Um... Hi.

Good news: I'm alive. I'm not starving to death. I'm not running myself into the ground.

Bad news: I'm "meh". I'm eating too much. I'm not running at all.

Unknown news: I've decided to talk with my doctor about antidepressants. I've always said I didn't want to be medicated, but there comes a time when you have to consider that, just as some people need glasses or insulin, perhaps I need something. How many weekends should one try to sleep away before deciding that something needs to change? Answer: This many.

I hope to start checking in more often.

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)

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.

Yay!

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?

201.

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?

So.

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?

Katrina?

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.

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.

Hmmm.

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.

Frak Therapy (or not)

Ah, so what was the plan again? Oh, yes. Start seeing a therapist when I'm doing fantastic on the health/fitness/weight loss/transformation. Then, if/when I hit that hump, the therapist can then know me well enough to help me over it.

Well, guess who's bottomed out right out that hump. Yeah, yeah. In many ways I fell off the wagon months ago. But it took school starting for me to stop running in the wagon's dust, pretending to try to catch up. Now I gave myself permission to sit down by the side of the road and start shoveling Snickers bars down my gullet. (Ooh, don't I get nasty when I want to? "Gullet". Well, yes. That's how I feel right now.)

Now, I can hear some of you firing up your keyboards. Stop the negative talk, don't be so hard on yourself. Your weight isn't the most important thing.

Well: no, no, yes but anyway. (In that order.)

I think the negative talk is fair right now, since being permissive is part of what gets me in that place I don't want to be. (Where the only exercise I get is cleaning up empty Doritos bags from the floor.) So maybe I should be negative, and maybe I should be hard on myself. I know the weight is the least of the issues, but my downward spiral is going well beyond weight. I'm supposed to ride a century in less than two weeks. Ha!

So, anywho...

I saw my therapist yesterday. I hadn't seen her for a while. What was her brilliance? That I need to figure out what's going on with me. (Yeah, yeah, I know. That's how it works.)

What was my brilliance? The fact that I set it up so that I have a therapist right now. This is what I need. She won't exactly kick my butt when I see her, but maybe she'll get me to start kicking my own butt. Maybe this time. This time I'll figure out exactly what it is that causes me to do a flip turn.

That's the goal. And I think it's achievable.

Not Fat Enough. Who Knew?

So a little discussion about my blog fired up elsewhere in internetland. Turns out that a beautiful, young, overweight woman became inspired to start her own blog about being a fat athlete. Good for her. The more of us, the better.

What bemused (and amused) me, however, was that she sorta dissed me for not being fat enough to be a fat athlete.

Knock me over with a twinkie.

Not "athlete" enough, maybe. Not friggin' "blogger" enough (lately), I can get behind. Not even anti-weight-loss enough, sure. But not fat enough? Hm.

Well, you know, I knew the time would come when, perhaps, I would face the confusion the infamous Fat Cyclist faces. He is in no way fat. Now. Back when? Yeah, he used to be fat. But things change. Must he really shed the nickname "Fatty"? Would I have to one day change the name of my blog?

But there was no way that I thought I'd face that sort of... what? scorn? confusion? befuddlement? "you're not a member of our fat club anymore"?... Anyway, there's no way I thought I'd face that when I'm still around sixty pounds overweight.

I mean, I guess I'm not complaining. I guess. It just feels sort of odd. I mean, I'm still fat. I'm not a size four complaining about my (normal) belly pooch. I'm still medically obese. No, I'm not morbidly obese, but I used to be. And now, already, I don't count for some people because I'm not fat enough. And, while I'm happily looking forward to the day that I can't even call myself overeight, I'm somewhat perplexed at the feelings that arise when some say that I'm not overweight enough. What an interesting place to be.

How bizarre.

Priorities: Two Points

Should I insert the obligatory, "Sorry I haven't posted for a while?" Maybe? Maybe not? Well, you choose. Pretend it's there if you want it, pretend it's not there if you don't.

