1440

Today I had a typically hectic day at work and all I could think of on the way home was walking on the treadmill. Couldn't wait to come home and hop on the treadmill. This is odd for a couple of reasons. First off, I haven't been on that treadmill for months. Also I have another pretty annoying habit: I'll leave work full of energy and good intentions but the twenty minute drive somehow saps my initiative and I drag myself into the house and collapse on the couch.  I thought about it all the way home (same same), lost my good intention (same same), dragged myself into the house (same same), went straight to my room , changed my clothes and did 20 minutes on the treadmill.

Why? I dunno. Maybe I realized how good I'd feel. Maybe I realized 20 minutes out of the 1440 I'm allotted every day was no big whoop. Doesn't matter... I did it. Maybe I'll do it again tomorrow.

Cold comfort?

I feel bad sometimes that I hate the weight so much.

It was the weight, after all, that made me the person that I am. A thin me wouldn't have turned out this well. I picked funny and smart over thin and never really regretted it. I still don't regret it but I wonder if perhaps I didn't give something up along the way. Did I give up the regular life that everybody else seems to have come by so effortlessly? The big lie we fat people tell ourselves is that all the things that didn't happen to us didn't happen because we're fat. I didn't get married cause no man found me attractive enough. Forget the evidence all around me of overweight people with husbands and kids. I know I wear my weight as a shield but what if I had been thin all along and those things still didn't happen for me. What would I blame then? The comforting thing that we tell ourselves isn't terrifically comforting after all. My life is playing out the way it's supposed to regardless of how much I weigh, not because of how much I weigh.

Late night epiphanies are all well and good but how do I turn this into something that will aim me truer? I might just need to leave this one alone for a couple of days and mull. Yep, I may even need to puzz. To paraphrase the immortal Mr Geisel I will puzz and puzz till my puzzler is sore.

Worth the effort

I can't decide whether to yell at me or congratulate me.  For no good reason I can think of I'll choose the latter.

Getting back on this healthy band wagon is easier than I thought it would be. Get excited about food again, exercise some and drink the water. Easy-peasy. So easy, in fact, it brings me back to why I stop doing it in the first place. This is where the yelling at me bit comes in. Why does it takes my jeans becoming uncomfortably snug to push me back to something I know feels great?

I wonder if all of us with this particular concern don't feel deep down that somehow we're not worth the effort. Does my self esteem really plummet so low that doing right by myself becomes an over whelming chore? What wiring in my brain short circuits when the topic becomes me looking after me? I can pay lip service to the fact that I think I'm a terrific person but since actions speak louder than words, I haven't been treating myself like I actually believe that's true.

Maybe I'm congratulating myself cuz I remembered that today I'm worth the effort. Somehow I woke up to the thought: today I'm worth it. This whole process might just be a bunch of days strung together where I keep believing that. Enough days strung together and I may get to stop reminding myself because it will have become a habit.

Today I am worth the effort.

Sugar addiction? WHAT SUGAR ADDICTION ?*##!

Holy crap I could use some chocolate.

And not good quality type chocolate either... somebody get me a freaking bag of CHIPITS! OK, alright, simmer down... nothin' to see here. Except perhaps a woman who has existed pretty much solely on sweet baked goods for the last month. This is tough. I am once again drinking water like... well... water and flushing those bad sugary toxins right out of my system. Physically. But what about the emotional flush. How do I rid my self of the sense memory of smooth chocolate cut with the surprise of sea salt? Crunchy meringues that melt and yield on my tongue?

I can't. But here's what I can do. I can call to mind another lovely treat. The homey muffin. Ah, the honesty of an unpretentious muffin. Nope, not that - but rather the unsightly "muffin" top which has lately taken up residence just at the top of my jeans. Oh no... this sumbitch has gotta go. I have mocked women with muffin tops. I felt zero pity for someone who would do that to themselves on purpose. *gasp* Now I sport one.

Not for long. I will not turn into the very thing that I find contemptible... no siree bob. You can keep all things chocolate enrobed and variously iced... I'm OUT !!!

Deja Vu all over again

It's January again and I'm writing in my blog again. OK... so far so good. But this is 2013 *gulp* . My year off from the Project sees me not quite in the same place as the first time but heading down a slippery slope.

