Sunday, October 25, 2009

More Interesting than Me (Today, at Least)

Nothing to say today, but I was perusing my RSS feeds and ran into an old post from Leigh Peele. In it, she links to two other blog posts which articulate everything (and more) that has ever bothered me about The Biggest Loser. They're so good I have to relink them here.

Tom Venuto's Take on the show

The Mohr Team Scolds Jillian
(I'd never heard of the Mohrs, but you can be sure I'll be watching their space after this great piece)

Monday, October 19, 2009

Hey, Two Posts in Two Days. Who'da Thunkit?

Success one: Logged all my food today.
Success two: Landed at a caloric deficit.
Success three: Hit the gym and the weights.
OMG: Must I always fry my legs upon reentering training?

Overall: It feels good. And I hope I can walk tomorrow.

Sidenote: Yes, commenting on my last post is disabled. I appreciate that some of you have some very good things to say, but I hope you can understand that I just don't want to open up those issues up to discussion. At least not right now. No offense meant, and I thank you for respecting this. (More than that, I thank you for still being around! You don't know how much your support, even in my silence, means to me.)

Tomorrow: Another step forward.


Sunday, October 18, 2009

Hey. Me. We Need to Talk.

Where has the time gone?

I'm not going away. I promise.

To prove it, I'm going to share my darkest shame. No, not any of those! I'm talking athleticism/weight/whatever-relevant-to-this-blog shame.

The scale this morning?


Sweet Lords, what am I letting myself do to myself?

Despite the solid upswing of the scale, this hasn't been a reverse without some hesitation. I've made some halfhearted attempts at returning the trend to what it should be. Why the halfhearted? Damned if I know, but that's what it is.

My therapist is somewhat surprised and perplexed. I guess I can't blame her. In some ways, I feel bad for her since it really must feel like I'm just not trying. Well, really, I guess I'm not.

So. Well. And now? Once again, I wonder what my next step should be. It's not going to be a declaration of renewed determination because either I'll do it or I won't. Declarations didn't get me to lose about sixty pounds, and they didn't let me gain ten back. I did.

You wanna stick around for the weird part?

(Ooh, this is difficult... Some of you may wish to stop here.)

We did.

No, not any of you.

You see, my therapist wants me to play with the idea of identifying the two sides of me. Yes, it feels like I'm pretending to have DID (once known as MPD), but she assures me that it's not an invalid step to name the different sides of me.

In fact, I've long theorized (as if I'm the only one) that we all have multiple personalities, but not with the separation and other complications that those with DID suffer. (I know, the idea makes those with DID cringe, but there is a lot to back it up. Another time and place, though.) I've held back from placating my therapist by playing this game, but what do I have to lose?


We did.

Now, who is we? I need names.

I'm going to assume that the me that I want to be is, well, me. So that me will remain Karen.

The more significant name, I believe, is the name of my saboteur. That part of me that demands Snickers for breakfast or Jack in the Box for dinner when there are perfectly good ingredients in the fridge at home. That part of me that wants to stay curled in bed even when the skies are blue and the wheels of the bike are begging to roll. The part of me that has put her foot down since nearing 190 and has been, for now, getting her way. The part of me that I need to work out a compromise with if I'm going to reverse this reversal.

What is her name?

I can describe her. I know that sounds funny, but I have an image of her in my head. She's a child, petulant, pouting, and angry. Well, maybe not angry so much as resentful. Guarded. Untrusting. Afraid. And not willing to look weak. Or stupid. Ever. She sits with her arms crossed and a look on her face that just makes clear that she is not to be messed with. Well, as much as a, what... six to nine year old can do. Most important, no one is going to tell her what to do, when to do it, or whether she's a good person for doing or not doing something. She is that part of me that, when faced with a person telling her to do something she already decided to do, will do the opposite just to prove a point. She's the part of me that demands to be accepted, but refuses to put herself in a position to be rejected. Which means, ironically, that she can never truly be accepted.

Who is she?

What is her name?

I don't think I can just give her one. I've tried, and they've never felt right.

In a way, they've been rejected.

Good Gods, I know I sound like a nut, but this is a step I'm determined to take tonight.

What is her name?


I've always loved that name, secretly wishing my parents had given me that name rather than the banal one they chose. It seems a little odd to give it away to this dark, angry, fearful part of me that I don't want to become. But maybe that makes it more fitting, since the goal is not to eliminate that part of me so much as it's to make this part of me express her needs in more acceptable ways.

On the other hand, it seems fitting since this is the name I once toyed with as the "if you had an evil twin" name. But she's not evil. She's not even misunderstood. She's unheard.

So. Katrina it is.

It's time to begin being heard.

Thursday, October 01, 2009

Yes, Well, and Now?

Hey, look who's still around.

So, what am I doing. (Yeah, that's an interrogatory sentence ending with a period. What of it?)

Well, the good news is that I'm still here. And here. And here. And a few other places. That means that my demon, whoever she is, doesn't have a complete stranglehold. I'm still holding myself accountable, at least on some level. Also, I'm cooking a bit again (i.e., not all of my food comes in a take-out bag anymore). So there's still hope. (Well, actually, there's always hope, is there not?)

Now there's the question of Saturday. The No Hill Hundred.


One hundred miles? Definitely out. A metric? Possible, but not likely. Thirty-five miles? Should be doable... but will I? Will I, indeed.

I think I shall. It may be just what I need to help me get my head on straight again. Get my priorities straight.

Will I? I think, yes.