior who can calmly manage the chaos around her. I'll take it.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Battle of the Bulge
I love how this goes for me-- I'm a weightloss rockstar for a little bit and then life gets in the way, and I'm back to eating donuts for breakfast, not because I craved donuts, but because they were leftover from a church thing and they're in my house. It's been a crazy few weeks, with no end in sight. I don't think I've either been to the grocery store or cooked in at least three weeks. I've managed to jalk exactly once since my last post (and it wasn't pretty!) And it's highly questionable whether any of my suits will fit by time an expected funeral happens later this week. My stomach is starting to rebel as it always does when I get this way--and I know it's my own fault, but can't seem to figure out anything better, because as I look at the calendar, I realize I probably won't be home a single night this week. On the upside, as least my scale seems to have spazzed out, and is telling me that I've lost somewhere between 10 and 15lbs. We'll go with that, and not ponder the fact that it is lying...big time.
Funerals around here always involve lots of food-- thanks to the parade of casserole bearing well-wishers. And despite my "please don't feed the pastor" campaign, I know that I will probably be expected to eat fried chicken and other southern health nightmares.
I need to exercise, not even because I'm trying to be the pudgeless parson, but because it helps me focus and get my brain wrapped around all that must happen in the next few intense days and weeks. I may have to cave and zumba in my living room--even while my husband is here. (Ummm yeah--I try to do that on my lunch break when he is out of the house. Nobody, not even the love of my life, needs to see that!) But the Pudgy Parson is about more than just losing weight. It's about my committment to living well and healthfully. It's about me learning to take care of my body and soul, so that I have something with which to care for my flock. So maybe it's time to get creative. Maybe it's a time to practice grace with myself, put the looming 5k on the back burner for a week or two, and make space for exercise wherever I can. Maybe this is time for yoga and resistance bands--the things I can sneak in for a few minutes before the demanding aspects of ministry demand my day away.
Funerals around here always involve lots of food-- thanks to the parade of casserole bearing well-wishers. And despite my "please don't feed the pastor" campaign, I know that I will probably be expected to eat fried chicken and other southern health nightmares.
I need to exercise, not even because I'm trying to be the pudgeless parson, but because it helps me focus and get my brain wrapped around all that must happen in the next few intense days and weeks. I may have to cave and zumba in my living room--even while my husband is here. (Ummm yeah--I try to do that on my lunch break when he is out of the house. Nobody, not even the love of my life, needs to see that!) But the Pudgy Parson is about more than just losing weight. It's about my committment to living well and healthfully. It's about me learning to take care of my body and soul, so that I have something with which to care for my flock. So maybe it's time to get creative. Maybe it's a time to practice grace with myself, put the looming 5k on the back burner for a week or two, and make space for exercise wherever I can. Maybe this is time for yoga and resistance bands--the things I can sneak in for a few minutes before the demanding aspects of ministry demand my day away.
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Rocky Rockstar
That's me! Because I just had the most amazing thing happen: today I became a runner (as opposed to a lovely, sweating, pudgy person huffing and puffing pitifully away.) The nice british lady that lives in my iphone (Get Running App) informed me that I would be running for twenty straight mintues today, which I'll admit doesn't sound like much. However, considering that my last run was eight mintues, then five minutes of walking, then eight more minutes of running-- that's a pretty big jump. And I've gotten to this point before when I've attempted a couch to 5k, but I've always given up right here or life has gotten in the way--and I've never conquered it. That's right, I haven't successfully run twenty mintues straight since the earlier mentioned triathlon six years ago. And I didn't plan to be able to today. I set off running, and tried very hard not to glare at the nice british lady that lives in my iphone. I thought, "well, I'll do my best and go as far as I can, but if I have to hit pause in the middle, then thats what I have to do." Only I never even thought about needing to. The nice british lady that lives in my iphone alerted me every five minutes how I was doing, and I was surprised how quickly the minutes were going by. My breathing was nice and steady, my legs weren't screaming, and (this is the best part), I was having fun. And when the twenty minutes was up, I knew that I could have gone on. Maybe another ten or twenty or however many minutes. (I didn't because I don't want to be one of those people that does too much too fast and gets knocked out of the race--which I mentioned yesterday. But knowing I could've gone on makes me feel like a rockstar.)
