Keep going

"If we are facing in the right direction, all we have to do is keep on walking." ~Buddhist Saying

When I first started my weight loss journey, I often thought about food as "good" or "bad."  It's kind of silly, actually - since food is usually measured in calories.  What makes a calorie "good" or "bad?"  Well, nothing really.  A calorie is just a science term.

And just how many calories of one thing makes something good or bad anyway?  My answer used to be:  when I start to feel guilty about it.

These days, I've realized that I've shed that mentality.  I've had a constant supply of chocolate in our house since I moved in - almost a year ago.  Guess how many times I've binged on them? ZERO.

So clearly, I've learned that food isn't inherantly good or bad.

And yet, I'm struggling with letting go of labeling myself on my journey as either doing good or bad.

Gained weight?  BAD.  Lost weight but not as much as I'd liked?  BAD.  Clothes getting baggier? GOOD.  Worked out today? GOOD.

I'm not talking about healthy pride in doing something that makes your body feel great.  I'm talking about making the label of good or bad to be a core of your identity - if only for the day.

The thing is, I need to realize that my path to success has many glitches in it.  There may be many times where I ask myself if I'll ever get to my ideal weight.  Those times, I get discouraged and downtrodden thinking that I'll never be as successful as the people that do extreme dieting.

But then I come across something that reminds me that as long as I'm on the right path, and I put one foot in front of the other, I WILL get there.

It's not a race.

As long as I have the intestinal fortitude to keep on going, it's all good.

Today - all over again

As all of you know, yesterday was Groundhog Day.  And if you're anything like me, you're thinking of that movie with Bill Murray...and now you might even have "I've got you babe" stuck in your head.

As I was reading blogs yesterday, I came across Karen's at Waisting Time.  She wrote about Groundhog Day (the movie and the actual day) and asked, "So my questions for you today are these: Is there anything you would go back and change on you road to a healthy lifestyle? Or anything else in your life you’d like to do over, if you could?"

I gave my answer - that I would've liked to have gotten "with the program" sooner.  I would've told myself that I was worth it and that I COULD succeed sooner.  I would've done everything that I did, mistakes included, sooner.  Even if only a day sooner.

And then this a-ha moment hit me.

It may get a bit confusing, so work with me here...

What if there was a future self that was able to pick a day where you could really turn your life around?  Not a day that you DID turn it around, but that you COULD'VE?

What I mean is, what if there was one day - one day where you could either choose to be on the same path of unhealthy decisions or a path where you would change.  Where you'd make yourself matter, your partner matter, your kids matter.  Where you'd be a better mom, person, friend, or self?

We'd all like to believe that if given that opportunity to right the wrongs, to do better, we would take it. 

But, what if your future self picked today to be that day?

What if your whole life could be turned around by the lessons you learn today?

It's a motivating thought for me.  Not that some random day could be picked, but the idea that TODAY matters. 

TODAY counts. 

TODAY is the day to get closer to the goals I have and further away from the life I used to live.

And tomorrow?  It'll be today all over again...

Life lessons from a dog

Polar's Mom started following my blog a bit ago...and when I finally got off my happy butt to visit her page, I saw that Polar was the name of her dog...a Great Dane.

Seeing his picture - especially one where he's curiously looking at the leaves on trees - made miss Chassis more acutely than I have in the recent past.

Polar's Mom wrote a post today - about everything that she learned from Polar...and it's beautiful. If you're a dog person, I encourage you to read it. 

It got me thinking about my own dog and what I can learn from her.

I've said it before, but Chassis was 2 when she started being really unstable on her feet.  At first, we thought it was Wobbler's (which is what Polar suffered from), but after thousands of dollars of tests, we found that she had a neurological problem.  It started with her trembling as she would lay down.  Then she wouldn't sit...she'd go from standing up to laying down pretty quickly.  In fact, once I realized her reluctance to sit, I never encouraged her to do so again...and that was three years before she died.

She wasn't very healthy ever.  Oh, she had the heart of a champion, but she was just accident prone like no other dog I've been around.  You'd think this would've slowed her down - somehow dampened her zeal to live life to the fullest, but no.

One spring day, she was running at the dog park and I saw her limping after other dogs.  We had been at the park for about 5 minutes at this point.  I went over to her and found that the padding of three of her paws had come off.  There was new paw padding underneath, but it was so raw and tender...and that's what was making her limp.  I took her to the vet immediately and after antibiotics and ointment, they gave strict instructions to wrap each foot and try to get her to not bite at them.  Because she was so tall, she could have the "cone of shame" on and still get to her feet...  The only solution was to wrap her feet and then put a little paw bootie over them so she wouldn't get to them as easily.

