Pilates Sucks Ass

Pilates class number two this evening. Last week was beginner’s luck, or the honeymoon, or the calm before the storm, or some other metaphor that would capture just how incredibly, suckingly sucky class was tonight. I felt like a giant, fat flailing infant, unable to even hold my head up correctly. The instructor didn’t talk to me at all tonight, which made me feel as if she had totally given up on me and was just going to let me roll around back there as long as I appeared to still be breathing. I said something to that effect after class to my friend J, who came with me. She wisely pointed out that I was all embarrassed last week because I got a pointer from the instructor, and this week I was all sad because I didn’t. What do you want? she asked. Good question. What I want is to be 70 lbs thinner and really fit. Failing that, I guess what I want is the courage to keep showing up and sucking, until I suck no longer.

Here’s one bit of goodness, though, to keep me slogging through the suck. I went shopping for grey pants Sunday. In the past, I’ve been about a size 22, but I could get into certain 20’s if they were stretchy or cut right. On Sunday, I tried on about 10 pairs of pants in a bunch of different cuts, fabrics, brands, etc., and I was a size 20 in all of them! And not even a tight size 20, but a comfortable, right-in-the-middle-of-the-range size 20. Woo-hoo! It’s not a lot of change, but I’ve also been eating like crazy (fodder for a future post, I believe), so it’s gotta be the exercise. Exercise, you’re a nasty beeyotch, but I might decide to keep you around.

Weekly Weigh-In, and Being OK with Being Not That OK

Starting weight: 240
Current weight: 232
Change this week: -1
Total change: -8

Well. Color me shocked. To have lost a pound after the week I’ve had is a miracle indeed. I feel as if my body is trying to take good care of me, in spite of my utter lack of regard for its well-being. Thank you, body. I will try to treat you well in return, and I apologize for what I’ve been doing to you lately.

I started to write “it’s been a tough week.” In reality, it’s been a tough 2007 thus far, though most of the things that have happened have happened to loved ones rather than to myself directly. I have friends coping with injuries that seem to be in the process of becoming chronic, marital infidelity and broken relationships, pregnancies that are not going well…the list goes on. I’ve been relatively lucky so far, with my only woes to date being the job that I did not get this week and some tough-ish times with my father. But I’ve become aware lately of the cost of supporting my loved ones while they go through these things. Not that I am complaining—I feel lucky to be able to be there to help out and listen and do whatever else I can do. But I can feel a certain amount of chronic stress building up.

I am a person, as I’ve said before, who really, really likes to feel competent and unflappable. Bulletproof, even. Go ahead, throw anything at me! I can take it! I will be there, with my compassionate, ever unshakable and ever wise self, ready to listen and to offer feedback. Oh, and I’ll do stuff around the house for you as well! And none of it will affect me in the least. Other than I’ll, you know, feel appropriately sorry for you.

But it does affect me. A good friend of mine (and one of the above-referenced women for whom 2007 has thus far been a big kick in the ass) said recently “When I was a kid, one of the things I never realized about being a grownup was that sometimes you have to work really hard to be OK.” She’s right. I’m just starting to admit to myself that I’m having to work really hard to be OK these days.

I was at a good-bye party last night for a friend who is leaving town to move out to the west coast. He’s never been happy in the Midwest and I am certain that he will never be back here. He’s someone I’ve become very close to, and I found myself nearly strangled with tears from the moment I saw him at the party last night. I’m starting to cry now, just writing about it. I was sort of amazed at the strength of my grief…I mean, there’s email, there are planes, we’ll probably run into each other at conferences, etc. etc. etc. I think, though, that my sadness is about so much more than just losing my friend. It is about that, of course, but it’s also about all the stress and sadness that I’ve been denying in myself the last six months. Saying goodbye to him just gently tipped me over the top, and I can no longer tell myself how very OK I am right now. I mean, I am OK, in the sense that I can still function at work and socialize and do the things I need to do in my daily life. I will be OK, in the sense that at some point life will feel easier than it does right now. But if I’m truthful with myself, my heart’s not OK. It is bruised and sad, and it needs me to recognize and honor that.

So. My goal this week is to be honest with myself, and to be honest with you all, and to stop pretending that it’s all good and that I am the very goodest of them all. Granted, it’s not a diet-specific goal, but I believe that learning to be honest with myself and not needing to be a perfect vision of infallibility all the time can only help me need the comfort of food less.

Somebody Should Get a Prize...

