Author: hollyida

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Sticks and Stones

We live in a society that tells us we’re rude if we tell someone they’re too fat, yet it’s ok to tell someone they’re too skinny.  Logical?

When I was 252 pounds, not one person said, “Holly, it’s obvious something is going on. You need a little help. Is there something I can do? How can I help?”  Or even, “Snap out of it! You’re only hurting yourself, damn it!”

But now that I’m 162 pounds, I’ve been bombarded with, “Please stop losing weight,” and “Have you been ill?”  and the brazen “You are too skinny.  Eat something!”

Unbelievable.

Recently I had a similar discussion with a friend, and she wondered if it was because I’m so tall and the weight loss is even more noticeable.  I have always thought it was because everyone that knows me, only knows me as fat or chubby. So when they see me now, it’s weird and unnerving.  I don’t quite look like the Holly they’ve always known.  But you know what?  I’m still that same Holly.  I’m still damn sensitive to what you say about me.  These comments?  Most folks mean well, I know.  But they’re killing me.  I’ve tried very hard to like what I see when I look in the mirror.  It’s never been easy, but I’m working on it.   Yet hearing these comments nearly every single day have made me doubt what I see in the mirror.

Here’s the thing. I’ve talked before about body dysmorphia. It sucks. It’s no fun, but I deal with it and have good days and bad days.  I’m starting to see the lean woman I’ve become, and mostly I think she looks good. Healthy.  But then I keep hearing “skinny” and “sickly” and now I “see” tired and gaunt.   Since I know I can’t trust my mirror anymore, I’ve had to ask a few people that I love and trust to tell me the truth.   I don’t think they’d ever tell me I was fat, but they sure as hell will tell me if I look emaciated.

When I lost all this weight a few years ago, I liked being called “skinny.”  I still do. People are giving me a compliment. I get that and I really am grateful.  But these other things?  I don’t know.  I don’t know what to say to people.  I know they’re saying these things because they care, but when you say stuff like that to a person with multiple eating disorders in their past, you’re doing them more harm than good.   Then again, not everyone knows that about me…..I think I’m writing about this tonight because of what happened last week.  So let me set the scene for you.

I was working at the circulation desk at my library.  Sitting at the front of the desk is something called “The Awesome Box.”  We place a book or movie in the box that someone thinks is “awesome” and folks should really check out.  Inside the box that day was the book, The Big Skinny by Carol Lay.  I think I’ve mentioned the book before. It’s a graphic novel about a  woman who changes her lifestyle and loses weight by eating healthily, counting calories and exercising.  I read it at the right time and it’s how I lost over 40 pounds.

So, a patron that I know and really like comes in. She picks the book up and says to me, “You’re not doing ‘this’ right?”  I immediately realize that she means, “You’re not bulimic or anorexic, right?”  I don’t know how I know this is what she  means, but by the rest of our conversation I do in fact know that is *exactly* what she meant.  She thought I looked too thin and was either throwing up my lunch or stopped eating.   I was speechless.

Ok. Again, I know she implied this because she cares about me.  But….what?

I was hurt.  Then I thought, “Christ. What the hell do I *look* like to people?”   And that’s when I turned to a few trusty folks to lay it all  out for me.   The general consensus is that I look lean and healthy and extraordinarily tall and society is a damn mess and doesn’t know what healthy people are supposed to look like anymore.

I like that answer.  What do *you* think?

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The Love Note

I just re-read yesterday’s blog post.  I’m surprised I didn’t get any “OMG, you are pathetic, woman!” comments.  Thank you for that.

But after getting through today’s procedure, weeping a little in the middle of it, and letting out a loud yelp each time I try to sit down with my leg bent, I want to send my body a little love note.  It deserves even more, but it’s a start.

