Lose Weight, Exercise More, Blah, Blah, Blah

My 2009 resolutions are short and sweet. No major improvements needed? Hell, yes, there are. But I'm taking it easy on myself. Overreaching is overrated.

1. Make Money With My New Business
   This is a biggie. We sold our business last July, with a financial cushion to hold us over for about a year while we launched our new businesses. That cushion was based on the new owner of our business paying us a nice chunk of money (also known as "the mortgage") every month, beginning January 1. Now it looks like that monthly payment is everything but happening. Thus, earning income from my freelance copywriting business is ever more important.
   
   
2. Cut Back on Spending
   See above.
   
   
   
   
   
3. Lose The Damn Weight
   By eating more veggies and fruit.
   By eating less sugar and flour.
   By training for a half marathon in April.
   By getting outside for more adventures.
   By being accountable. And it starts here: 28 pounds, people. 28 pounds.
   It's a health issue. I'm not being my body's best friend. And who else will be?
   
   
   
   
   
4. Write, Write, Write
   My parents' life stories
   My blog
   My novel
   My clients' work

That'll do me.

Last Year's Resolutions--How'd We Do?

We, meaning me, of course. How you did is your own personal business and nobody else's. You need not expose your failures here. I'll do it for both of us.

2008’s list wasn’t a total washout. I really did okay. Having a major life change (I have them Almost. Every. Freakin. Year.) helped my resolutions along. For example, seven weeks of vacation made it much easier to keep the take care of myself promise. And I'm not apologizing for it, either. That's part of the growth, see. I've been working since I'm eight years old, and thirty-eight years later I should have some time off.

Digressing here. Guilty much?

And, it was easier to be kind to D. seeing how he had two surgeries in three weeks' time. The first was an emergency (are there any others?) appendectomy in Missoula, Montana, and then there was his double hernia repair when we got home. Poor baby! I was very kind and patient with my little patient. I had to carry all the grocery bags for weeks. And the 50-pound suitcase up the broken escalator at Sea-Tac airport. While the line behind us grew. And people glared at him for not helping me.

Again, I digress. Whiney much?

As for the rest of the list, here's an honest accounting, including my original resolution and self-imposed grade:

Resolution #1: Be more patient with my husband. As in, no rolling eyes when he asks if we have any butter. This is a tough one because it involves a DNA transplant. Might need help. I reserve the right to silently say, “Have you LOOKED in the refrigerator, by chance?????”
Grade: B+. I have tried, and it actually works. He’s sweet and deserves it.

Resolution #2: Scoop the cats’ litter boxes every day. This will be an easy one: if I do it each morning after I feed them, it will only take a minute, max. Maybe it will cure the phantom pooper, too. I don’t know any cats who get scooped every day, but I’m sure they’re happier than mine, who deserve a cleaner environment in which to poo.
Grade: B+. I've missed a few days, but all in all, I am the queen of scooping kitty poop. So proud.

Resolution #3: Be kinder. I am not completely unkind, mind you, and I will never be one of those annoying public-sweet-closet-bitchy women. I keep it real. But at times, that realness lands on others with a thud, or worse—with a smack. It’s not what I say, it’s how I say it, they say. I’ve heard it enough to know I need to work on it.
Grade: A. Helped along by selling a business that stressed me out to the max.

Resolution #4: Write. I have two novels in the works. I need to get back to them.
Grade: F. As in FFFFailing miserably. (Sidenote to Hay—here's your answer!!) This one goes to the top of 2009’s list. (Novels aside, I do write almost every day. Make excuses much?)

Resolution #5: Get organized. Since we moved into this house in April, I have never felt completely unpacked. There are still two unfinished rooms where boxes are shoved into corners, the closets are jammed full of crap, and nothing hangs on the walls—because we haven’t painted them yet. My mind is not at rest, and every time I walk into those rooms I feel stressed. I will pick out the paint and get started. Hang the pictures and clean out the closets. Breathe easier.
Grade: A. Wow. I didn’t realize this was so undone last year. We’re good now. Again, selling the biz made this achievable.