So I did that.  And then we visited my mom for Easter...where my sister's dog also was.

My sister's dog is a pit bull mix - weighing in around 40 pounds.  the picture above shows them together.  Yes, that's how big she was.

Anyway, my sister's dog didn't like Chassis playing with her as much as Chassis liked to...so she'd run out a little dog door and stay outside.  Chassis wanted so badly to play with her that she started sticking her head through the same dog door - hoping that miraculously she could shrink down to the size that the little dog was.

Obviously, it didn't work.

It was just Chassis and me for almost 5 years of her life...but then, when we moved in with Joe in April, it became the three of us.  We lived downtown for about the last two months of her life - and during that time, I saw her spirit rise up again and again.

She couldn't run and her endurance wasn't what it used to be.  She'd long since stopped sitting and she shook 100% of the time.  People walking by thought she was cold or scared, because she trembled so much.  She couldn't help it.  But she loved the walks downtown.  She got to smell all the good spots and got to meet literally hundreds of people.  Everywhere we'd walk, jaws would drop and people would approach us to pet her.  She was 42" from her shoulders to the ground - a tall dane for sure - and the comments of  "That's not a dog, that's a horse!" followed us more often than not.  People asked to take pictures with her and asked if they could pet her.  I'm sure that at first it was due to her size, but after the initial shock wore off, they'd inevitably comment on how soft her ears were or how kind and sweet her eyes were.

The thing is, I've never seen homeless people react to anything the way they reacted to her.  Maybe I could've been scared about it, but they'd come up and she gave them the respect that they didn't seem to get from anyone else.  Homeless people are people too - and she seemed to understand that eye contact is something that they didn't get often.  She'd lean on them just as she would a Wall Street banker...everyone deserves a little affection.

One day an old man came up to me and asked me a lot of questions about her.  He eventually disclosed that he was a photographer...or at least that he used to be...before his Parkinson's made it more difficult to hold the camera steady.  I explained that that was kind of what Chassis had - a neurological problem that made her shake all the time.

The man got tears in his eyes, leaned down and hugged her - saying "See Chassis?  You understand what it's like, don't you?"  She looked at him and wagged her tail.  I like to think that she did know exactly what he was going through.

He wrote down his name on one of his old postcards and offered to take a picture of her - a dog that touched his heart.

I never called him.  It's one of my biggest regrets.  I thought I had time.  I thought WE had time.

I can't imagine another dog touching me how Chassis did.  She was amazing, patient, and loving.  How often do I exude those characteristics?

She was limited by her medical problems, but she did what she could.  

I'm sure she was uncomfortable...but she sucked it up.  And even at the end, when her eyes were so bloodshot from having not been able to relax, and her muscles so fatigued, she still crawled into my MINI and took the last ride to the vet.  She didn't want to, but I asked her to trust me one last time.  And so she did. 

I think that this feels so powerful to me because the last week or two, I've been so uncomfortable.  I'm cramping pretty much all day long.  And I'm bleeding.  I'm fatigued.  I'm worried.  I'm so ready to get this stupid uterine fibroid out of my system.  I've started to pull away from a lot of social situations...I just don't feel up to it.  Sometimes I feel that this fibroid is draining me more each day.

When I look at Chassis' pictures, I realize that she did what she could.  She embraced each new adventure as a chance to see or do something she hadn't before.  She loved people and pets alike. She never snapped at anyone.  Not once.

I can do that.  I may not be able to do much socially the rest of the year - I certainly won't be able to run.  But I'll do what I can.  And I don't have to take it out on others.

When I need to rest, I will.  When I need comfort, I'll lean on others.  And in the meantime, I'll be optimistic about the future - I'll trust that things will get better and that I'll be taken care of.

And when I get my strength back, I'll make a conscious effort to run the routes that she couldn't.  I'll bake cookies or put together winter care packages for the homeless people in our neighborhood.

And I'll stop to smell/enjoy all the good stuff.

Perseverance

per·se·ver·ance   /ˌpɜrsəˈvɪərəns/ [pur-suh-veer-uhns]: steady persistence in a course of action, a purpose, a state, etc., esp. in spite of difficulties, obstacles, or discouragement.

I have wanted to do a 10K since late last year.  In fact, I had signed up to do a 10K when I was home for Thanksgiving last year, but the race coordinators cancelled it due to lack of interest.

I've been sort of dipping my toes in the idea pool of 10Ks.  Thinking that I should try one and then missing the sign up date and feeling a bit relieved.