To be honest, my priorities are straight(ish) right now. I'm far from perfect, but I'm not eating gallons of ice cream for breakfast. I'm gaining a few ounces back, and my exercise isn't fabulous, but it's where I need to be for at least a few more weeks. If you're a teacher, you surely understand that the first month or so of a new year can be the most time-consuming. Add the fact that our principal is suddenly adding even more testing into our overworked schedules, and you get even less time. Add the fact that I'm starting one or two (haven't decided whether to drop one) two-year professional development programs, and my time whittles away even more.

So, am I beating myself up for not being particularly athletic right now? Heck no. Even "real" athletes have off-seasons, so that's where I am right now. I'm still in my events, and I'm still training (albeit lightly), so I can't be anything but proud. So there.

So, that's one issue of priorities dealt with. Now for the next: Have you made giving back to the athletic community a priority yet?

I read somewhere about a woman who makes a point of volunteering for at least one event per year. She moves from the competition to support. I don't know about you, but that really clicked for me. Thanks to her, I spent early Sunday morning volunteering for a local race. At the first station, I directed human traffic (10k and half-marathon runners go this way; 5k runners go that). At the second station, I played traffic cop and stopped motorized traffic so that the runners didn't have to slow down.

Was it as fun as running? Surely not. (But it was fun cheering on the runners and admiring their spirit head-on.) More importantly, let's face it: Where would your favorite events be without the sacrifice of volunteers?

So, I ask again: Have you given back yet? I'm not judging, but I am passing on the idea: Just once a year, step to the side and give support to your fellow runners/cyclists/athletes. It's a whole different kind of achievement, but it's achievement nonetheless.

Owie, Owie, OWIE!

OK, there's pain, and then there's PAIN. Today I'm in both.

I started the New Rules of Lifting (for Women) program yesterday. Yay for me! Did my first barbell squats. Or, at least, I did something which was supposed to be barbell squats. I'm not sure how good my form was. The bar felt unstable (side to side) and my form had to change completely from dumbbell squats as my center of gravity was shifted. But I now get why people really love barbell squats: they really do work so much more of the body. I can't wait until I start dead-lifting in my next session.

So my legs (and a few other spots) are sore from yesterday's workout. Good. That's good pain. I actually sorta like this kind of pain. (No, I'm not being kinky.)

The routine also brings push-ups back on the scene. Now, you know me enough to know that I just didn't throw myself on the ground and start push-ups, right? Nah. I did somewhere around 45° pushups, where I did full push-ups against a window ledge. When I'm ready, I'll progress down to 30° and then floor push-ups. No girlie push-ups for me. At least, that's the goal.

But here's where I messed up. I've heard that the elbows should stay tucked in on push-ups. Where? I dunno. Around. I've always let my arms go out naturally, but now I tried to keep my elbows stay by my sides. Because that's what "they" say.

What the bleep was I thinking?

Halfway through my first set, I decide that this is a mistake, but I finished out that way. Why? I dunno. But I grew a brain before my second set and let my elbows go where they wanted to go.

Too late; the damage was done. My left shoulder hurts. Not the "Ooh, I really worked out my shoulders hard" pain, but the "Oooh, what the bleep did I do to myself?" pain.

Then what do I decide to do this evening? I go on an easy run. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Now I have real pain. The bad pain. The kind of pain where I sometimes have to use my right arm to help my left arm go where I want it to go. I'm taking NSAIDs. I'm icing it. I'm kicking myself. I'm praying I didn't do serious damage.

Although, you really should have seen me try to get my sports bra off after the run. That would have been hilarious to watch. Well, if you didn't care about the fact that my shoulder was hurting so much that I could feel it in my belly. Yeah, that kind of made it slightly less comical.

I appreciate any happy, healthy, healing thoughts you can send in my left shoulder's direction. And I promise I'll stop listening to "them" without doing my own research.

Save the Whales, my Foot!

Nothing to say today. I owe you all a race report before too long, but not today.

Instead, I'll point you to my shock of the day. Perhaps it's old news, but no matter. If you haven't seen PETA's recent (since terminated) "Save the Whales" campaign (which ironically had nothing to do with saving nor with actual whales and hell if I know what it had to with the ethical treatment of animals), you may wish to look here.