Resolution #6: Attend Boot Camp faithfully. I have done better than I expected—I have survived two 8-week sessions of Boot Camp, and I’m stronger, my clothes fit better, and I love the class. I’m signing up for round 3 (I need the discipline of a class structure) and I vow to not miss any classes unless I’m sick or out of town. Three hours per week is no big deal. I just have to make myself get dressed and leave the house.
Grade: C. I did complete Round 3 of Boot Camp. But then I stopped having fun. It seemed to be getting more competitive, and I don't do competitive any more. I didn’t lose any more weight, after the first 6 lbs (which came right back—the shock!), and it was a lot of work. At 6 a.m. So I didn't sign up for Round 4. Long hikes and light jogs work for me, and will appear on 2009’s list.

Resolution #7: Be this girl (come warmer weather, of course—I’m not going near the water now):

Grade: F. Didn’t. Paddle. Once. We sold the business, traveled a bit, then D.’s hernias appeared. That was it for strenuous activities for this summer.

And this girl:

Grade: A. I rode my bike a lot.

Bonus points: I was also this girl:

That was a big deal for me. I love the skiing. Not the knee twisting.

Resolution #8: Get myself on one of these:

purchased, rented, borrowed—whatever it takes. Because I had nearly forgotten the pure happiness I feel when I’m sailing. I don’t want to forget.
Grade: F. Didn’t do it. Stepped on a boat in a slip once. Does that count?

Resolution #9: Take good care of myself, however I define it, each day. Naps, massages, walks, bike rides. Be with people who are good for my soul. Simply put, do more of the stuff I want to do and less of the stuff I do not.
Grade: A+++++. I rocked this one.

Overall Grade: A-. I became a happier person in 2008. Don’t know how I could top that, but I think all things are possible . . . even getting rid of those 20 annoying pounds I need to lose again this year. Now I need to start that list. . .

Fat Birds

What is so appealing about fat birds? And how can we translate that to me?

Outside my window right now is a fat chickadee. He is so darn cute, I want to grab him and love him right up. He’s everything I could want in a playmate. He’s cuddly. He’s elusive. And he’s well dressed, sporting his jaunty black cap.

I’ve been watching him. He and I have much in common. Seems he was much thinner just a month ago. As was I. Perhaps he, too, used the recent holiday as an excuse to throw a cheese and carb festival at his house. Perhaps, he, too, used the “company’s coming” defense in whipping up a batch of Ina Garten’s Peanut Swirl Brownies. [You know the ones—with a whole pound of butter and over two pounds of chocolate. And peanut butter. Unlawful.] Perhaps he, too, grew up in a nest full of siblings and always thinks there are twenty-five people coming over. When there are only six. I mean, why else would he I bake those too-rich-for-human-consumption brownies, PLUS chocolate chip cookies, thumbprint cookies, banana bread, and Danish wedding cookies?

He’s fattening up to survive winter. Maybe I am, too. The way it’s been snowing here, I could again be blocked from Trader Joe’s for whole days at a time.

If the game is survival of the fattest, me and the bird will win.

Real Progress

Today was Day 1, Week 1, of Round 2 of Boot Camp. A new, improved version of Boot Camp for me. Again with the hundreds of lunges, jumping jacks, squats, over-arm claps, sadistic mountain climbers, and 8-count pushups.

But today, AMAZINGLY and very surprisingly, I was able to do every effin' repetition of every effin' exercise as the uberfit (what is wrong with me today? I hate the fad of using "uber" to describe just about every single feeling, emotion, object, person, place and thing, which in itself negates the term) instructor barked them out to us. I did them all, not effortlessly, mind you, but without pain. WITHOUT pain. This is real progress.