I think the reason I do this is that I know that I can run a 5K and I have run 5 miles before, but a 10K?  That just seems SO official.  Like I should be a runner.  Like I should be in shape.

And I'm not in shape.  In fact, when I ran the 4 miles yesterday at lunch, I had to walk for about a mile just to finish it.  I was tired, I was in pain, and I just didn't want to.

The thing is, without telling you all, I already signed up for the 10K.  It's called Fans on the Field (race day is next weekend!) and it's probably one of the coolest 10Ks ever.  See, Denver is lucky enough to have all the major sports teams...hockey, baseball, basketball, football, and (of course) dodgeball.  The 10K will involve us starting out at the football stadium (Invesco Field), running through floor of the Pepsi Center (where the basketball and hockey teams play), running on Coors Field (where our baseball team plays) and then finishing by running on the track of Invesco Field.  There is a lot of change in scenery and they're something about running where thousands of athletes have run before.  I ran the 5K last year and I told myself that I would run the 10K this year.

But that was before I found out about The Deficit. 

Part of me wants to say "Well, crap.  Now that I have this THING inside me, I should just sleep in, eat bonbons, and stop exercising.  Oh poor me! I have a big THING that makes me feel freakish.  Besides, the race is 9 days away - you're not even RUNNING a full 4 miles yet, how are you going to run 6.2?"  But I know that's silly.

I can FEEL the temptation to throw in the towel on the intuitive eating, on running, and on being healthier.  Because right now, I've got a lot of emotions going on.

And I can.  I can quit.  I can take a break in this whole healthy living thing.

But I won't.  Because I can't, not really. 

I read an interesting excerpt the other day on a blog somewhere (if you can recall where, tell me so that I can give credit!) that made the connection between ripening fruit and making the decision to be more in tune with your body; to be healthier.  Basically, it said that just as you can't stop the ripening of a peach, you can't go back to your life as if you don't care about your health any more.  Once you know (in your core) that there is a better way, you can't UN-know.

So that's where I'm at.

I feel this pressure to keep on my path of trying to lose weight.  Of trying to build up my distance or improve my pace in running.  And realistically, I know that I can't do the latter - at least not after October 28th - for a while.  I know that while re-couping, I'm going to be alone in the house.  Where there is food.   That no one will see me eat.

It's like the perfect set up to revert back to my old ways.

I know that that is one choice, one path that I have taken again and again in my life.  The other is to take all the learning and a-ha moments that I've had and say that this healing period will be a chance to do better.

I've had a lot of lessons in the past year.  I've had some quizzes.  But this surgery - the build-up, the healing, and the fall-out?  That's going to be the final exam.

I don't want to look at it as a pass/fail mentality.  But I do want to look at this and realize that this is a great way to look inside myself, with curiosity (rather than judgement) and LEARN to cope in ways other than unhealthy ones.

Which brings me back to the 10K. 

The truth is, I CAN run now.  The truth is, I can finish the race - even if I have to walk part of it.  Who cares?  The truth is, I will feel amazing when I accomplish that goal, just as I did when I accomplished Big Clyde's weekend challenge last weekend.

So, there's kind of only one thing to do.  To continue to ripen.

I'll go to the race.  I'll run when I can and walk when I need to.  But I will finish.

I'll have the pre-op testing and surgery.  And I'll come out of it better (and lighter?).

I'll heal at home and I'll rest my body.  When I feel lonely, I'll take a walk along the 16th Street Mall and enjoy seeing the "diversity" that is downtown.  When I want a change of location, I'll go to the nearby library.   And I'll take up the offers from Audra and Kris to keep me company during some of the time.

I can look at this as a way to go back, hide myself, and bury myself in the old ways of doing things.  OR I can persevere, I can find out what I'm *really* made of and show myself that *I* am worth changing for.

I choose the latter.

Taking the emotion out of eating

What if someone came up and told you that you MUST have 6 hours of sleep each night?  Anything more than that was sheer excess. What if, from when you were a little kid, when you complained of being sleepy, your parents told you that it just meant you were lazy or not dedicated? What if when you got more than 6 hours of sleep, society told you that you were a failure?  What if there was this social stigma on the less sleep you got, the more successful you'd be; the happier you'd be; the better husband you'd catch; the better person you would be.

But what if 6 hours of sleep just isn't enough for your body?  What if, by trial and error, you found that you really needed 8 hours each night?  What if you felt shame about that? 

Wouldn't that be silly?

