Game On

There's nothing I love more than a good challenge...except maybe really lovely, dark, decadent chocolate. Onward.

But I also love to be right. (Thereby humiliating the naysayer.  Of course, I would never say "I told you so.") The problem with being trained by He-who-trains is that I am almost never the right one.  He reads people and situations really well, and he knows it.  He predicts things with infuriating accuracy.

For the last few months I've been plateaued, and I've sworn to him (certainly not at him...that would be a rude thing to do outloud) that I was doing what he said.  I've been busting it at the gym.  I've been eating 1500 calories with 40% protein, 40% carbs, and 20% healthy fat.  And I have.  Except when I haven't.  He has been very helpful to point out to me that I do really well for a few weeks or even a month or two, and then I completely sit on and obliterate the wagon.  That's probably worse than just falling off of it?  I played loosey goosey with my eating when I got sick. I went all willey nilley with it when I went on the cruise.  He pointed out that I've never made it more than three months without taking matters into my own hands.  He also felt inclined to mention the fact that I'd set a thirty year precedent, and that a body wasn't going to realize my lifestyle was the new norm in just a few months of good behavior.

I'm tired of getting that lecture. I'm tired of proving him right.  So I opened my big mouth and told him I would make it six months with no major mess ups.  I'm allowed a cheat meal a week, and he really understands that life gets nuts-o sometimes, so a day or two of bending the eating commandments won't mess up my streak. But I'm not going to do things where I go crazy for a week. (uhem. for weeks.) I'm going to eat consistently well, using his guidelines.  I'm going to survive lent and beach week without blowing it. I've already started sending him food logs again (blessed, blessed food logs.  Gosh, I love doing those.  Really.) I'm tracking everything that goes in my mouth.

And from March 1- August 30... I'm gonna be St Kim: Patron Saint of People who are On It.

Come September 1st, He-who-trains is gonna shut his pie hole.  (And after 6 months of saintly eating, I might put pie in my pie hole :-P).  He is only going to open his mouth to say "I was wrong. You were right."

Game on.

                   

There's this.

After after fifteen months, I'm finally half way to my body weight goal of 135lbs.  I figure that deserves some celebratory blog love...

So, in a few days (or whenever I get a chance), I'll unroll a spiffy new blog design using this new header.

In the words of Bon Jovi
"Whooah, we're half way there
Livin on a prayer
Take my hand and we'll make it - I swear
Livin on a prayer!"

Rest. Ice. Repeat.

I seem to be accumulating a staff of people who take care of my body.  I have a masseuse to regularly rub my piriformus (which isn't as much fun as you'd imagine. Google it. #awkward) I have a chiropractor who zaps me with these little things so I don't feel (or walk) like I'm a thirty-two year old trapped in a ninety-five year old body.  (Also, just really not as much fun as it sounds.) And I have a trainer, whose functions right now are limited to telling me what to eat and acting as a bouncer if I get near any thing heavier than five pounds. Oh and you know, to tell me... "Ummm...yeah.  There's no nice way to say this.  You're a train wreck."

So clearly things are going well in the body department. I'm pretty sure it shouldn't require a team of people to make sure I can walk.

I guess I haven't been doing a stellar job on my own. I have an injury in my back, and I've got some really tight hip flexors, but my team of people all agree on one thing (and only one, mind you. I don't want to get bored):  I have too much stress, and its affecting my body adversely. I'm working on it.  I am. My church folks are kindly lecturing me about it. But what I'm learning right now is that sometimes you can't handle it all on your own.  Sometimes, you need outside people to hold you up and put you back together and to help you quit making the same mistakes.

I'm having to take it easy... and that's not easy.  I'm having to practice what I preach, literally.  Grrrr.  I preach grace, and now I'm having to practice it with my body. I believe, in theory, anyway, in sabbath keeping.  But my body is going to make sure that's more than a theoretical belief.  I love the Jewish notion of Shalom, which is a big term encompassing things like wholeness, balance, and wellness. So now, I have the opportunity to focus on bringing my body and spirit back into shalom.  I'm writing.  And letting people help my body free itself of toxins, and bring itself back to health. I'm focusing on nutrition, and eating whole, real foods that have the nutrients I need. I'm stretching gently, and reminding myself to breathe well. I'm reviving creative energy.