After class, I walked briskly to my car, easily lowered myself into the seat, and went about my drive home and the rest of my day without a thought of my burning muscles. I felt good. No, great.

Compare this to my description of this same class eight weeks ago.

I am making real progress. My body is adapting and getting stronger. And I'm thrilled about it. Now if it would only reward me by losing a few pounds, I'd be ecstatic. Not too much to ask, izzit??

You Want Me to Do How Many Push Ups?

On the first day of Boot Camp, we measure our fitness levels, or yes, the obvious lack thereof, in five exercises: Push Ups (real ones--Boy Push Ups), Crunches, Squats, Knee Push Ups (I call them Girl Push Ups without shame) and Steps. This is my second round of Boot Camp, thus the second time I've established my base line of fitness.

How did I perform? Do you care? Of course you do!

Boy Push Ups: 21 in 1 minute (First round of Boot Camp I did 10)
Crunches: 209 in 2 minutes (First round I did 80 or something)
Squats: 104 in 2 minutes (First round I did 68 or something)
Girl Push Ups: 41 in 2 minutes (First round, I think I did 18)
Steps: 201 up, up, down, downs in 5 minutes. (First round, 163)

We (the proverbial "we") are progressing nicely! I am certainly doing, feeling, performing much better than week one of round one. Baaaad memories. I can perform all of my daily hygiene by myself, without pain! Including brushing my teeth without needing to rest between upper and lower. I'll let you know where things shake out at the end of this thing, 8 weeks from now.

Even more frightening is that I also have a baseline weight (aaaaccckk) and measurements for every available body part. Subjecting myself to that was quite unpleasant, but I want some results at the end of this--good, bad or just plain ugly. The next measurement happens in three weeks: oh, perfect--the peak of the holiday eating and drinking extravaganza. The thought of being weighed and measured will be enough to make me give up at least a couple of pints or the third glass of wine with dinner.

And that will make all the difference. It will! It will!

It's all I can do, get off me.

Maybe, just maybe, I'll share the results. Bwah ha ha! Yeah, right.

Everything Changes So Fast

What a long while since I last posted. It has been nuttier than usual around here. I've had houseguests galore: my sister, nieces, brothers, and assorted in-laws. I even met my adorable great-nephew (although I am far too young to be a great aunt) on his very first birthday. Loads of family time and we loved almost every minute of it. Quite a difference when it's MY family, and not D.'s, whom I like but have a hard time relating to. (It's not them, it's me, and I need to try harder.)

Our latest houseguests were a dream: they were easy, they made being the hostess easy, they were no trouble at all. Seven people sleeping all over my house and I didn't stress out a single moment. I didn't have to escape to my secret room overlooking the park where no one can find me. My peeps are so mellow and chill that I felt like I was on vacation. They didn't require entertaining. They didn't require waitress service. They didn't require a maid. They helped cook and clean, and my brother even folded my laundry. They didn't make us take them all over the place to see every fern, Douglas fir tree and mountain stream within fifty miles. In fact, they didn't want to do anything. We didn't go anywhere except restaurants. We didn't check out any local attractions besides the bookstore. We hung out. We walked. We ate. We yakked. And yakked. Oh, and we drank beer. It was good. It was very good. Relaxing and reconnecting. What more could I want from a family visit?

Certainly not the cold that someone brought me from the germ-infested planes they flew in on. What started as a series of loud dramatic sneezes turned into a nasty head and chest cold that I'm still not over. I was amazed at the amount of stuff that came out of my head every morning. Eeeeewwwwww! Boxes of tissues later, it's now permanently lodged in my lungs, keeping me up and coughing every night. Thank god for Nyquil, my new best friend.

Thus, I have missed two sessions of Boot Camp. And, I missed two sessions due to my family visiting. I'm starting to feel guilty. I hope I'm well enough Wednesday to go. Despite the pain and soreness, I really really am enjoying it. And I'm seeing results. And I feel better--physically and emotionally. I have not bitched about how fat I am even once since I started this program. That in itself is worth every moment I spend gritting my teeth and wincing in pain.