My relationship with sleep is a good one.  When I don't get enough, I know it.  I drag the next day.  I'm inattentive.  Because I feel so good, so ME when I get the amount of sleep I need, I make getting enough sleep a priority for me.  And if I don't sleep well one night, I think about WHY I didn't sleep well (too hot, too cold, too many loud noises, etc.) and then go about rectifying that so that I will sleep better the next night.

If I get too little sleep one night because I'm hanging out with friends, I know that I will pay for it the next day.  But I also know that sometimes it's worth it.  Sometimes what I'm doing INSTEAD of sleeping is worth the drain of energy.  But I know that I can't do that for many nights in a row.  My body feels miserable when I go without quality sleep for too long.

I really have no judgement about the amount of sleep my body needs.  I'm neutral to it - I just know I need it.

So what if I approached my relationship with food and how I eat with the same energy as my relationship with sleep?

What if, instead of shaming myself that I'm still hungry even though I know that I've had plenty, I just trust my body and eat a bit more?  This is similar to if I had already had 8 hours of sleep and still wanted to sleep a bit more because I was still tired.

What if, instead of eating when I'm no longer hungry, I trust my body's signals and stop?  Just like if I woke up at 6 AM on a weekend and realized I was no longer sleepy and decided to get up.

What if, instead of beating myself up for eating something that was not the healthiest choice, I just moved on - and "made up" for it by making healthier choices the next day?  It's just like getting low on sleep one night and then sleeping a bit more the next day.

What if, instead of looking at food as only a source of pleasure and a way to escape, I looked at food as a way to re-energize myself.  Sleeping and/or taking a nap is decadent, but it's mostly a way to re-energize myself.

What if I didn't judge myself for how much (or little) food I needed to feel satisfied? 

It seems SO simple when I look at it like this.  To me, it was profound, a huge light bulb moment, an AH-HA! moment.

I sleep when I'm tired.  I don't deprive myself of sleep or force myself to sleep to punish myself.  When I've had enough sleep, I simply get up and start my day.  I have a healthy relationship with sleep.

And someday these statements will be true in respect to food, too:
I eat when I'm hungry.  I don't overeat or starve myself to punish myself.  When I've had enough food to feel satisfied, I simply stop eating and continue with my life.  I have a healthy relationship with food.

Maybe you don't have a healthy relationship with sleep.  In that case, I encourage you to think about what you do in your life regularly to take care of yourself that ISN'T a compulsion.  Maybe it's that you brush your teeth, wash your face, shower, shave, or WHATEVER when you need to.  Think about how neutral you are to that activity - how it carries no shame and that you don't do them for emotional reasons.  

Attribute that same energy to your relationship with food and I hope you'll see the same light bulb I did.

So what happens now?

In the musical Evita, there is a song entitled, "Another Suitcase in Another Hall."

The gist of the song is this: Evita goes to Buenos Aires expecting to make it big as an actress, dancer, or anything, and instead gets many rejections.  She asks, "So what happens now?" continually and the people in the song answer back, "another suitcase in another hall...take your picture off another wall...you'll get by you always have before."

And still she continues the cycle - asking what should happen after her most recent rejection...

Until the last time that she asks, "So what happens now?" where a photographer answers back "Don't ask anymore."

It's like the simplest answer, right?

If asking a question repeatedly stresses you out, stop doing it.

All of that was a (probably poorly written) segue into my life.

The past few weeks, as I've been walking past storefront windows (which are everywhere downtown), I've been catching glimpses of myself in the window.  And when I see myself - walking alongside Joe, my sister, friends visiting from out of town, or even one of the homeless people that are always around, I find myself amazed at just how big I look.  I look EVERY time there is a window that I can see my reflection in.  I look, I reflect, I judge, and I self loathe.  That's the cycle.

This morning, I enjoyed a small celebration on the scale - which showed a number lower than what it has been in a week or two.  I've been battling my eating the last several weeks, so seeing a smaller number has been a long time coming.  When I got dressed, I felt smaller, I felt confident, I felt proud of the food choices I have been making.

And yet - on the way to my car, I noticed the window - and the person staring back at me was the same frumpy, fat person she always is.

When I look at the window reflection, I see myself exactly like how I did at my heaviest weight. I look slumpy, with a large waist, and no chin. I look huge, unkempt, and unbelievably fat. I immediately start feeling bad about myself, my looks, and my self confidence plummets.

I'm tired of looking and seeing someone that I was 50 pounds ago.  I'm tired of hearing that critical Voice inside my head telling me that each change, each bite, each decision that I make that is healthier isn't making a difference on the outside.  The Voice tells me that I never will see a smaller reflection, so I might as well give in and live the gluttonous life of the person I resemble.