I'll admit that I was stunned. Then flabbergasted. Then really, really confused. Because it made no sense. At all. If you're going to refer to overweight people as "whales" and then profess to want to save them, then shouldn't you be not openly mocking them? Be sure to read the explanation about how PETA agrees that, in an ideal world, people shouldn't feel bad about being overweight, but since they do, PETA is going to make them feel shittier because they need "tough love" in order to, um... who the hell knows. PETA sure didn't.

In their honor, I'm going to have a nice, juicy steak.

Our Classroom Objectives are... Oh, Wait

Long time, no post. This probably will continue a bit as I focus on the first few weeks of school. These take a great deal of attention as I realize that what I had planned for a certain day should be replaced or adjusted or whatever, and as I focus on getting to know about two hundred new or new-to-me students. Yes. About two hundred.

As I focus so much on tweaking curriculum and building student relationships, I'm not going to have that much time to focus on food or exercise or, even, blogging. Does this mean that anything is changing or ending? Nope. It just means I won't be tracking heavily. I have slipped on the daily exercise a bit, but I do plan on picking that up no later than Thursday.

Saturday's 5k: I did well, but my time is a matter of debate. I'll explain more later. The bottom line, though, is that I did set a new PR. The question is: What, exactly, is that new PR? Stay tuned to find out.

Wait, don't. It might be a while. Instead, check back often.

The Hidden Danger of Exercising with Earphones

Yes, it's true; I exercise with earphones. When biking or running, for the record, I use earphones which don't block external sounds, so I'm not living as dangerously as some others might with earbuds.

So, yes, on the bike I'm taking risks by not hearing as well as I could otherwise. And, yes, when running I'm taking risks by not hearing as well as I might otherwise. I've accepted those risks, and I try to be alert to my surroundings.

Little did I know that the true danger lay elsewhere.

You see, I also wear headphones when I swim. I thought I was safe. I mean, many swimmers wear ear plugs to keep water out of their ears. They can't hear much either, right? It's not like a car would come barreling through my swim lane, right? Whatever urgent information while swimming could wait until I hit the wall, right? So, I thought, I could tune out my surroundings at little risk.

Little did I know that the true danger lay within.

I don't always listen to music. I frequently listen to audiobooks or podcasts. I am particularly fond of NPR podcasts like This American Life. Yesterday, as I had done many times before, I listened an episode of that very show. One of the stories was read by essayist David Sedaris.

If you haven't read (or heard) anything by David Sedaris, I entreat you to delay no longer: Rush out and buy a book or, better yet, buy an audiobook read by David Sedaris himself. He will make you laugh. He will make you cry. He will make you do both at the same time.

And this, my dear friends, is where my near-fatal mistake lay.

For, really, how can one every be trained well enough to counter a laughing fit in the middle of the pool?

One can't.

There I was, mid-length, laughing like a maniac. Not only did I have quickly cease swimming to make sure to get my head above water, lest I drown in four feet of water, but I then had to do my best to ensure that my erratic behavior didn't alarm any fellow swimmers. They, surely, are not used to finding themselves in the pool with a deliriously hysterical woman.

Despite the fact that, at this time, we all had the luxury of our own lane, I do believe that they each quietly inched to one side of their lanes, attempting to place as much water as possible between them and me, and hoping desperately that my madness was not somehow contagious.

They could not understand.

But now, at least, you understand. You know where the hidden danger lies.

Swim safe, and choose your podcasts with care.

Photo credit: _Morrissey_, Creative Commons usage

Follow the Yellow Brick Road...

All right. I feel like if I don't post, people are going to wonder if I've curled up into a ball of self-loathing. For the record: I haven't, and I don't plan to. I have run for the past few days (including today), I biked yesterday, and I'm about to go to the gym for a swim.

OK, you want real honesty? I may have realized another "trigger" for my little "relapse" last week. Ssshhhhh.... It's a secret. I'll let you in on it if you promise not to tell anyone.

You ready? OK, here goes. One of the things my therapist and I discussed right beforehand: Putting myself out there into the world of dating or at least meeting people. We discussed a dating site possibility, and maybe even getting it together enough to go to a meetup.com event. I agreed that I would take a picture of myself with my cute new haircut, in one of my cute new tops, and post a picture online and see what happens.