So on to better health for me (although a cold is hardly worth lamenting) and better days ahead for some of my friends who've had great and terrible losses recently.

I'm feeling very fortunate tonight that I'm not suffering the way my friend K. is. That I'm not facing the rest of my life without my mate. That I can look across the room and see D.'s beautiful face and hear the voice that still makes me weak in the knees. And I remember K.'s husband with love in my heart and smile on my face--because he made me laugh every single time I saw him. Rest easy, J. Wherever you are, I know you're stirring things up.

One Boot at a Time

Surprisingly, Boot Camp is going well. I'm no longer in complete and total pain all day and through the night. I can roll over in bed with one easy, pain-free motion, instead of a slow, calculated and complicated series of moves with rest periods in between. I can raise myself from the toilet without using the handicapped grab bars. I can reach for something on the floor by either squatting down or bending over. I relish the joy of having two means of accomplishing a task! And I can walk up and down the stairs quietly (no "oooowwwwww!s") again. This is progress.

I imagine how much better my results would be if I laid off the beer pints and red wine. Hmmmmm. . . I'll have to try that soon.

Just tonight, after meeting friends for a couple of pints after work, I tore myself away before the third round with "oh, no--I have boot camp tomorrow morning," and home I went, as they cheerfully ordered more IPAs, ESBs and Single-Hopped Ales.

"Your priorities are out of whack," one friend said.

"I don't want to look like you," I thought, as I quickly and easily skipped out to my car and lowered myself into the driver's seat without assistance.

Boot Camp, Day 2

Friday was my second Boot Camp session. Our very nice and incredibly fit trainer guy was just as smiley and encouraging as he was on Wednesday--although his audience, me included, was a little less cooperative. We were in pain, dammit! Comparing notes with my classmates revealed that I was not the only one who spent Thursday inventing new ways to lower the tush to the toilet in an effort to avoid taxing my screaming quadriceps. But we were still in good humor and anxious to get on with the day's exercises--if only to make the hour pass so we could go home.

My session started early, as trainer guy needed to record my weight and measurements so we will have a basis for comparison when the eight-week camp is (finally and thankfully) over. And I was okay with this semi-public humiliation. I have gained some acceptance of my weight, which does not mean that anyone other than the trainer and I will ever know it. Not even D. And as long as the number is as high as it is, he never will.

And as luck would have it, my weight was higher than it had been all week. "I'm up three pounds from yesterday," I exlaimed weakly to the trainer, who nodded and explained how much weight can fluctuate, and therefore measurements are a better indicator of progress, etc etc. Well, the measurements were pretty effin' high, too. Interestingly, my left thigh is slightly smaller in diameter than my right, which is roughly equal to D.'s waistline. I love you, left thigh.

So yes, I have lots and lots of work to do. What did I expect? My body has changed muchly over the past four years, since our business started consuming our lives (and I started consuming large amounts of the incredible local microbrews I love so much).

And so Friday's session, Intro to Core Conditioning, began, on the floor, with thick comfy mats. Excellent! My secret weapon: realizing that my "be a good girl and perform every last rep" desire would only lead to great pain and possible injury. So, I did what I could when I could and didn't force my body to contort more than it wanted to.

Repeat often: Easy does it. Be patient. Love your body. You will get through this.

Beauty Through The Pain

Day One of Boot Camp: 500 jumping jacks, interspersed with a thousand lunges (right foot, left foot, backward, three-quarters), 300 squats (regular and "sumo"), at least 675 arm raises, which looked easy and harmless until I did a hundred of them (arms out at shoulder height, palms up; raise arms over your head until they meet with a delightful clap!; lower arms and repeat fifty times, then forty, then thirty. . . you get the idea), then tens of 8-point push ups (on a wood floor, and I'm a knee push up girl so my knees are COMPLETELY bruised), and sadistic, painful "mountain climbers," which can only be demonstrated, not described. They are not ladylike.