Rest. Ice. Repeat.
Breathe. Heal. Repeat.
Grow. Repair.  Repeat.

I'm gonna try really hard to believe that I won't feel like this after taking some time off ;-) (Totally worth the watch...even for the fifteen sec advertisement at the beginning.)

The BIG Event

Last week, I was on a cruise with 40 clergy women--the Big Event, as it's known. (More on what I learned later...still doing some pondering.)

Because I've worked so hard at making this a lifestyle, I went with a plan.  I think my exact words to He-who-trains were "I want to have fun, but I won't be stupid." He had the courtesy to stay quiet,  though there might have been an "cough, cough... yeah, i bet...cough, cough". Oh well, at least I believed my words.  We agreed that a goal of 1800 calories a day was reasonable.  I mean, hey. That's considerably more than I usually eat.

My first night in New Orleans, I hung out with my friend who is lucky enough to live in that fabulous city.  He forced me to eat fried pickles.   The next morning, the clergy gals were meeting at NoLa landmark Cafe Du Monde for beignets and Cafe Au Lait.  I didn't want to be rude, you know, so I had to eat those too.  (And it would've been an insult to tradition to leave the piles of powdered sugar.)  It went downhill from there, as I remembered the five words that make cruising so, so wonderful: All-you-can-eat buffet.  Great food, and lots of it.  Then dinner at night (every night) was a three course study in gluttony.  Seriously, my ankles actually disappeared for most of the week. I blame the salt and long periods of sitting. To make matters worse, I didn't exercise all week.  This was a planned thing-- an ordered rest week, but it didn't help the feeling that my clothes shrunk three sizes.

I've always hated the expression "like a fat kid in a candy store" but that's exactly what I was.  I've taken owernship of the fact that unhealthy attitudes were a big part of the reason I gained so much weight: eating because it was there or because of social niceties, eating without regard to calories or nutritional content or time of day, equating food with fun.  Check, check annd check!  It surprised me how quickly those habits came back, even after fourteen months of not living that way.

I'm not beating myself up.  I had fun and it was nice to have the break.  I knew going that even if I gained a pound or two, I wouldn't care... and truth be told, I neither weighed before I left nor when I returned.  Now that the water weight is coming off, I don't feel like I really gained much.  And when I looked in the mirror this morning, I noticed that my shoulders and traps looked more defined than they did before I left. Maybe my body needed some rest and extra calories for a few days. But I came home sick and sluggish, and I remember that that's how I used to feel all the time.

So what I learned:

• the thought patterns are still there, so I need to remain dilligent in practicing better behaviors
• a week of rest and excess isn't the end of the world, but that it must be the exception rather than the rule.
• I would've had plenty of fun without the food, but I'm glad to have enjoyed site specific treats (like crazy good guacamole.)
• Maybe being so strict with myself all the time isn't entirely a win either.  Maybe I need to do what He-who-trains says and eat a cheat meal every now and then.
• It's pretty crappy to be sick, and maybe how I treat my body actually has something to do with being well. 

It was the Big Event.  Big on fun, and friendship and fellowship (Well, technically galship). Big on food and drink and sloth.  Big enough that it's a good thing it's only once a year. 

Thin vs. Strong

I had a nightmare the other night.  I was at an upcoming wedding for a friend (a trip I'm looking forward to in the fall... road trip, so so in!) Of course, I'm hoping I'll be at my goal weight by then.  I mean, who doesn't want to look spectacular when seeing a friend for the first time in several years.  Besides, it's all sorts of fun to play dress up for a few hours, and maybe dance the night away.

Only, it wasn't any kind of fun in my dream. I had on a lovely dress, and my mind's eye sort of started at my hemline and slowly panned up.  Gah-- sticking out of the neck hole was a very gaunt and thin neck and head which was almost painful to look at.  The arms were no better... they sort of looked like brittle match sticks.  I was smiling, but my smile looked way too big for my face.
Don't worry.  Unless I become really ill, I won't ever look like that.  I'm just not built that way.  I carry a lot of muscle underneath all this extra "insulation". But the dream got me thinking about what it is that I want, especially as He-who-trains has become fond of saying "Oh, to be thin" when I whine about how hard all of this is, or how much my body hurts, or how I'm starving.  He's a pain in my squatting muscles.