Do you hear the panic in my typing?

Part of me is ready. It is, really. I look in the mirror, like what I see, and think, "Why not? What could it hurt? It could even be fun."

The other part screams, "What the hell are you thinking?!? This is rejection on a huge scale, lady! It's not just one guy rejecting you at a time, it's the whole friggin' internet world! We're not ready for that!"

And then both parts agree that a chocolate cake from Jack in the Box sounds delicious.

But that's not productive. Even if it does distract both sides of the internet dating battle, it's not productive. I get that. Well, I'm getting that. The past few days have been good. Not perfect, but good.

More importantly, I've had some time to refocus on what's really important. I've said it before that exercise/fitness is my highest priority. I mean, come on, the blog is called "Fat Athlete" not "Fat Dieter", right? Right.

So, that's what I'll focus on. If I feel like I need to eat a little heavier, I'll listen and not berate myself for eating a little more than normal. But the exercise will be my top priority. Six days out of seven I will do something more than walking the dog around a few blocks. It can be a run, a swim, a ride, a hike, a weight training session, a jaunt on the elliptical gathering dust in the spare room, or anything else I think of. I've got plenty of options.

And, yeah, when I exercise, I tend to eat better. Not always, but most of the time. I feel better, so I eat better. They just seem to go hand in hand.

So, yeah. One more confession and a plan. Good enough for today.

(Oh, and, no. In case you're left wondering, my title doesn't have anything to do with today's post. Well, perhaps it does have a bit to do with persistence to a set goal even when one doesn't know what obstacles and detours life may throw. So, yeah. That could be a connection. If you really need one.)

A Step Forward

OK, I'll admit it: I'm a bit nervous. I thought about yesterday's post and it's somewhat reminiscent of the posts I made leading up to my departure years ago. Not identical, but reminiscent. A key difference is that I'm much more resolved right now, whereas I was a bit more whiny back then.

So, I started to look at some differences between then and now. First, I've hit a lower weight, so I've technically broken through my previous wall (technically). Next, I have more upcoming events than I did back then, so I need to keep up the training. Most importantly, perhaps, I have a therapist. I did that on purpose, remember? I knew that I had always hit a wall in the past, so I "hired"(?) a therapist quite some time ago so she could help me break through that wall.

So, really, no excuses. Staying at this weight: OK. Losing more weight: Great. Gaining weight back: Not an option.

The same for sport/exercise. Staying at this level: OK. Relaxing just a teeny bit: Fine. Picking it up: Superb. Returning to couch-potatohood: Not an option.

For today, I've been eating OK. Not fantastic, no deficit, but also no junk/fast food to kick me way over maintenance.

I also went for a hard run. They say that the hardest part of a workout is lacing up the shoes. Definitely true. Once I got out there, I wondered why I hadn't been running the past few days. It's a blast! No, it's not easy by any means, but it feels good. Why deprive myself of the joys of sport?

Tomorrow: A bike ride. Maybe even a swim in the evening.

(For those paying extraordinary attention (even a bit too much attention, perhaps, but I won't judge): Since I skipped my weight training session on Thursday, I've decided that that will be my deload week leading up to beginning The New Rules of Lifting. So I'll start that soon.)

So, is everything roses? Not yet. But at least I can still see the flowers for the thorns.

Another Look at Motivation... and Something Else

Well, wasn't that fast? Just a few days ago I declare that I am done futzing around with my weight loss and am renewed in maintaining a daily deficit of 500-1000 calories.

And that lasted... Should I count in hours or minutes?

Either way, I crashed and burned. Quickly.

Why?

Likely suspects: PMS, oppressively hot weather, general burn-out, stress (the new school year starts very soon), a certain part of my psyche saying "enough" and rebelling against the healthful lifestyle...

I'll tell you which one I believe is guilty, but, in any case, I've been hitting fast food and junk food.

Worse yet: I haven't been exercising.

It's an ugly cycle. I eat Jack in the Box and feel stuffed so I don't want to exercise. I didn't exercise, so I'm missing the endorphins so I eat bad food looking for whatever that provides. Continue in circular fashion for... 48 hours now?