And in a fabulous serendipitous moment, just as the lovely british lady that lives in my iphone announced that I had "just sixty more seconds of running to go", the theme from "Rocky" started playing. No one was around but my doggy, so I totally did "Rocky hands". And I'm not even embarrased. Because today, I'm a rockstar. And not only that, but today I became a runner.
And in a fabulous serendipitous moment, just as the lovely british lady that lives in my iphone announced that I had "just sixty more seconds of running to go", the theme from "Rocky" started playing. No one was around but my doggy, so I totally did "Rocky hands". And I'm not even embarrased. Because today, I'm a rockstar. And not only that, but today I became a runner.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
A Day of Rest
I'm a pastor (i.e. nerd) so I pay attention when the Bible uses the same word over and over-- and I'm surprised by just how many times the word "rest" shows up. Apparently, God knew that people get tired out, body and soul. Gosh, we're even commanded to take a sabbath. (The other nine don't seem nearly as hard for me as this one.) And I realize that I'm one of those people God was worried about because I just go and go and go, and once I'm on something I'm on it. I want to give something my all until there is nothing left to give.
So I was torn today as my lovely british lady that lives in my iphone (GetRunning App) told me that it was a rest day. That is, a day off. At first I was tempted to run anyway, because I had by then done it three or four days in a row, and I was in a good groove. I didn't want to relapse. I didn't want to break my streak of serious dedication. And besides, I told myself, I feel better when I get some exercise. But I realized that my ankles have been hurting and my knees making a grinding noise like my brakes, so I talked myself out of it. I thought about going to the gym and doing the elliptical or something, but as I gettting ready to go, I read an article in Runner's World that talked about how important it was to rest, and about how most injuries are caused by an overzealous person who goes too hard too fast. The article said "It's better to have two quality days and two days of total rest than four days of mediocrity from lingering fatigue." Hmmmph. So I took the hint, and I didn't do anything.
And I was surprisingly productive anyway. My body still felt ramped up instead of sluggish. And I know I'll be more ready to go tomorrow, even though a small part of me thinks this is counterintuitive.
But I'm seeing some results. It's been less than a week since I got serious about actually tracking with weight watchers (apparently it only works if you actually count the points...hmmmph), and I'm down over two pounds. And I'm learning that I don't have to give into every "want" I have, that cravings usually pass, and that I'm not actually going to starve to death.
So I was torn today as my lovely british lady that lives in my iphone (GetRunning App) told me that it was a rest day. That is, a day off. At first I was tempted to run anyway, because I had by then done it three or four days in a row, and I was in a good groove. I didn't want to relapse. I didn't want to break my streak of serious dedication. And besides, I told myself, I feel better when I get some exercise. But I realized that my ankles have been hurting and my knees making a grinding noise like my brakes, so I talked myself out of it. I thought about going to the gym and doing the elliptical or something, but as I gettting ready to go, I read an article in Runner's World that talked about how important it was to rest, and about how most injuries are caused by an overzealous person who goes too hard too fast. The article said "It's better to have two quality days and two days of total rest than four days of mediocrity from lingering fatigue." Hmmmph. So I took the hint, and I didn't do anything.
And I was surprisingly productive anyway. My body still felt ramped up instead of sluggish. And I know I'll be more ready to go tomorrow, even though a small part of me thinks this is counterintuitive.
But I'm seeing some results. It's been less than a week since I got serious about actually tracking with weight watchers (apparently it only works if you actually count the points...hmmmph), and I'm down over two pounds. And I'm learning that I don't have to give into every "want" I have, that cravings usually pass, and that I'm not actually going to starve to death.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Going Green
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| Green Feather Boa? Why yes, please! |
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| I'm not Irish, but these socks are awfully fun! |
I'm excited--I'm a goal driven person, so this works just right for me. I have great plans of dressing up and going green (right again, Mom?) and having a generally goofy sort of time. I found a lovely pair of green and white socks at Hobby Lobby that I'm thinking of buying to hang up as a visual reminder of my goal.
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