My dearest body,

I want to apologize to you for treating you so badly. When I was young, I fed you all the wrong foods and didn’t move you about as much as you wanted to.  I was embarrassed by you. I didn’t think you were graceful and when you ran, I thought I could see all of your little fat rolls bounce up and down, so I made you stop.   I started to smarten up a little when we got to college, though, right?  Lifting weights and taking walks was a nice way to ease into getting you into shape.  And then we got on that plane and flew to California for 5 months.  That’s where I started to fall for you.  The people we met were so at ease with themselves and it was obvious how much they loved life and each other, including us.  Jo, Becky, Lea, Gary, Moriah, Matt, Sean, Yvette, Lou, Memo, Ron and many others.  They showed us how to love ourselves, didn’t they?  I started to feed you better, took you walking every day, cut your hair.  You were beautiful.  I fell in love with you during those few months.  The friends we made brought the best out in both of us.

When we got back home, the love fest continued for a while.  I treated you well, worked out, ate good foods.  Then we fell in and out of love a few times….and started binging….then purging….for a year.  But we got past that and we fell in love with and married Walter.  He treated us how we should of been treating ourselves all along. He loved us, pampered us, treated us well.

Years went by and you and I continued the rollercoaster ride of our love/hate relationship.  You had to go through 4 surgeries for your varicose veins (with today’s procedure being the fourth), the doctors had to open you up and free a fallopian tube so little Briar boy could finally be created, then opened you again so he could be born by caesarean section.  These past few years have been a little better though, don’t you think?  You’ve been running and looking so lean and beautiful and strong.  I know I’ve been mean to you sometimes, refusing to eat or badgering you after you ate a little bit too much.  I’m so sorry.  So, so sorry.  I want to do better by you.  I want to treat you like Walter and Briar and my friends treat you–with praise and compliments.  I want to feed you those foods that make you feel good and encourage you to move the way you want to.  If you want to dance in the grocery store, then go ahead!  If you want to ruimagesCAU1H7JRn but can’t do it quite yet, let’s go for a lovely walk and throw in a few hip-shaking moves to make us feel better.   Let’s do this, body. Please.

You are a tall, slender, intelligent, beautiful woman, and I want you around for as long as possible.  I will do my best to stop criticizing you, comparing you to other people and calling you names.  You are an incredible human being and I am so happy to have you.

I love you, body, and I am so happy and grateful that you’re mine.

Let’s take care of each other,

Holly

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The Breakup

Tomorrow, I will have what I hope to be the last surgery on my veiny legs, for at least another decade.  In mid-December, I call my physical therapist to see if I need to continue therapy to strengthen my left leg and in January I see a neurosurgeon about my back.

I told you I was only 40, right?

Crikey.

Do I feel sorry for myself?  Sometimes.  Do I think I’ll get better and be able to run soon?  Sometimes.  Do I still *want* to be a runner? Absolutely.

But….for now….I’ve had to limit any running “talk” I read or listen to.  I’ve unsubscribed to some running blogs.  I haven’t been on dailymile.com for a while.  I haven’t bothered to order Runners’ World via interlibrary loan like I usually do and I’ve taken myself off of a few Facebook running groups I was a part of.   I didn’t do this all at once, but after my boss hugged me on “Hug a Runner” day (and I got all teary), I decided that I needed to distance myself a bit from any kind of running reading material.   I know I’ll go back to some of it (especially reading Runners’ World) but I’m realizing now how much of a love/hate relationship I’ve had with running these past three years.  I’ve gone through 3 bouts of physical therapy, have been unbelievably sad and depressed when my body is unable to run, and have been frustrated with my apparent unreasonable expectations of my body.

Huh.

Maybe I’ve really had a love/hate relationship with my *body* and not running.

Wow.  Ummm….I am *just* realizing this.  Seriously.  For the past few weeks, I’ve been very angry at not only my body, but at my running body.  Even though my PT told me that running did not cause this herniated disc and my varicose veins have always and will continue to always be there.  Yet….I started to hate running because I couldn’t be a part of it anymore.  I guess it’s like when your boyfriend breaks up with you and afterwards all you do is bad talk him and hate him with every fiber of your being, even if the breakup was actually a good thing.

You know what though?  I don’t want to break up with running.  I love it.  There are times when it does hurt me, but the times it makes me feel (and look) good completely overshadows anything that is even slightly “bad” about it.

I want it back.  Desperately.