I'm not sure I ever mentioned this before, but I smoked marijuana for a short period about a decade ago. (Bear with me; I'm going somewhere with this.) For the most part, it was part of my "unwind" routine after work. I would smoke out the way some people would have a drink at the end of the day.

Now, you might think that pot would have made me gain weight, but I lost weight. (I was already losing weight, so the MJ just didn't disrupt the process.) But what about munchies? I never got them. I have a pet hypothesis that, just as stimulants have the opposite effect in children with ADHD (they calm them down), pot had the opposite effect in me.

The bigger issue is that, as was discovered years ago, eating "mass quantities" of food triggers a particular neurochemical reaction in the brain. This reaction is, believe it or not, similar to the effects of marijuana.

When I learned this, I was not surprised. You see, when I stopped smoking out every night... I started binging. I continued to do that for over a month. It was the only time in my life in which I binged. I didn't know why at the time, but after I learned about the connection between consuming a lot of food and THC (the active chemical in marijuana), I realized that I was basically seeking out that same semi-euphoric relaxation.

Does it make sense that now, as I'm beginning to feel some anxiety about the beginning of a new school year, I'm seeking that same relaxation? Bottom line: I think I'm self-medicating.

Funny thing: When I relayed all this to my therapist recently, she asked whether I had ever looked into medical marijuana. I quickly chuckled it off because I was afraid it would affect my motivation and my exercise.

On the other hand, if my current behavior is affecting my motivation and my exercise... would it be any worse? Would it actually be better?

In any case, I need to get a grip. I am absolutely not willing to undo my hard work. If I stay at 190-195, I can begrudgingly accept that. (Though I would still prefer to lose more weight. It's hard to bike this extra weight up the hills.) But I am completely resolute that I will not go above 200.

I will not. Period.

"Help Me Lose Weight."

We had just finished lunch when that sentence was thrown at me by a friend. Wow, I take that as a huge compliment. At the same time, I was flummoxed. I think I was looking at him as if I were waiting for a punchline, so he followed up with, "I want to lose weight. Tell me what to do."

Um, OK. Still flummoxed. First, there was the whole issue that I didn't think that he needs to lose weight, but I figured there was no point in saying that. I hated it when people would say it to me when I had already made it clear that I was "ok" with wanting to lose some weight. He didn't ask me whether he should lose weight; he wanted to know how to lose weight.

I had to ponder. After what seems like thousands of internet discussions and even a couple of long-winded posts on how to lose weight here, I now needed to boil it down to the absolute essence of weight loss. The magic keys to the kingdom, as it were.

I pondered.

I then responded, and many readers will be completely unsurprised by this response.

I have to count calories.

I can exercise or not exercise, but I have to count calories. I prefer to exercise because it allows me to eat more.

I can eat crap or I can eat healthfully, but it comes down to calories. I prefer to eat healthful foods because it makes me feel better and more satisfied. Within reason, of course. If I ate 90% carbs and fat, I really wouldn't do well, but you know what I mean.

It all comes down to counting calories.

He looked a little disappointed. There was no magic bullet. It was nothing he hadn't tried before. It was a hard job that he'd have to work at. Ultimately, it was an answer he already knew.

Shortly thereafter, we arrived at the crux of the matter: Motivation. That, he knew without asking, was all on him. Only one person can motivate you, and that's you.

I guess I'm not much of a sage, but at least I say it as I see it. That's something.

Ravenous

Ran this morning. Worked at the school a bit, unpacking for my new room. Hit the weight room hard this evening and finished up with a medium-length swim. Came home and made some grilled boneless chicken thighs with buttered toast and veggies. I must have tasted it at some point because I know it was all fantastic. But I'm not sure I chewed very much, instead choosing to inhale deeply in a near-continuous fashion. Very unladylike, I must admit. I was absolutely ravenous.

So, just a warning: After a hard day, don't dare get between me and my dinner, particularly if it involves chicken thighs. At least not if you value your fingers.

I do feel much better now.

Seven Day Challenge Conclusion

Side note: I first typed the title in as "Seven Dan Challenge". Boy would that have taken this blog in a completely different direction! OK, sorry, back to family friendly blogging.

