Final Destination: SUCCESS

My mind works against me.

I think I'm doing well. I know I'm making progress. And I start to feel really good about how far I've come. And then it happens...

I catch a glimpse of myself in an unfamiliar mirror. Or someone takes a candid photo that gets plastered on Facebook, and I didn't have time to suck anything in, or turn my best side towards the camera...

And in an instant, all my mental progress comes crashing down.

I start feeling like I'll never reach goal. I start thinking of desperate measures that will show progress more quickly (but do more damage in the long run). And in the next thought, I think, What's the use?

I want to cry.

I want to give up.

I want to be there already.

But I'm not.

And I know, realistically, that I will never be there if I detour off this road.

So I'll stay here. And I'll put one foot in front of the other, even when it hurts. Even when I'm feeling so emotionally and mentally exhausted that it physically hurts to move at all, I will take a step forward.

Because even if I'm moving slow, as long as I'm making progress, I'm on the right track.

And if I stay on the right track, and don't give up, I will eventually reach my destination.

C25K, Plateaus and Boobs

Well, if I had actually decided to stick with the C25K program that I started back in April (see last post), I'd be a runner by now. But I didn't. So I'm not.

I have a hard time sticking with things. Like eating right. And working out. And this blog.

So I'm thinking about getting back to it. I may not consistently stick with things, but I will keep going back to things. Even the bad things. Like exes. And tequila.

Anyway.

I've been doing pretty well lately, even without being a runner. I have been faithfully logging my food at My Fitness Pal (I'm suemar74 if you decide to join...look me up). I've been working out about five days a week, on average. And I think I'm down ten pounds...now...after I suffered through a month long plateau where the scale didn't budge.

Plateaus suck. I'm pretty sure they're the Scale God's way of saying, "I'm bored. Let's f*** with someone."

Stupid Scale God.

But I got through it.

My goal was to be back to 150 (the weight I was when I quit smoking) on October 30th (my two year anniversary of quitting smoking). I'm not going to make it. But I'm going to be damn close, and damn close is good enough for me.

On Saturday, I'm going to do my Making Strides Against Breast Cancer walk in Crawfordsville. I love that walk. It's for a great cause and if you would like to donate (click here), I will love you forever. I'm still short on making my goal, but it feels good to know I'm helping even a little bit.

I have promised myself that someday I will do an actual run for Breast Cancer Awareness. Which brings me back to becoming a runner. And starting the Couch to 5K program.

Today. Maybe tomorrow. No...today.

(sigh) Soon. Very soon.



photo credit: lusi/sxc.hu

Starting the Couch To 5K - Day One

With a little help from some friends, I have decided I need a specific goal to work towards as far as my weight loss and health gain is concerned. It was suggested to me to try a marathon. That, of course, would be perfect. It is a very specific goal, running is one of the best ways to lose weight and gain health, I already have what I need to start running, so it fits my meager budget. There's only one problem...

I'm not a runner.

I never have been. Even in school, before I destroyed my lungs with years of smoking (I quit, by the way...and yes, I'm still clinging to that accomplishment as one of the most fan-freaking-tastic things I've ever done in my life.) I wasn't a runner. In gym class, I would run for a little bit and then walk and watch, red-faced and out of breath, as faster classmates passed me and were already walking off the stitch in their side at the finish line. In high school, I told my PE teacher that I couldn't run because I wasn't wearing a support bra that day. Avoiding any eye contact with my chest, they just shook their heads and walked away, which is what I was going for. I was awesome at excuses in high school. It was one of the few things I was good at in high school.

Now, I'm in my late thirties, and I'm still not a runner. And I still have a large chest, but I do have support bras. And there's no one to make excuses to except myself. It's hard to bullshit yourself. I really have to work at it.

So I've decided to try the Couch to 5K training program. I've been walking on the treadmill for a few months now. But as any one with two legs will tell you, walking ain't running.