Unfortunately, I just have to wait.  And do my exercises. And hope. Some more.

Meanwhile, I should probably get started on the “love” part of my relationship with my body, eh? She’s not all bad.  I know that.  I just need to accept her faults and her gifts and stop bitchin’ at her.

Easier said than done, but what else do I have to lose?

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The Verdict

I have some degenerative disc action–fairly  normal in a lot of folks.  I also have a herniated disc between L3 & L4 that seems to be pinching or pressing on a nerve, causing weakness in my leg–not so normal. herniated_disc

I met my physical therapist yesterday. He was helpful, knowledgeable and very optimistic that he could get me running again.  He (and my doctor) are concerned that my left leg has considerable weakness.  My muscles and reflexes seem to be a little better, not as bad as a few weeks ago.  But when I explained how tired my leg gets with just walking, he had me try to “heel walk.”  It is completely impossible for me to do that right now.   Have you ever experienced something like that before?  It’s not that it’s painful to try to rock back on my heels, but it is impossible. My leg just can’t do it.  I guess it would be like trying to lift 500 pounds.  Your body just doesn’t have the strength to do it.  That’s what my leg feels like.   Weak. Exhausted. Useless.

When I talked with my doctor this evening, she recommended I see a neurosurgeon.  She emphasized that this doesn’t mean I need surgery now or if ever, but it would be best if someone who specializes in this can tell me exactly what’s going on and what we can do about it.  I did tell her that I liked my physical therapist and his positive outlook was encouraging.  She was pleased with this, but I’m not sure she has a whole lot of faith in it.   After reading up on all of this, I think I see why.  (Sometimes the Internet is a very dangerous thing.)  Many sites I visited said that very often the pain from herniated discs can improve in 6 weeks to 6 months, through physical therapy, medication, compresses, etc.  BUT, weakness in any limb is a little scarier.  A few sites mentioned that those people that suffered weakness in their legs were more likely to need surgery–although sometimes that caused permanent weakness.

So what does all of this mean?  I still have no idea.  I’ve done a few google searches and I can see runners out there that have or have had herniated discs.  At first all I saw were posts about how walking and swimming were the best exercises to do and would be the only ones I would ever do….I nearly cried when I read that.  Thankfully, though, I saw other posts and sites that gave me hope that this wasn’t over.  Hope that my body could recover and be somewhat like it was before.

And right now, that’s about all I can do is hope.  I can hope, do my physical therapy exercises, and get back on that damn elliptical machine.  My very old and cheap elliptical is about the only thing maintaining my semblance of sanity.  So for now, each morning I will get dressed, lace up my running shoes, put my headphones on….and head downstairs to my basement where the elliptical awaits.   This is nothing at all like the rush of the cool Maine air whipping at my clothes while my feet pound the pavement.

But I’ll have to pretend like it is.

At least for now.

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A request

Once again….I am not allowed to run.

spine

I wish I could tell you more about what this MRI says, but I have no idea.  This was taken just this morning, so I’ll talk to my doc next week.  There are several things I found interesting, though, even if I don’t know what they mean.  I apparently have the number 7 inside of my body (upper left hand side).  That is officially my lucky number now. 🙂  And my spine looks awfully crooked. I’m hoping that is how I was lying down, but I don’t know.  And lastly, I love that I can see the hourglass figure of my body in this.  See my indented waist?  Isn’t that freakin’ adorable?!?

So here’s what happened.  My back has been tweaking for basically 6 months.  Two weeks ago, I woke up, thinking I would do a short run bsallylegefore work, but my left leg just wouldn’t work.  The bottom part of my leg was completely numb, my knee was wonky and it just felt like my leg had been replaced by someone else’s.  I felt like Sally in The Nightmare Before Christmas.

I saw my doctor that same morning and when she checked my reflexes, I didn’t have any at all in my left leg.  My leg felt weak, which concerned both of us.  She told me to lay off the running until I started physical therapy (next week) and we’d go from there.  So while waiting for the therapy to begin, I’ve been  using the elliptical machine and taking walks.  Yet whenever I take a walk, my leg tires very easily and I have to concentrate on lifting my left foot up off the ground…or it will drag.   This is what made me ask for an MRI.