How did you do? Did you make it seven days? I did, but only because I cheated. (For those who don't know, my challenge was to get out of bed nearly immediately after waking naturally.) So, how did I cheat? I started using my alarm clock. It was the only way I could do it. Otherwise I'd just keep going back to sleep and waste precious daylight. Some habits, like chewing one's nails, are simply so ingrained that it takes a very concerted effort... more effort than I could gather when half asleep.

So, did I meet the challenge? Well, technically perhaps. But not really. Sadly, school duties are beginning, so I can't reset my challenge. I'll consider redoing it next break.

I hope you all had better success than me.

A Jolt to Reality... and a Moment of Pure Joy

Let's get this out first: Yes, I weigh myself twice a day. Shame on me. Only the morning counts (and even that doesn't really count because it only gets calculated into the average weight), but I also step on every night before bed just as a "preview" of the next day.

Last night I hit 195. That's it. Too high. No berating, no anger, no kicking myself. Just a renewed determination. I've been way too lax for way too long. Maybe it was a break I and/or my body needed. But I'm done now. Back to a 500-1000 calorie deficit per day with one "refuel" day per week. Period.

Now, after that jolt back to reality, I have the happy coincidence of having coupons for Lane Bryant (LB), a store which specializes in plus sizes. Well, it's not that happy. I had actually hoped to be shopping somewhere other than Lane Bryant for my back-to-work wardrobe, but the unlikelihood of that became clear quite some time ago. So, whatev. I have a LB credit card, coupons, and closets way too empty for the start of school. Off I go.

I buy some blouses that fit perfectly and one pair of pants that fits a bit tight. (Something to work for, right?) I chuckle a couple of times as I realize, in the fitting room, that I had pulled some tops off the shelf at the wrong (old) size just out of habit. And then I put on the knit tops I had picked out. I am astounded. They are the smallest size LB sells... and they are grotesquely baggy. Yay!

But... What now? I need some knit tops to complete certain outfits and... well, what now?

So I peruse the mall.

Yes, the mall.

You may not understand, but this is huge.

The first "normal people" clothes store (no offense, please; that's just how these things are said in my brain) I walk into doesn't quite have what I'm looking for, so I just cruise around the store and duck back out. No one looks at me funny and I don't have to decide whether or not to actually try on some "normal people" clothes. Good.

The second store has just the style of top I'm looking for. The clerk behind the counter notices my LB bags and asks about the store, whether they have some particular sales and/or good deals. She then slyly mentions that they carry womens' clothing in the back of the store.

Uh, oh... I wonder, Is she trying to tell me something?

I shake that off and remember that I'm carrying a bag of clothes from a plus-size store. Either it was just a natural flow of conversation, or she made a logical conclusion from my bags. No biggie.

After chatting briefly, I dare to take a single "regular person" XL top (which you may know is often different from a plus-size XL size) and ask about trying it on.

I slip into the fitting room and slip into the top. I look in the mirror. Not only does it fit, but I look good! I fit into a shirt at a regular store. And, don't take this as bragging, but it looks damn good on me!

I jump up and down for joy. Literally. I'm in the stall in the fitting room, jumping up and down with glee. I swear to myself that I will not cry, blink away some moisture from my eyes, and go out to pick out some more items.

Today I bought three shirts from the regular section of a regular clothing store. It sounds so small, so menial, but let me tell you: It is not small; it is not menial. It may be just what I needed.

Random Rinky-Dink Review #1: Purple Cauliflower

This may be old news to some of you, but they now have purple cauliflower. I knew about the orange cauliflower, and the green, but I was particularly excited to see purple at the market today. I don't get enough purple veggies in my diet. I figured I like cauliflower, I like purple potatoes. I even love the color purple. What's not to love with purple cauliflower?

Everything, apparently. The bitterness could not be overcome. Just bleh. I had never met a cauliflower I didn't like. Until now.

I still have half a head to use, so I'll see if it holds up any better to roasting (mmmmmm.... roasted garlic cauliflower...), but I don't have high hopes. Bummer.