And some other stuff which I have, thankfully, forgotten. By the time I left the gym ALL of my muscles were entirely spent, meaning I could barely lower my ass into the driver's seat of the car. And thank christ I didn't ride my bike to the gym, as I had thought about doing; I'd STILL be riding home.

Throughout the day, the pain settled in. Never had I experienced muscle soreness the day of the over-exertion; this usually happens to me the next day, after, say weeding the garden or embarking on a new leg-lift routine. But to be sore and hardly able to walk down a flight of stairs the same day? Never happened before. I was NOT looking forward to today.

For good reason. Heaving myself out of, or lowering myself into a chair takes all my effort and about five whole minutes. At times today I needed help getting up out of the chair, and I'm not kidding. I tried stretching, doing more squats, clasping my hands behind my back and raising up my arms (just a little), and more stretching. Last evening, I went for a 45 minute walk with my dog, allowing her to pull me up the hills. All of this was my determination to keep the blood pumping and get the lactic acid out of those muscles!

Didn't work. I have not been in this much pain in many a year.

I have never been more thankful for the disabled grab bars in the bathroom at work. I needed them today, and was reminded--painfully, but thankfully--that my pain and soreness was a result of my fully-functioning body going through a wide variety of strengthening exercises. And I have no complaints. Whatsoever.

Tomorrow I get to go back. We're doing core conditioning. On the floor. I hope I can put myself down upon it.

And Hello, Booty Camp!

It begins tomorrow morning, 7 a.m. Think of me, please, and send little thoughts of sympathy as I start doing crunches, or leg lifts, or running in circles--really, only the trainer knows what's in store as I try to survive Boot Camp. I was coerced into attending by a nice-sounding guy at the gym, who just happened to call my business today. He must have heard a cry for help in my voice, because he not only seemed to understand that I needed a little kick in the ass to get myself to the gym again, but he had me signed up before I could say "drop and give me twenty."

It's an 8-week, 3-times-a-week class. That's only 24 hours. I can do it. Only trouble is, I think I heard him say something about a "cleanse." I don't know what their idea of cleansing is, but if it requires me to give up caffiene and/or alcohol, I will not be partaking of that part of the program. My life is nothing without coffee and wine.

And suddenly, I'm remembering boot camp scenes from An Officer and a Gentleman in which Richard Gere is weeping. Dear lord.

Updates to come. Painful, sore, can't-walk-normally updates. Hopefully, the weeping will be quick and quiet.

Let's Talk About Weight--It's Fun!

Here's a comment I posted on one of my favorite blogs,
Oh The Joys

Claire B. said...
Wow. I've been reading you for a little while now, and have been impressed by your wit and honesty, your talent and yes, your gorgeousness. I was *a little* jealous of how awesome you look after two kids. Me? I have somehow allowed myself to gain nearly every pound WW helped me take off in the late 80's. 20 effin years ago. I was at my own ideal weight (for about 6 hours), after being Porky Porkina my whole life. (I loved your turkey breast reference; I think of my excess pounds in terms of 5-lb bags of sugar, as in "I'm carrying SEVEN.BAGS.OF.SUGAR.ALL.THE.TIME.OMG!!!")

Following my six hours of Incredible Lightness of Being, I managed to look good for quite a long time. But did I feel ok about myself? NO! I still bitched unceasingly about being fat. And over the last few years, when my hub and I started a business together, I really let it go. Suddenly (?) I am within five pounds of my all-time high.

And do I think I need a program like WW? The one where I lost forty ugly pounds? Until I read this post, no I did not think that I did.

So thanks for the inspiration and for helping me remember that hot sexy women don't always just happen (like I used to think you did). Mostly they have to work very hard to pull it off.