I don’t know what any of this means, although I sincerely hope it’s temporary.  I didn’t think I was that upset about not being able to run.  If I need to trade the running for no more pain, then I’ll do it.  My body needs a break and I’m ok with that.  Yet…I haven’t eaten much over the past few weeks.  Nothing tastes good.  I’ve lost a few more pounds and I’ve been sleeping….a lot. Even when I have coffee in the evening.   I’ve tried to spend more time with my family and have continued to exercise but I just don’t feel like myself.

What am I missing?  Is it being outside so early in the morning?  Is it the feeling of accomplishment after those 3 or 4 miles, like I’ve done something extraordinary before my son even gets out of bed?  Or is it just how my body feels? The heavy breathing, the pounding of my feet against the pavement, my leg muscles aching with exertion?

Yes, yes, yes and yes.  I miss all of it.  But what I really miss?  My self-confidence.  It’s no secret that I’ve never had much self-esteem.  I’ve often felt worthless, and I’m sure I’ll battle that feeling my entire life.  But running has built up my confidence–the fact that I ran/walked/limped 13.1 miles while in pain the entire time has made me realize that I can do so much more than I ever thought possible. I’ve been standing up taller than ever before, with my shoulders back, looking proud. I am not weak or worthless. I am strong.

But right now?  Right now I am not strong.  I feel very fragile.  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror yesterday and my shoulders were slumped.  My eyes look tired, even with all the sleep.  I’m trying not to worry about all the “what ifs”, but that’s nearly impossible.   I have been thinking about what other sport or exercise I could do if running is no longer an option.  Yoga? Bicycling? Martial arts?  I don’t know.  I don’t think I want to imagine the rest of my life without running.  Not right now.  But I do want to imagine my life without having pain in my back or my hip or my leg.

So….for now, no running.  No plans to race in the near future.  No marathon plans for 2014.  No plans to run….at all.

Instead, if you are running, I will cheer you on.  I’ll congratulate you on all of your races.  I won’t hate you.  I won’t be angry at you.  Feel free to tell me about your latest run—how good it felt or what obstacles you faced.  It’s ok.  I won’t be mad and I won’t cry.  Probably.

I will live through you.  Have the best damn run and think of me, then tell me all about it.  It will feel almost as good as the real thing.  And it’s the only way I won’t be running behind you. 😉

So will you take me with you for just one run?

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Letting go

After 11 weeks of Monday morning weigh-ins, with at least 3 of the last weeks being very pissed off at the scale, I finally achieved my goal weight…on a Monday!!  Typically, I weigh myself 3….ok, 5 times a week.  Obsess much?

For the past few weeks, I’ve been at goal weight on Thursday and Friday, but never, ever on Monday.   Yet, this morning, at 4am, my back was hurting so I figured I might as well get up.  I dragged the scale out from beneath my bureau, trying not to wake anyone.  I gingerly touched the center of the scale with my toe, waiting for the 4 zeros to appear.  I held my breath, stepped on and…..164.5.  A half pound less than my goal weight.  Yay!  While my family slept, I threw my arms up and gave myself a silent cheer.

brassring

Is this arduous journey now over?  Can I stop  obsessing about every calorie I inhale or refuse?   *Will* I stop obsessing?

I hope so. I know my friends and family hope so.  If you’ve ever worked towards a particular goal for a long period of time (training for a marathon, losing weight, etc.) you know that once you achieve that goal, it’s sometimes hard to let it go.  To let the process go.  To change your habits into just running for fun and exercise, or to eat what you want while maintaining your weight.   Your goal no longer needs to consume you.

It’s time to let it go.

I’ll be the first to admit that I suck at this.  I think I have a good network of very supportive folks who will help me, who will remind me that it’s ok. You can eat that one tootsie roll, and it won’t matter.   You really don’t need to know the calories of EVERYTHING.  But if you start to freak out, if you feel like you just have to know how many calories you just burned walking to the post office and back, your people will help you.  They’ll talk you down from this ledge you’ve found yourself on.   They will help pry your fingers from this infatuation and release it.