Here's the problem: turns out I can bake. Who knew? Not only can I bake but I looooove to bake. I love mixing and measuring and waiting and cooling and icing and decorating...love it all! If you know me, you know I really can't cook. I don't enjoy it and harbour crazy envy for those for whom it seems as effortless as breathing. I'm frightened of the sheer abandonment of great cooking. Baking however is disciplined and measurements and a lot of exact things. And not for nothing, in my world cranberry pistachio biscotti dipped in chocolate is going to beat an excellent ragout every time. Maybe it's the living alone thing. Dinner seems to want people sitting around a table and bonhomie and whatnot. Show up for work with yesterday's sausage and mushroom pasta sauce and it doesn't really matter that you got the oregano to garlic ratio exactly right this time. Show up with butter tarts and you are suddenly the most popular kid in school. So I baked A LOT.

And ...SPOILER ALERT... I ate a lot of it (sidebar - I hate writing a lot like that even tho I know it's right... perhaps I should find a different phrase). So the upshot is it's January again and I'm focusing on the last mumble mumble pounds and last time the writing helped so I'm gonna start writing again.

I don't know if anybody will see this but it's gonna be pretty much more of the same with some other bits thrown in for fun. As my brave friend Les said so eloquently... here we go !

Driving Home

Last Friday I went to a wedding. It was an enormous amount of fun and just the right amount of perfect for the couple - Emily and Brian. It was one of those weddings that didn't hit any false notes. You could see the bride and groom in all the details. That makes for a pretty much perfect evening. Fun was being had by all but I had to work the next morning so I left earlyish. Got some dancing and silliness in but apparently missed the shank, as it were. That was ok by me cuz I ended up having the most delightful drive home. It was so delightful that it's stayed with me all this week so I thought I'd chat about it.

The wedding was at Hernder Estates which is along the wine route. Anyone who knows me knows that my sense of direction is... flawed. It was a gorgeous night out, about 10 and I figured I could find my way home without resorting to the QEW. I started along a very dark hwy 8 and there were absolutely no cars. It had rained earlier but stopped and the moon was poking out of a cloudy sky. Hwy 8  wanders in and around and up and down... just right. What made the drive so delightful was that it reminded me of another car ride home a couple of years ago. We were coming back from Niagara on the Lake and trying to wend our way down the wine route. Same type of night, quiet, deserted, but clear. So very clear. It was late summer and the stars were losing their minds in the sky. So many thousands trying to elbow their way across this big black sky. My friend was driving and he let me pick every turn. I picked wrong every time. Just plain wrong. Didn't matter... when he stopped the car so we could feast on those stars my flawed sense of direction had brought us to exactly the right place.

I feel like that alot sometimes: taking the wrong turn, picking a direction cuz my gut says "go that way... I'm sure this time" and being wrong again. The wonderful places this flawed sense of direction has taken me to almost makes me weep with gratitude. And the thing is, I always end up home.

Goals

Goals, I'm finding are slippery things.

 Having pursued a goal from Jan 1 to Aug 19th I find myself a bit at sea. It feels like it should be easy to just pick a new one and set after it. It's not. Losing the last 15 pounds, exercising on a daily basis, cooking a healthy meal at least 3 times a week... these should be easy peasy goals. Maybe they're just not big enough. They feel pretty mundane after what I've put myself through. More to the point, they're really just an extension of the original goal.

So here's the goal I'm going to pick cuz it is terrifically hard for me and will require skills that I don't currently possess: I'm going to make a phone call. That's it... a simple phone call. During the Project I came to understand that what seems easy and natural for others didn't come easily to me. Really, a row of Oreos for dinner isn't good for you? Eating once a day doesn't help you lose weight? I had alot of "d'oh" moments for sure. Now the act of making a phone call to someone you think you might like who might like you back  comes naturally to a large portion of the population. Not to me. Here I am, 50, afraid to make a lousy phone call to a boy. Like most things we're reluctant to do, it's more difficult to do cuz I've built it up in my head. Maybe if I'd had more practise at this it wouldn't be so hard now :)

O.K.... here's the goal: make the stupid phone call. There's no sense bemoaning the fact that you're single if you're not willing to make a dopey phone call that could alter that state. Take some ownership I'd tell somebody else. Alright, "New Goal"... look out - I'm headed your way :)