For the first week of training. I was supposed to do a brisk walk for 5 minutes, then alternate with 60 seconds of jogging, then 90 seconds of walking for a total of twenty minutes. I made it ten. Ten itty-bitty minutes. My legs started to burn, so I thought, That's good. That means I'm doing something right. I'll run through the pain.

Then the pain said, Oh no, you won't.

I had to stop. I had to stop and force myself to walk it off and not collapse in a heap on the floor, whimpering and crying like a baby.

Then I went to lift weights and do my stability ball exercises so I didn't feel like a complete failure.

I'm not giving up, though. I am still going to try to morph myself into a runner...

It just may take a while.



Photo Credit: arinas74/sxc.hu

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall...

I had a profound thought today...

I like myself well enough the way that I am, but I know myself well enough to know I can be better.

Well, it was profound for me, anyway.

I like myself, for the most part, but I can also fall into a trap of negative thinking. I need to work on liking myself more.

I can be going along, fine with my day, but then I will catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My eye will catch the bra bulge and back fat. I will see the love handles and saddle bags. I will NOT see a definite jaw line because of the second chin and excess jowl that has appeared.

Then I will fall into my "why bother?" frame of mind. Then I will binge.

That's my cycle. Vicious, ain't it?

But it's fixable. I know it is. I know if I can like who I am, I will treat myself better. I'm good to people I like. And I know what's good for me. Treating myself to a bag of cheesy puffs isn't good.

And while I'm working on my mindset, I am also working on the physical me. I have started eating cleaner, Tosca Reno-style. That alone has given me a wealth of excess energy just begging to be burned off. I still have some tweaks to make to my food choices, but it has been a great start.

I also have found a fantastic support group with online friends and fellow freelancers. If you've ever been overweight, you know how lonely it can feel at times. These lovely ladies have been so incredibly helpful and inspiring. I know all I have to do is reach out and someone will be there to grab my hand. You have no idea how much of a difference that makes. They make me want to stay on track.

And they have made me realize I am not just a size 13, or a number on the scale.

I had never realized...a good support group is priceless.

So, I'm starting a new cycle. I'm liking myself more, so I'm being good to myself more and living more to my true potential, which is starting to improve my outward appearance, which makes me like myself more...

Did you notice there was no binging in that cycle? Pretty cool, huh?





Photo Credit: asifthebes/sxc.hu

Finding Motivation

As I get older, I'm always losing things. I'm not sure if this has more to do with the fact that I can't remember where I put them, or the fact that I'm not the most organized female in the world. I'm not even the most organized female in my house, and the only other dose of estrogen there is the dog.

Anyway, the latest thing I seem to have lost is my motivation to eat right and work out. I was going good there for about a week, which is actually longer than I commit to most things. (My kids don't know how lucky they are.)

I lost three pounds within the first week. Then the weekend hit and by Monday I had not only gained those three pounds back, but I also added another to it.

Sonofa...

That's about the time I hit my "eff this" stage. I actually hit that stage quite a bit. I'm pretty sure they have a little plaque hanging in my honor at that stage.

Now I know, deep down inside, that the weight is probably that temperamental water weight that takes up residence every month, and maybe, just maybe (dare I hope?) it may also be a little bit of muscle thrown in too, because there for awhile I really was feeling the burn.

But in my irrational womanly, hormone-imbalanced brain, the scale called me fat. So I agreed and had hamburgers and tater tots with the boys. And didn't work out.

(I did restrain myself from scarfing down a milkshake because I knew there was no coming back from that ledge.)

I was all set to give in to the taunting of the big mean scale until I read a blog post by Lindsay Maddox where she dared her readers to stop making excuses. She dared me. So now I kinda sorta hafta stop making excuses. It's the rule of a dare.

But I'm not running, Lindsay! Do you hear me? You can't make me run! Although burning 1,000 calories sounds awesome. Do you know how much I could eat if I burned 1,000 calories...

Bahahaha!

So, since Miss Lindsay dared me to stop making excuses, I'm going to stop making excuses and find my motivation.

Maybe the dog knows where it is...



Photo Credit: julosstock/sxc.hu