They will help you let it all go.  YOU will help ME let it go.

So…..here I go.

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Life by Numbers

I am defined by numbers.

1–The number of children I have.  I often hear, “Is he your only one?”  Sometimes asked with pity.  My answer?  “He’s my only one and am very, very happy and grateful for that.” So stuff it, lady. (Ok, I don’t say the latter part, but I want to.)life-path-numbers-numerology-meaning

8–As of today, the number of years I’ve worked at the Pittsfield Public Library.  Although there are times when I want to tear my hair out due to a few scary or annoying members of the public, this is mostly a good place to be and I hope to be there a while.

10–The size pants I currently wear.  THAT number makes me pretty happy. Especially considering the fact that I wore a size 24 at age 18. At one point I thought the single digits in clothing would be a great place to be, but my hip bones have told me otherwise.

16–I’ve been married for this many years.  Often it seems like for.ev.er.  Other times it seems like….a long time ago. 😉

40–The age I was dreading for over a year, and now that I’m here….it’s ok.  Mostly good, I think. I have more aches and pains and occasionally hear, “You don’t LOOK 40!”  I think that’s bullshit, but whatever. People usually mean well when they say it, or they say it to cover their shock because they thought I was really 50.

165–My goal weight and the number I typically struggle with, wrestle with and sometimes want to strangle.  Currently I’m one pound less than that….until my official stickK weigh-in on Monday when my scale will tell me that I’m heavier. It will tell me I had a lot of fun over the weekend AGAIN and that fun cost me at least a pound or two.  But on Thursday?  Yup, I’ll be back at goal or below.

740–The number of miles I want to run this year.   This is the number that makes me fret, although it shouldn’t.  Look, last year my goal was to run 600 miles. I did so by November 30th, and was so freakin’ proud of myself.  So this year, I wanted to up the mileage, but I wanted the number to sort of mean something.  Or at least to figure out where I would be in the country if I ran a certain number of miles. If I ran from my home in central Maine to my former graduate school in western Pennsylvania, then I would need to run nearly 740 miles.  So what the hell?  I chose 740 miles as my goal for this year and thus far, I have run 634 miles.  I should be able to do this, right?

In theory, yes. Of course!  Currently, though, I’m only averaging 15 miles per week.  And that would be just fine and dandy except I have to have varicose vein surgery again at the end of November.  No running for 2 weeks and not as much mileage for the 2 weeks following.  Lately during my morning runs, I do math in my head and figure out how many miles I should try to run BEFORE the surgery, but honestly?  I can’t get out of bed early enough to get more than 4 miles in (and often it’s only 3 miles).  My left foot has been hurting for the past month and now my back wants to give out.  (Oh yes, 40 can be just lovely sometimes!)  Will I make my goal?  And does it really matter if I don’t?

Well….no.

It really won’t matter in the grand scheme of things.  I won’t die if it doesn’t happen. No one will get hurt if I don’t reach my goal.  I’ll be disappointed in myself and no doubt beat myself up over it, but ultimately it will mean nothing.  And yet……I can’t stop trying.  I won’t stop trying.  Maybe that’s the beauty of this resolution I made for myself back in January.  All year it forced me to keep trying to better myself, to do something I had never done before but desperately wanted to.  And CAN do.

So.

Just one more number to define me.

106–Miles left to run for 2013.

Now let’s hope by December 31st, that last number becomes a big, fat ZERO.

Let the countdown begin!!

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Country gal meets REAL country gals

I like to tell people I’m  a 5th generation Mainer.  I’m proud of my state, my home, my heritage.  I live on the land my mother was literally born on, where my grandmother raised her children and where my grandfather worked in the woods. I’ve always thought of myself as a country girl….until this weekend.

A few months back, my sister invited me to attend something she called BOW–Becoming an Outdoors Woman in Maine.  She thought it would be fun for us to do together.  My first thought was, “Yay!  I get to spend the weekend with my sister!” I was psyched because we get very little time to hang out together. We live nearly 2 hours apart and have quite different schedules.  We’re 8 years apart in age, and my son is the same age as her grandchildren. We’re in very different life stages right now, so the idea of being able to spend 3 days with my sister sounded fantastic.