I had my 1000th visitor this morning, according to my site meter. That's kinda cool. Well, whoever you were, thanks for visiting and taking a peek around. And thanks, of course, to those of you who come and visit often, leave your sweet and supportive comments and remind me that I'm not alone in my lurching and flailing path.

Not much time for a real post today, but I'll write some more tomorrow. It's been a long week on multiple fronts. I found out yesterday that I didn't get a job that I thought I was quite well suited for. I'm more surprised than hurt, as it wasn't a job that I was all that excited about, but it raises questions about my interviewing skills, among other things. Not a fun experience, being passed over, but I'll live. Mission Eat-Healthy has been on hold this week as well.

Anyway, more tomorrow. I'm off to make fruit salad for a party. Have a happy Saturday!

If I do Nothing Else...

I can still post.

I’m forcing myself to do that, actually. I just kind of hit a wall today, speaking in terms of motivation and self-discipline. I had lunch plans and had my lunch all packed, but then my plans changed. So I ended up in the work cafeteria, and the salad bar was awful looking. So, what did I have? Fried chicken, a biscuit and baked beans. Then, on the way home, I was hypoglycemic and cranky due to my crap lunch, and I stopped at the grocery store for dinner. Plan: buy a rotisserie chicken and some broccoli. Plan as executed: bought rotisserie chicken, broccoli, thai peanut wrap and package of cinnamon coffee cake. Got home, ate the wrap and nibbled all the cinnamon parts of the coffee cake and threw the rest away.

The truth ain’t pretty, people.

Sigh. Nor is my state of mind right now. I feel whiny, full of excuses and rationalizations and empty of optimism. I’m also wanting to work up some compassion for myself, but I vascillate between saying to myself “It’s OK. Your life is hard right now,” and saying “Your life is always going to be hard. That’s the way life is. DEAL WITH IT.”

This entry sucks to write. Yet it feels so important. I am a person who works so very hard to appear as if I have it all under control. I come across as confident and basically unflappable, as I’ve been told many times. I HATE to confess feelings of inadequacy, confusion, hopelessness or helplessness. And yet that small secret voice we all have whispers exactly those things to me. When my friends and I would sit around and moan about our insecurity and inadequacy in graduate school, I would moan along with them, but inside I would be thinking “They don’t know how reallyreallyreallyreally true it is for me. I am such a fake, such a total, faking faker they can’t even imagine.” And yet on the outside, I am the one that everyone comes to, and everyone trusts with their hard stuff, and everyone applauds as strong and kind and unfailingly fail-proof.

So here I am, writing the hardest kind of thing for me to write, which is an entry about feeling like a melted, gooey puddle of self-improvement failure. And I know all the words; I know all the stuff I leave in comments on other people’s blogs about how it’s a journey, and it’s all about putting one foot in front of the other, and when you fall down or get lost or get distracted you just gather yourself up again and just take that one step. And then some more steps.

Those are good words; they are words that I believe, even if they seem like words for someone else tonight. So. I took a step. I cleaned the meat off of the previously mentioned rotisserie chicken, and I made a healthy lunch for tomorrow.

Weekly Weigh-In, and Mini-Goals for the Week

Starting weight: 240
Current weight: 228
Change this week: -1.5
Total change: -12

OK, I’m cheating a little here. Official weigh-in day is Sunday, and this morning I actually weighed 229.5. However, I also weighed in on Friday morning, and the scale showed 228. So, I’m going with that.

I had the thought this week that maybe I should be keeping track of measurements as well, as I can feel my shape changing a little, and that would be a nice source of motivation. I have been too lazy to do so as of yet, but I could probably get myself to do it every couple of weeks. I think I’ll make that a mini-goal.

I’m getting a little impatient about the slow pace of my weight loss. Don’t get me wrong—I’m happy about it, it’s going in the right direction, it took a long time to pack all of this lard on, and it’ll take a while to get it off, etc. etc. etc. I do know all that, and reminding myself of it is helpful. The hard thing, though, is that I’m comparing my nearly-41-year-old, perimenopausal self to the comparative weight-loss machine I was six years ago. Back then, my metabolism was a little zippier, I was more energetic and I was less achy. I was also in the middle of graduate school, and while that was stressful and demanding, my schedule was more variable and allowed for things like walks in the middle of the day and more meals eaten at home. Because I started at a lower weight, walking (my fave exercise) was easier for me from the start, too.