So what happens now?

I'm determined to change my reaction to the girl in the window reflection.

So what happens now?

I'm determined to life a healthy life - one that nurtures my body, my mind, and my spirit.  I will make positive choices that affect these areas of my life.

So what happens now?

Since I can't seem to see the reflection without judging and hurting my spirit, I'm telling myself, "Don't look anymore."

It was the first of many positive choices that I made and will continue to make today.  I stood up for ME even though it would've been easier to reply the same record.  I made a healthy choice - to let go of the relationship with the girl in the window - after all, she makes me feel bad every time I see her. 

I feel empowered, I feel great, and I feel like I can do this.

So, I ask you...what happens next in your life?

Getting Lucky

Sunday night, Joe and I sat down to watch a movie as we usually do.  The movie, this time, was the 6th in the Harry Potter series. We only got about half way done with the movie before I fell asleep (as I usually do), so we watched more of it last night...but didn't QUITE finish it yet (so please no spoilers).

At any rate, in this movie, Harry wins a potion called "Liquid Luck" that, when it's consumed, gives a lot of luck to the person who drank it.  Later, his best friend Ron is worried about his first game where he's basically the goalie on a team.  So Harry tells him to drink from a goblet before he goes out to the field - and everyone at the table knows that Harry put the Liquid Luck in the cup. 

Sure enough, Ron goes off and does an awesome job defending the goal - thus allowing his team to win the game.

It's only during the after party that Harry reveals to their common friend Hermione that he didn't put the Liquid Luck in Ron's drink.  Therefore all of Ron's saves and moves were his own - he just thought that he was lucky.

We've all heard the question, "What would you do if you knew you couldn't fail?"  And while I think that's a great question to me, it's such a BIG question that I have a problem fathoming the answer.  It seems too powerful and too obscure.

On the other hand, if you came to me and told me that if I only drank a thimbleful of some magical liquid every day that my weight loss efforts would work, I would buy that.  In fact, I'd buy it by the case.

We all want the easy way out, on some level.  The hard part is sticking to any plan for the long haul - am I right?  I think for me, the hardest part is actually believing I COULD do it, that I could be successful.   I've been beaten down by DECADES of yo-yo dieting - showing me that I can't do it, no matter which diet I try.  At least not for long. 

So if I had some magical thing that made me believe that I could do it, I bet I'd be more successful with it.

But what if, just like the Liquid Luck fake-out, I actually have the belief inside me.  What if someone said to me that whatever I decided to do at the beginning of the day is what I would do?  

I'd pick these things to do each day:

Making time to prepare healthy meals.

Taking time to enjoy the meals.

Making time to work out.

Making time to make out. :)

Assessing my hunger levels before, during, and after each meal.

Honoring my body's hunger signals by eating when I am hungry and not eating when I'm not.

Getting enough sleep.

If I could do each of those things on a daily basis, I'd be happy.  Scratch that, I'd be thrilled. 

I think sometimes this whole DIET thing seems so huge.  It seems like something that we HAVE to tackle - it's like a giant beast.  When in reality, we could probably just boil it down to a few goals each day.  That makes me believe that it's doable.

AND that?  That feels like magic.

I don't wanna' grow up...

For years, I volunteered as a "teacher" for Vacation Bible School at the church I was a member of.  I LOVED volunteering for the 4, 5, and 6 year olds...as that is the age (in my opinion) where their personalities really start coming out.

For instance, one time, I asked the class what they were most thankful for.  I prompted them, "What/who do you really love?"

And a little boy promptly raised his hand and said, "PIGS!  I love pigs!"  I asked, "The things you're most thankful for - in all the world - are pigs?"  His emphatic nod followed.

It was one of the cutest things ever.

Anyway, during said VBS classes, we always had a snack time.  Usually it would be raisins, fresh fruit, or their favorite - goldfish crackers.  My assistant and I would pour them into little tiny Dixie cups...usually only half full.

And these kids would SAVOR the heck out of the treat.  They'd pick up the goldfish, laugh at it, remark at the colors (we usually had the packages that contained multi-colored crackers), line them up in some sort of order, and then put one in their mouth to chew slowly.  They'd swallow the ONE goldfish.  Then they'd crack a joke with their nearby neighbor, smile, giggle, and would eventually get around to eating another goldfish.

I'm telling you, the fifteen minutes we had for snack time were never enough.  Few kids had eaten their whole snack when snack time was up.  And to be clear, we're talking about 15 goldfish - at the max - per kid.