But my second thought was, “Wait…what? An OUTDOORS woman?”  Just this year I was able to admit to myself that I’m really not an outdoorsy kind of gal.  I do like to run outside and I enjoy spending time at the beach in the summer and generally being in the sunshine most of the year, but I don’t enjoy camping or being in the woods where the bugs are so horrendous that they either pick you up and throw you out of their territory or they eat every inch of your skin.   At 40, I finally said to myself, “You know what? I don’t like being uncomfortable, damn it!”  But I held my tongue until I could see what BOW was offering in workshops.  My sister suggested I go to this because of my running.  She figured that if I got lost or was injured, then maybe these classes could help. (She was really just humoring me, because I run on roads and not on trails. I do take precautions to at least tell someone where I’m going. But her heart was in the right place. She also said I needed to do something that wasn’t so intellectual, like my Winter Weekend with the Maine Humanities Council last February. We discussed Dickens’ Great Expectations for two days, and I was totally in my element!)

At first glance, I wasn’t sure I’d find anything I wanted to learn about at BOW.  Then I started to think about one of my resolutions this year–trying new things.  I love to learn, and who says it always needs to be about things I already know I enjoy? How do I know I don’t like archery or marksmanship?  I don’t. So….I signed up.

My sister and I arrived at Camp Caribou in Winslow on Friday morning in the pouring rain.  We checked in, looked at the raffle items and wandered around for a bit.  Lugged our stuff into a cabin that we would share with 9 other women and went back to the lodge to begin our adventure.  At first, I felt pretty comfortable with everyone there and the entire idea of the program.  About half of this year’s participants were first-timers.  Either the word was getting out about the program, or more women wanted a way to reconnect with nature or buff up on survival skills or even just want to learn something new.  There were also lots of 4th and 5th timers there, and most of them you could pick out after a bit.  They knew each other well just from BOW and they seemed to have this genuine affection and respect for one another.   I liked being around those women.  They’re good people who were doing something they enjoyed but also challenged by.  I think I felt so comfortable with them because they were so comfortable with themselves.

I will admit, though, that I started to feel more out of my element by the next day.  I was learning a lot and was anxious to teach my family what I learned, but was also very humbled by what I didn’t know.  I learned how to identify trees (something most of us learn in high school, although I had forgotten it), shot arrows with a compound bow (and loved it!), learned that a simple white pine tea has a hit of vitamin C in it and sometimes you learn a lot about your surroundings if you just stop and listen.   I also learned that striped maple leaves are the best leaf to use for toilet paper (I’ve already started to look for  them on my running routes), I’m a horrible shot with the bow but want to get one and practice, and my sister still knows WAY more about edible plants than I do.

I enjoyed watching my sister at BOW. She was clearly where she belonged.  She met people who were really into survival skills and had a “bug out” bag in their car, just like her.  She got to shoot guns with other women and learn how to properly use a compass and show off her survival kit (which people were impressed by).  I really liked seeing her this way.   She was confident and happy and just lovely.

So….would I go again?

Absolutely.  Even with occasionally feeling like I didn’t quite belong, I think that was more my lack of self-confidence talking.  I love to learn new skills, new knowledge, new perspectives.  For me, learning with a large group of women is even better.  No one seemed to really care what they looked like (there were lots of hats and hair pulled back, stained clothes, absolute comfort–as you can see by the photo of my sister and myself). Although I didn’t leave with a strong bond with some of the other women, I still felt a comradery with them.  My goal was to spend more time with my sister (which I certainly did) and to come away with new life experiences and hopefully new skills.