The aches and pains thing is both a motivator and a challenge for me. I look at myself, with my tendency toward plantar faciitis, chronically cranky knees and the occasional twinge of lower back pain, and I’m horrified. People my age are not supposed to be in chronic pain, even if, as in my case, it’s annoying rather than debilitating. This makes me want to take better care of myself, given that I hope to be around for the next 40-50 years, and I don’t want those years to be lived riding around on a motorized scooter or recovering from joint-replacement surgery.

But…I also use those aches as an excuse. There is no escaping the fact that for weight loss and better health, I need to get up and move this bulk around. There are plenty of things I could do that would be lower-impact than walking, if that’s what would be most comfortable for now. Anything that would get me moving would be good: a yoga class, some swimming, a Curves membership… A friend and I have discussed hiring a personal trainer together, as that somehow seems less intimidating.

Good ideas, all. I am so full of excuses, though, that I can feel my mind generating them as I type. I’m just going to write them all out, so that we can all share a good laugh together at the lameness that is my thinking around this issue:

• I get home too late to take walks in the evening. (No, you don’t. You get home at about 7:30 on Mondays, but otherwise you’re home by 6:30 most nights, and it’s light until about 8:00 these days)

• I need to lose more weight first so that I won’t further injure my knees/feet when I walk. (Not really. There are loads of things you could do that would allow you to be active but would not add to the jackhammering your feet and joints get daily just from carrying you around.)
  

• Curves is lame. (How do you know? You’ve never been to one)

• Curves doesn’t have the range of stuff that I might want to do for exercise. (Like sitting on the couch? That seems to be your activity of choice these days, and it’s true that Curves probably does not offer that one.)
  

• A “real” gym would be too intimidating. (How do you know? You’ve never been to one. Are you thinking that people go to the gym specifically to watch out for insecure fat people and mock their feeble attempts to work out?)

• A personal trainer would get impatient with my weak, out-of-breath, out-of-shape, general lack of physical awesomness. (Right, because personal trainers only want to be bothered with folks who are already registered for the Ironman Triathlon and just want to fine-tune their workout regimen a little. And God forbid you should try anything at which you are not already completely awesome.)
  

• Choosing to exercise will be easier once I don’t weigh as much. (Exercising itself may be a little easier, but choosing to exercise will be exactly the same struggle it is right now. Get used to that and figure out how to get over it.)

Hmph.

Well. All private whining (now made public for your reading enjoyment) aside, this exercise thing is a wall I need to find a way over. Some mini-goals are in order:

• Take the stairs at work this week.

• Take a walk after work at least two times. I’m not specifying any particular distance. For this week, success will consist of putting on the sneaks and hitting the sidewalk.

• Start recording measurements.

Have a good week, everyone!

Weekly Weigh-In, Week Whatever

Starting weight: 240
Current weight: 235.5
Change this week: +6
Total change: -4.5

Six pounds. Six pounds gained over the course of four days of unprincipled eating. My body amazes me sometimes. I choose to believe that it’s mostly water weight, so just go with me on that one, OK? A girl needs her denial sometimes.

Here’s the good news, though. My goal, if you’ll remember, was to eat calmly. I didn’t define that concept very well when I wrote about it, but what I meant was that I was not going to allow my emotions to define what or how much I ate. In that, I was successful. I did eat a lot, and I ate plenty of things that were off plan, and I drank quite a bit of alcohol and I didn’t drink enough water. However, I never ate to the point of being stuffed, and I never did what I was afraid I was going to do, which was to leave my father at the hotel and drive by McDonald’s and/or Taco Bell and/or wherever else to comfort myself. This in and of itself feels great.

Lest I get too sunny here, I also need to say that I’m kind of afraid. In the past, I’ve lost the same 10 lbs a bunch of times, and I’m scared that I can no longer get beyond that 10 lb mark for some reason. I’m trying to be rational and remind myself that I did this once before, and I had the same fears then. But I was able to do it. The fear remains, however, and it’s something I need to grapple with and get beyond.

Sigh. This is a topic for a longer post, and I have many things to do this evening. For now, I’m back on the wagon, doing my best John Wayne imitation and fixin’ to get tough on this eatin’ thang (thanks, Squilla, for that whole John Wayne image! I’m working on my low-carb swagger. Maybe I need some chaps).

Guess Who's Coming to Dinner...