This memory hit me yesterday, as I was eating blueberries in our kitchen.  I was having a snack and was eating these without really tasting them, without savoring them.

I decided to take a lesson from these kids...

I sat down.  I put about a half cup of blueberries onto my napkin and picked up each berry to admire it before I popped it in my mouth.  I enjoyed the whole sensation of eating them...the burst of flavor when my teeth pierced through the skin, how some were more tart than others, and how some were a bit mushier than others.

Eating one blueberry at a time sure took longer.  But in the end, I was more satisfied than had I rushed through the entire experience.

I think that's what mindful eating means to me - being aware and appreciative of the food that is in your mouth.  Being thankful for all of the hands that touched the food before it got to your plate...for all of the farmers, irrigation specialists, truckers, and grocers. 

I used to be one of those people who would say that I was fat because I really enjoyed food.  I DO enjoy food.  But I find that I enjoy it more when I slow down and taste all of the flavors in the food.  Complex dishes are more amazing when I taste as many of the individual flavors as I can.  Cheeses are creamier and more luxurious.  Fresh veggies are more enjoyable.  If I really love food, why not show it by reveling in the tastes, textures, and loveliness of it?

This week, you won't get any huge, complex goals out of me - sure I want to continue to lose weight, but I think I'll go back to the basics.

I want to enjoy the food I eat.  I don't want to eat things that taste icky.  I want to take time with my food.  I want to decrease my typical frantic pace of eating and actually TASTE my food. 

Just like a child.

Life really isn't fair

I had a great talk with my best friend last night. She is smart, pretty, and creative. She makes good money. She's married to a guy who adores her, who also makes great money. Her life, from the outside, looks great.

But she and her husband have been trying to get pregnant for over a year.

The irony is, although she's been married for 6 years, she didn't even start trying until last year. She wasn't sure that they really could do a good job at having kids...so she did a ton of research and soul searching and finally came to the conclusion that having kids is what they truly wanted and something that they thought they could do well. It was a responsible, pragmatic way to go about it.

But she still can't get pregnant.

And within the last few months, she's found out that her only two siblings are pregnant. AGAIN. Truthfully, her two siblings are making some choices that are pretty poor. These new babies are going to have their work cut out for them because they're going to have to overcome a lot just to have a successful outlook on life.

She's been struggling with it - the fairness of it. It isn't fair.

Last night she told me that she has a new perspective. And that is this:
Fairness is disproportionate sometimes.

Lemme' 'splain. See, her siblings can look at her life and say that it isn't fair that she has such a loving husband while they have spouses that aren't as supportive or doting. Her siblings can say that it isn't fair that she was gifted with a sharp mind - one that allowed her to go through school without much effort - while they struggled through school and eventually dropped out. Her brain is responsible for her graduating as an engineer, which got her a great job, where she met her husband. That's not really fair either.

I reflected on her statement and thought about the things in my life that aren't fair.

It isn't fair that I have a slow metabolism.

It isn't fair that I'm 33, not married, and without kids. Because of some unfair life events, I may never be able to get pregnant... or if I do, I will be in the high risk category - both for my baby and myself.

It isn't fair that food is a drug that I've learned to use...and one that I have a hard time shaking free from.

It isn't fair that I was molested as a kid, had a physically abusive high school boyfriend, and a verbally insensitive boyfriend as an adult.

It isn't fair that I have giant boobs that makes running difficult sometimes.

It isn't fair that I had a dad that didn't want kids and while he was always lived in the same house as us, he wanted nothing to do with us.

It isn't fair that, at 33, I still get zits and that I have a big forehead (some might call it a fivehead!).

And it SURE isn't fair that my knees are going to be fat, no matter how healthy I get. This has always been the case - no matter what size I've been.

BUT I was also blessed with a sharp mind and attention to detail, which has made me good at every job I've had. I'm reasonably attractive (at least I don't think people vomit when they see me). I have a proportionate/hourglass shape to my body. I've met a man that really loves me, who has taught me great things about myself and about what it is like to be in a healthy relationship. I'm living in a town that I've wanted to live in ever since my family left it (when I was 7). I've never been cheated out of money, like Katy has. I've never had to start over from scratch. And I (knock on wood) have never had to experience the hardships of being a single mom. I've never been laid off. Both of my parents are still alive and my little sister is one of my greatest friends.

My mom always told me to count my blessings when I started feeling sorry for myself. And while that worked sometimes, I guess putting it in the fair vs. not-fair light really helps it bring home the lesson that she was probably trying to teach me.