And since I spent my entire run this morning attempting to identify trees in my neighborhood, then I’d say goal accomplished.  🙂

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My noncomformist

Each year, my lovely little town has an “Old Home Days” celebration that includes a parade, bounce houses, games for the kids, a street dance and fireworks.  It may not sound like much, but it’s always a good time and it gives us a sense of community.  The kids have fun and the adults eat too much fried food.  What could be better? 😉

The “street” dance is held on an outside basketball court near our rec fields where we watch the fireworks. After the games are put away in the evening and we’re waiting for the fireworks to begin, the DJ cranks the music and kids start to dance.    My son loves all kinds of music and absolutely LOVES to dance, particularly to the top 40 music we play in the car.  He has always enjoyed this part of Old Home Days and has never needed encouragement to get out on the dance floor.  But this year, at the ripe old age of 6 1/2, things seemed different.  He wandered over to the edge of the floor, holding his monkey hat with two hands and watching some of the tween girls do their group dancing, when the song Gangnam Style began.  I was watching him from a distance, waiting, but he didn’t move.  I came up to him and whispered, “Are you going to show off your awesome dance moves?”  With wide eyes, he vehemently shook his head no.  I rubbed his arms and said ok and backed away.19390_10200328235471251_1213748912_n

My kid has an entire dance routine for Gangnam Style.  It’s not just the dancing from the video, but a bunch of “dance fighting” that he likes so much.  It seems to make him feel good and tough and happy.  But as he watched the other kids, or rather girls, he seemed paralyzed.  He wasn’t moving…at all.  Two more songs went by with him just standing like that.

I was heart-broken.  I couldn’t believe that he felt so….self-conscious at so young an age.  Maybe I did too at that age?  I don’t know.  I just wanted to hug him and tell him that he can dance and have fun and not worry about other people around him.  It was really ok.   But I didn’t do anything. I waited. I hoped.

And then…I saw his foot tap.  He started to just kick his leg back and forth, but at least he was moving.  He started to jump a bit.  And then it’s like that little spark within him blew up and he became wildfire!  He swung his hat around his body (like dancing with streamers) and jumped and kicked and DANCED!  To me he sometimes looked a bit frenetic, but mostly happy and even graceful. He stayed at the edge of the floor, close to the music but far from the other kids.  He was in his own little world….and I loved him for it.   Every few songs he would come running over to me and ask me if I Iiked his new “moves.”  That kid was just bursting with joy. I told him I thought they were wonderful, perfect even!  I gave him a hug each time he came back to me, but they never lasted long because he wanted to get back to dancing.  At one point, it started to lightly rain and my boy stopped moving, looked to the sky and tipped his head back.  He remained still for just a moment, grinned, then went back to dancing.  And the really cool thing?  A couple more boys actually got out on the floor and did a bit of wild dancing, too.  Who knows? Maybe he’ll start a trend.

I’m not sure how  long my son will be this way—happy with who he is and knowing how to live in each moment. I hope, hope, hope he always will be.  I know there will be a time where he’ll want to be like everyone else.  In some ways that’s already started, like wanting the same sneakers his friend had, saying they would make him faster.  I told him I wished that were true, but it’s a bunch of bologna.  (He did NOT get those sneakers.)   He wanted to have cold lunch a few times because his friend did, yet he ended up missing out on hot dog day and was not a happy camper.

So I guess he’s learning, figuring out what he likes and doesn’t like and trying to feel good about his choices.  He’s trying to make his way in this freaky world, and I’m trying my best to teach him that it’s ok to be different.  It’s not always easy, for sure, but it’s really ok. I worry that he’ll be alone, that he won’t find anyone he can share his differences with.  But I can’t control any of that, can I?  I can only hope.  For now though, he seems to be happy with his life and the people in it and who he’s becoming—I certainly am.

And now if he could only teach me some of those dance moves….

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Attempting to “stickK” to it

Over the past 8 months, I’ve ever so slowly gained 8 pounds.  Big deal, right?  When I was 252 pounds, I would have said the same thing.  I would have been irritated at this person who appears slim-like, runs a few days a week, and eats salad every day.  So she gained a few pounds? Who the hell cares?!? She looks great, so why is she bitching so much?