I've always thought I wanted to be thin-- to know what that was like to have a petite body and buy really cute clothes that made me look even tinier. But the more I think about it, that's not what I want at all.  I want to not carry around all this extra weight.  I want to have clearly defined muscles.  But most of all, I want to be strong. I want to be able to lift... a lot.  I want my body to be able to do anything that my brain can dream up. I always wanted to be a runner, but I'm starting to think of myself as one who might one day classify herself as a body builder. (But I think that's sorta like being a cyclist in spandex.  You have to have the body before you can wear the title...or the ill fitting clothes.)

A goal should be lofty, right? 

I'm happy for people who are thin.  And only a teeny bit envious.  But seeing as I'm not built that way, then I'm gonna rock what my body was built to do: make the kindly and caring older men at the gym continue to say "Honey, that's an awful lot for a girl.  Are you sure you can lift that much?"  And I'm gonna smile and say (to myself, ideally) "that's only my warmup."  Oh and you know.  Look like her?

The Luxury? of self care

     It's five o'clock on a Friday night, and I'm in my pjs, icing body parts. (Hmmm... "Body parts on Ice" just doesn't work quite as well as "Disney on Ice.") There is Pearl Harbor on AMC.  (Ben Affleck AND Matt Damon AND Cuba Gooding, Jr... twist my arm, I guess I can take one for the team and watch those hunky sorts for a couple of hours.)  There might be a glass of wine in my future.
    This is what I consider pretty good self care-- and it does feel a little luxurious, all this sitting around while there is plenty I could be doing around the house.  Sadly, mom did not have time to organize my entire life when she was here...I'm still kinda in in need of that.
     But after I whined about my neck and back and weird-o radiating pain in my shoulder for three days, He-who-trains just said it: "You need to see a masseuse."  He gave me very specific and medical-y sounding body parts that need attention (including the piriformus that I've heard all my runner friends doing battle with... hey! oooh! oooh! I'm in the club too! Oh wait...)
     What person isn't delighted to hear that they need to relax for a while and let someone put you right in heaven on earth? That tops other fitness advice like "Eat fish", "Get more fiber" and "Stretch" any day.  I'm sure not opposed, but I struggled to make the appointment.  I've gotten the occasional massage when Groupon knew my needs and offered me a great deal. But living in a tiny town guarantees that we are not on Groupon's radar.  I've gotten massages when someone has gotten me a gift certificate.  (Which, for the record, is a spectacular gift... if anyone is dying to shower me with love.  Kidding! Er...mostly.) But to just schedule a massage for myself for no other reason than my body feels like I've been in a car accident? That feels like a little bit of frivolity in some ways.
   The truth is that my body has been off kilter for several weeks--which probably helps explain some of the nagging annoyances that feel like injuries but probably really aren't.  If I were really sick, I wouldn't hesitate to go to a doctor.  And while I know that is a luxury to many, it doesn't feel so silly.  I did make the appointment for tomorrow, because maybe it will help restore my body to rights so I can just. move. on.  But if I can take advice about icing and fiber and how to walk (and stand!) correctly, then maybe I should learn to make space for this kind of advice too.  After all, being strong and healthy and able isn't a luxury--though certainly a gift!  Being those things is something to which I've made a commitment.
    Ok, ok... I guess I can be one of those blissful, smiling, relaxed people for a few minutes.  Or you know, turn my head from side to side and not walk like I'm 95.  All in the name of self care! :-)

Fight

I'll be honest.  I moped yesterday.  I woke up with a really sore neck, and it got progressively worse all day long, despite the ice, heat and advil.  (At least this time, I don't think I hurt it in the gym. Feels like I've been sidelining myself with injuries lately.  This one was just a casuality of being alive and walking around in the world... I think.)

When I woke up at 2:45 this morning with the neck thing, my very first thought was "Oh, $#%&  no.  Today is heavy leg day, and you are NOT going to get in my way of leg day!" I wasn't even awake enough make that a conscious thought.

More than my body is changing.  Somewhere inside me, there is a fighter trying to come out. My 2014 starword was triumph.  Somewhere, I am ready, really ready, to rock and roll.  To not be knocked down, or at least to get up quickly when I am.  To not stop until I'm living my wildest dreams. To challenge and push and break through barriers.

It's more ice, heat and advil today.  Because assuming I won't hurt myself by going (and I'll talk to He-who-trains first), I have a date with the squat bar and leg press machine.