…and staying for the whole weekend? My dad. I live here in the Midwest, where I’ve settled post-graduate school, and he lives in Colorado, in the same house where I grew up from the age of 10 on. Those 1200 miles between us feel about right to me. I get home to visit about twice a year, once over the winter holidays and once for his birthday in mid-summer. I often try to combine my visit with that of one or both of my brothers, one of whom lives part of the year in Colorado as well and part of the year in Italy, and the other of whom lives in Tanzania. So I’m rarely there alone with my father, which works well for me.

When I’m with him, I feel uglier, fatter, more ashamed, less competent and less confident than at any other time in my life. His heart would break to hear this, but it’s true. He was the one that first delivered the news to me that I was fat, 35 years ago now, and he’s never let up. He’s never bothered to hide the fact that he finds me…well, lacking in some ways that he deems critical for the females in his family. In particular, he is distressed by my weight, but also by my general lack of feminine pizzazz.

This is the man who once suggested, in all sincerity, that perhaps I ought to check with some women to see if they can teach me how to wear scarves and jewelry and things, so that I could maybe snazzy up my look a little. This is the man who has been so ashamed of my looks in the past that he felt the need to prepare some old family friends in advance for my appearance when we went to see them for a visit after many years. I never would have known but for the wife of the couple, who told me that my father had taken pains to tell them how big I’d gotten so that they would not be surprised (I weighed around 200 at that point). She said “I was ready for you to weigh 400 lbs from the way he was describing you.” This is the man who would talk rapturously about the handsomeness of my brothers (which they are—no argument there) and then say “And you, Luna…(long significant pause while he fishes for something not-too-brutal to say), you could be as attractive as you’ve a mind to be.” Good catch, Pop. All of this is just a willful rejection of societal beauty ideals. I just FEEL like being overweight and soul-crushingly self-conscious.

This is the man who taught me that I just wasn’t good enough. He was my first mirror, and I learned from him that mirrors were never going to deliver good news.

I was once at a birthday sleepover when I was about eight. The birthday girl’s grandfather was there, and he took a liking to me. Not in a creepy way, at least not that I remember. He made some mention in passing of my pretty chestnut hair. I was over the moon that someone (and a MAN!) saw something of beauty in me. I came home the next day and, desperate for some little crumb of the same experience from my father, I said something about my hair and its chestnut color. He looked up and said “It’s really more walnut,” and went back to whatever he was doing. Color me crushed. I mean, he’s right. It is more walnut. Actually, it’s the color of espresso beans, should we wish to be precise about this. But I felt like a beggar who held out my tin cup for a donation and got a rock in it.

Guilt compels me to say that he is a generous and loving man as well. He is proud of my accomplishments and proud of what he perceives my personality to be. He loves all three of his children fiercely, and we doubt this not at all. I feel that I should be more able to embrace the good in him. Well, no, that’s not exactly it. I can embrace the good. There is much about him I admire and there’s much that he has done for me and my brothers that I deeply appreciate. I love him.

But the truth remains that my stomach will be in knots and my psyche will be on lockdown until he leaves.

This is Hard

It's been a challenging week. Lots of eating out, lots of craving things that will not be healthy for me, lots of feeling cranky. I keep thinking "What if it's always this hard? What if I have to fight this fight every day in order to get and stay thinner and healthier?" It's an overwhelming feeling, and it makes me understand why in Alcoholics Anonymous they encourage people to think in terms of "just for today." So that's what I've been trying to do: Just for today I'll eat what I packed for lunch, and nothing else. Just for today I'll say no to the homemade apple cake in the break room, I'll drink plenty of water, I'll choose to eat for health rather than comfort.

But grrrrrrr. It feels hard this week.

I think I've got hormones working against me as well. I caught myself today thinking morosely that my supervisors don't really like me, my coworkers just tolerate me, my friends are growing weary of me, etc. This is usually a sign that I'm PMS'ing, as I'm not usually so prone to such thoughts. It used to be that my period came and went like clockwork, so I had some warning and could sort of predict when I'd be in a crappy, self-pitying mood. Since entering my 40's, though, things have gotten really irregular on the monthy cycle front, and it's anybody's guess as to when the hormonal tide will turn. The zits, the crankiness, the cravings...well, I'd say the tide it is a-turning just about now.

That's all for now, I guess. This feels hard, but I'm still doing it. I've managed to stay on-plan all week thus far, and the toughest of it is over. I've managed to negotiate the situations that challenged me, and now I just have to manage ME.