Rather than looking at God as as this all knowing father figure that bestows blessings on some people and hardships on another, I can see this may be something that is more chance than anything else. Fairness, or lack thereof, isn't meant to punish. So, I'm not being punished by having fat knees, freckles, a propensity to turn to chocolate before other comforts, and for not having a husband and kids yet (if ever). Those are just the times in my life when I happened to get the shorter straw.

And somehow, boiling it down to facts or randomness, makes the things that I wished were different in my life more tolerable.

So no, life isn't fair.

But now that I have this new perspective, I'm not sure I mind the unfairness as much as I did before.

Scar Tissue

A few weeks ago, Joe and I took a much needed trip to Steamboat Springs, Colorado. On the trip, we decided to take a hike, which was a great idea in theory but involved a lot more sweat and movement than I had originally thought.

Anyway, it was gorgeous. There were waterfalls, a river, birds, flowers, and trees. Did I mention the beautiful trees? There were all types (says the person who knows nothing about trees) and they were absolutely beautiful.

The ones that struck me as significant, though, were the aspens.


Apparently, aspens aren't like other trees...and one of the ways that this is true is how they handle people carving into them.

They develop a kind of scar tissue - and it's the strangest thing I've ever seen. They develop a harder bark around the wound - maybe to heal it from the pain and protect it from the elements? The bark in these areas is obviously still a part of the tree, but it's nothing like the smooth, white bark that surrounds the carvings. In fact, the new scar bark is actually harder than the original bark.

But as I continued to gasp for air reflect along the hike, it hit me that I have a lot to learn from these trees.

I have no doubt that any living thing hurts when something damages it. These trees didn't deserve the damage and hurt done to them. They were just beautiful and innocent. Someone came along and did something selfish. Someone else saw evidence of the pain of the aspen and didn't care. In fact, they added to it.

The aspens? They don't forget...not completely. Each person's mark leaves a significant impression. They are changed forever - scarred.

But they don't stop growing. Even as they heal the old wounds with harder bark, they grow taller with the same soft and supple white bark as they always have. The new growth at the top isn't hardened just because they've been hurt by the other people's transgressions.

The aspens soothe their wounds and yet keep on growing as beautifully as they were before the pain. They don't forget the pain, but they move on. They're changed irrevocably, but they keep going. They were wronged, but they don't let it hold them back from living the best life they can.

So why shouldn't I behave in the same way?

They're just numbers (take 2)

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how I started to realize that numbers don't define me, my happiness, or my enjoyment.

Well, this past week, I lost 0.2 pounds.

I've recently realized that I don't care much about what the scale says. I'm still weighing in - mostly because it's a way to benchmark where I've been and a firm way to measure progress. But I guess as long as the general trend shows downward, I don't really care what the individual week by week losses or gains are. Basically, for me, the scale has turned into being a tool that reflects back what I already know. If I gain weight in a week, I know it for the most part. I know when I've eaten portions that are more than what I should be having. I know when I've not been exercising. And I know when I feel healthy.

The loss of "only" 0.2 indicates the extra Halloween candy I had last week while at work. It shows how I did ZERO exercise last week. ZERO! And with the boyfriend gone, I had many opportunities to exercise, but I just didn't.

I guess what I'm surprised about is that I'm not taking the weight loss personally. I'm not really tied emotionally to that number.

It used to be that when I'd have losses that were big or any gain, it immediately affected my mood. Now I just look at the numbers and am aware of what I need to do to either repeat that loss/gain or change it. It's a tool for feedback - nothing more.

It's like the average miles per gallon readout on my car. If I want to get higher MPG, I need to decrease my aggressive driving. That's it. Crying about it doesn't help. Being mad about it doesn't help and beating myself up over it DEFINITELY doesn't help.

It's data.

For me, I think that this realization is key. Now don't get me wrong, I definitely still want to reach my goal by my birthday next year. And I'd LOVE to pass the 55.6 (which is halfway to my goal) by Halloween.

I've figured out that having and reaching benchmarks are just measurable gauges that help pontificate the immeasurable changes that are going on.

Perspective

Something happened this past week.

I gained.

Well, actually, I gained a few things. One is weight. The other is perspective.

See, I'm not quite sure what happened, but I guess my feelings these days are something akin to laziness...where I'm not devastated or thrilled with my life - I'm living somewhere in the middle. Things are fine. And when they're not, that's okay too.

Having lived my life in the valleys and peaks, it's a little weird to find myself on a plateau.