Why? Because this slim-like gal looks in the mirror and sees that 252 pound girl looking back.  That heavy girl was angry and sad and ate every emotion that came her way. She was more unhappy than anyone could imagine.  I can’t be that person anymore.  I don’t want to forget her, but I can’t be her. Thus, I need to lose 8 pounds. (Odd logic, I know, but this is how my mind works.)

My motivation for losing this weight isn’t just the fact that I’m afraid to become obese again. It’s also the little things, like my pants not fitting as well as before, or how sometimes I just feel so squishy.  Eight pounds might not sound like a lot, but once your metabolism slows down a bit, it can seem more like 80 pounds. (My sister warned me that the day I turned 40, my metabolism would go down the crapper.  I hate it when she’s  right.)

So….how do I go about this?  Weight Watchers? Atkins? The Vegetable Soup Diet?

Back  in 2009, I was inspired by the book, The Big Skinny by Carol Fay. It’s a graphic novel about a woman who loses weight by just eating sensibly, counting calories and increasing her physical activity. I lost over 40 pounds by doing it this way.    We all know that losing weight isn’t rocket science, but why does it seem so damn difficult?  It’s slow going and we just want it all gone RIGHT NOW!  People always say, “Well, you didn’t put the weight on overnight, so you can’t expect to lose it overnight.”  Yeah, honey, I know, but please stop reminding me because you are seriously pissing me off.

*sigh*

See?  Aren’t you glad you don’t have to live or work with me?!?

Anyway, I decided that this time around, I needed a little more motivation than just my pants fitting better.  I signed up on stickK.com to “commit” to lose weight.  I put my money where my mouth is, people.  And for me, money is a HUGE motivator.  Here’s what I did: I committed to lose at least a half pound a week for 16 weeks to get me back to my 165 pounds that I love so much.  I have a “referee” who is supposed to make sure I stay on track and who gives me encouragement. I can also have supporters to cheer me on each week.  Ok, but here’s the kicker.  If I DON’T lose a half pound a week….I have to give $5 each week to my “anti-charity.”  In other words, I would have to give money to a group that I didn’t like and would never, ever support.  In this case, I chose the Institute for Marriage and Public Policy—they are against gay marriage.  Trust me, folks, I would cut out my tongue before I give money to this organization, which is why I picked it.   If this doesn’t encourage me and keep me from eating that bag of chips, then nothing will.

I won’t lie, though. This has been very, very difficult for me. I’m  3 weeks in and have lost 4 pounds, but oh my word I am sooooo hungry!!  I wasn’t running when I lost weight before, and I’m having a very hard time not eating a cow the day after a long run.  (I’m usually ok the day of, but the day after is a killer.)  I’ve had many weak and exhausted moments, and more grumpy days than my co-workers can count.

Back a few years ago, if I ate more than I wanted to, I’d add a bit more exercise into my routine.   But now? I already exercise every day (although only run 4 days a week). So I feel I have to be more strict about my caloric intake, which makes me a bit….obsessive…..compulsive….bat-shit crazy.   I am really, really trying to do this the right way, just like I did before….eating lots of vegetables and fruit, no artificial sweetened garbage. Just real food, good food, and still the occasional yummy like a chocolate bar or DQ vanilla ice cream……mmmmmm…ice cream……icecream

Wait….what?  Where was I?

Phew! Ok, got it.  As I was saying, I like that it’s only 8 pounds, and not 50, but it’s still just as difficult…..as you can see.  I’m pretty ticked at myself, though, for letting my weight get this far up.  I’ve been really diligent over the past three years in staying within 2 to 3 pounds of 165.  I liked it there. I felt good and looked decent. Admittedly, I got a bunch of people asking me if I was well, if I was ok. I hadn’t been in the hospital, had I?  It was nice to hear people concerned about me, but they didn’t realize that this is what I’m supposed to look like!  They had only known me as fat or chunky or full-figured. My “norm” had become their “norm” as well.  But no, folks, I’m not physically ill. I’m healthier than I’ve ever been.  We can discuss my mental health at another time. 😉

So….4 more pounds to go.  Can I do it?   Will my family and co-workers survive the next few months?  Will the Institute of Marriage and Public Policy get my money?

Shall we make a bet?