Oh boy. This is, like, the first time I've ever written about my weight. I think about my weight all the effin time, however. Seriously. I am obsessed about weight: mine, yours, complete strangers', my sisters', every body's.

The other night, at the outdoor movie (The Goonies, and yes, I nearly wept just looking at Chunk because I felt so sorry for him) there was a super-skinny girl sitting nearby (ok, there were lots of them, but this particular one was SO thin and SO showing it off as well her twenty-one-year-old self should have been) and I said to D. "wow that girl is so skinny" and because he is the most adorable man ever, D. said "that is SO unattractive." Yay for me! Later, I saw a NOT thin girl preparing to sit on the ground (not an easy feat for a big girl) and she was adjusting her shirt so that her low rider jeans wouldn't expose her backside, while balancing her weight so she wouldn't fall over or land too hard, while keeping her pint of beer from spilling (and just because she's a big girl doesn't mean she can't have the beer), and none of this is as easy as being the thin girl and just placing your ass on the ground as your thin legs bend easily and freely--I know, I've been both of these girls. So I look at the larger girl's assets and ask D. "Is that how I look in my jeans?" and D., because he is the most adorable man ever, says, "No, honey! Do you actually think you look like that?" Yay for me!

Oh, really? What is so wonderful about comparing myself to every woman I see, and thinking how does it feel to be that thin or thank god I'm not that fat?

When will this obsession end? When I am no longer dissatisfied with myself and my body? As if that day will ever come? Or when I finally accept my body as it is, accept my weight as it is, and convince myself that this weight is where my body is at rest? After all, I am incredibly healthy, with the lowest blood pressure known to womankind, along with a very low vegetarian cholesterol count. My doctor says I need to take off a few pounds, but I figure she's so happy to have a patient with very few issues that she doesn't want to jinx anything so she leaves my fat, healthy ass alone. And I am thankful for my health. Every single day. I tell myself that years from now when I'm having my chemo or radiation or some life-saving surgery (I think about these things) I'll look back on my fat, healthy ass and wish that I were even MORE thankful for it. I tell myself that a) many people wish they looked like me (the girls that are even fatter than me); or b) I am among the lucky ones who happened to be born in this time and place and of the privileged race while so many women around the world are poor, oppressed, abused and have none of the opportunities I have so why in the hell am I so freakin shallow and worried about something of inconsequence like my stupid weight? Why am I not out there saving the world instead of obsessing about my weight?? AAARRRGGGHH!

But it makes me miserable. And so I drone on, driving myself and everyone around me to the tenth circle of hell. However, I'm apparently not miserable enough to do anything real about my weight. I have increased my level of exercise. I've been riding my bike and walking the two miles each way to work. I take my dog on long walks. D. and I stopped drinking the alcohol Monday through Thursday for awhile (yes, I felt better) but then summer rolled around and we needed to "celebrate" so I've had teensy bits a glass or two of some lovely summer wines and a few after-work-on-the-outdoor-deck pints with visiting family and friends. And I wonder where this comes from?





Yes, I saw Dr. Oz on Oprah and bought his book and was grossed out about my omentum. Again, not a lifestyle-changing event. Besides, Dr. Oz is naturally thin, while I am more Oprah-esque. That girl must exercise constantly to stay ahead of the weight gain. With my metabolism, I could eat a lettuce leaf and run a marathon and still gain a half pound.

I used to run. I ran a marathon. One. In 1996. I was never so proud of myself. I would like to run again. I would like to be thin again. I would like to love clothes on my body again. Actually I would love all of these things. But mostly I would love to stop obsessing over my weight. So I can stop hating myself every time I look in the mirror or catch myself in a storefront window.

It's not good, the hating. So I'm back on that track again, serious again, as I was at my first WW weigh-in when I almost passed out after the nice lady told me my weight. Will it be WW? Why not? Will it be Dr. Oz's plan? We'll see. Stay tuned, and if you'd like, stay in touch.