So, really, two things from this past week:
1) I gained weight although not a lot of it was due to emotionally eating. A lot of it was due to me simply having lost focus of what the goal was. The scale said last night at WW that I was up 3.2 pounds. And I have to say that I've had a lot of weeks where I *have* gained 3.2 pounds (or more) but last week was not one of those weeks. It might be water retention, might be any number of things...but I know that that number isn't accurate. One thing is for certain, that number will change this next week.
2) I wonder if this is how life is supposed to be. It's not that I'm devoid of emotion...it's that it's in perspective. The inner anxiety that I've felt for a long time is sort of gone right now.

In other news, I am excited because a book that I have been looking forward to getting finally arrived on my doorstep. It's Pema Chodron's "Taking the Leap: Freeing Ourselves from Old Habits and Fears."

My hope is that my calm state of mind will be exactly what I need to take in as much as possible from this book.

I'm excited about the changes that I'm certain WILL happen. It's just that my excitement is in a calm and balanced way now. Is it confidence? Is it trusting myself? Is it peace with others?

I don't know. One thing is for certain, it's a bit of alright.

Literally a life changing epiphany

Let's get a couple of things straight. I am a female. I was born a female. And I SWEAR this post is about weight loss. What I'm about to write is a concept that is literally changing my life. I hope you'll think so too - you just have to hear me out.

But, I have a small penis. SORT OF.

Let me back up - I promise this will make sense in due time.

I listen to a podcast each week. For those that don't know, a podcast is like an out-loud version of a newspaper column. It can be live, although the one that I listen to isn't. The podcast that I download is Dan Savage's Lovecast. It's a sex advice podcast.

At any rate, a month or so ago, a girl called in saying that her boyfriend told her that he had a small penis. And she was all concerned about this - in fact, after dating for quite a while, she still wasn't even allowed to see it or touch it. But boy did she hear about it all the time! She said that he blamed past break-ups on his small penis and he was concerned that she would think it was too small too. She called for help on how to handle the situation, specifically how to make him feel better about the small penis.

Dan gave her some great advice on how this girl could help him feel more open to sharing himself with her. He gave her great tips on how to be considerate and how to help his ego. A week later another caller called in to give her advice - and it was this: RUN AWAY NOW. She pleaded the caller to bail now before getting any deeper. Not because males with small penises can't get the job done, but because EVERYTHING would be blamed on this small penis - and this is key - whether he actually has one or not. See, no matter what (according to her) they would break up because of his penis - not because it couldn't function as it should - but because he was so sensitive about it, that she'd get tired of hearing about it and eventually wouldn't want to deal with it at all.

I let that podcast marinate - and I realized that I have a small penis of my own.

It's my weight.

All my adult life, I've expected the guys I've dated to bail on me because I was heavier than other girls. I would say self-defacing things from time to time and the guys that I dated would always try to build me up... But all the while, I had convinced myself that it was only a matter of time before the guy dumped me. Eventually he would realize that I was simply too fat for him. When the sex seemed to dry up (not by my choice) I remembered saying, "Look. I get it. You can't help it if you're not attracted to me. I understand." I had convinced myself before there was even a problem that there WOULD be a problem.

It has occurred to me that while they may not have been bothered by my weight at first, it became this THING that I was worried about a lot of the time. If they were short with me at some point, that was okay - because after all, I was fat - or didn't they notice? They were checking out other girls? Who could blame them...they're with a fatty. I have felt this way my entire adult life - whether I was 10 pounds overweight or 100 pounds overweight. It's my self-made, go-to, automatic self-hating and self-fulfilling prophecy.

I just KNEW that the guys would leave me because of my weight. And eventually, I think they did - because I made it an issue. An issue that no amount of catering to me and no amount of consolation would fix. It was my very own small penis.

But here's the thing that was key for me. The second lady that called in said that he may not even HAVE a small penis. That's right. He may not have a small penis in reality... but since he's so convinced that he does, the small penis IS his reality.

Like I said, this thought process is literally changing my life.

What if I'm really not that fat? What if, even with weight left to lose, I can love myself for what who I am? What if I can let go of the fatty-stigma that has plagued me all during my life? What if I can experience unconditional love with myself? Well, I'm not entirely sure what that reality would be like, but how could it possibly be worse than the one that I'm living now?

I don't have to let my weight weigh me down. I don't have to let it sabotage another relationship. If the guy cheats or doesn't want to hold my hand in public, it's HIS problem. Not mine. If the guy doesn't want sex with me, that's HIS frickin' issue. There is nothing WRONG with my body. My body was made to be loved - literally and figuratively.

I'm seeing myself in a new light. And it feels so good!