Author: hollyida

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The Three R’s of My New Year’s Eve

Reflection

2013 was not a bad year for me.  I ran my very own half-marathon, ran/walked my first “family” 5k, ran/walked a very fun Color Me Rad race with a lovely friend with absolutely no time goal in mind, and ran more miles in a  year than ever before–664 miles.  Admittedly, I am 76 miles short of my goal mileage for the year, but I’m really ok with that.  It’s still 24 more miles than last year, and that’s with over 2 1/2 months off.  Woo-hoo!  Ok, I’m pretty proud of that. I haven’t seen all of the numbers in print before, and now that I have, I’m quite happy with it.

Health-wise it hasn’t been the best year.  Two surgeries on my legs for varicose veins and ended the year with a herniated disc in my back. Not sure what will happen next. I do wonder if this blog will need to be renamed.  What else will you “see Holly” do?  Only time will tell, but I do have hope that my running will continue.

My weight fluctuated more than I wanted it to this year. I was up too far in September, but gambled my way to a weight I was happy with.  Then I lost too much weight this fall, which for me, is a weird thing to experience or even talk about.  Seeing “159” on my scale was a surreal yet scary thing to happen.  I was afraid to eat yet even more afraid I would become weaker and more frail than I already felt.  For now, though, things are better. I’m at a pretty comfortable 163 pounds and haven’t gotten a “you’re too skinny” comment in over a week, so my public must think I look ok. 😉

Professionally, I think it’s been a really good year.  I’ve been fortunate enough to be part of the Maine Library Leadership Institute, where I’ve met some amazing librarians here in Maine and throughout New England.  We’ve created this pretty spectacular support network and because of these folks, I feel more confident in my work and more competent in what I do.  I’m also participating in groups I want to be a part of, like being a judge for the Maine Readers’ Choice Award.  Do you know what I have to do for this committee?  READ!  Seriously.  This is the *best* committee I’ve ever been a part of.

Fortunately, my family has had a pretty good year, too.  My husband lost a few pounds and my son is on his way to becoming a giant.  My sister started hunting, partially inspired by our weekend together; my brother published several stories; my parents’ health is as good as it can get right now.   All in all, things are good and we are well aware of it.  We try to appreciate these good times and not worry about the future.

Resolutions

You know what? Typically I love this time of year.  There is so much promise…so much hope that good changes will happen.   I’m just not feeling it this year.  I’ve been good about only having goals that I think I can actually achieve–like my mileage goals.  But due to my back, there will be no mileage goal for 2014, unless I get the go-ahead from the neurosurgeon. And since I won’t see him for another week, then I’m passing on that goal for now.  I want to say that I’ll be good to myself next year and stop berating myself for gaining a pound or missing a workout but….I hate to fail.   For a day or two, I thought I’d throw out my scale for 2014.  But I just can’t do that.  Part of what keeps me sane is knowing that I’m not gaining weight. Of course it’s also a part of what makes me insane.  Go figure.

How about this? I often feel like a weakling. I can’t lift much of anything and I really find that annoying.  So, I resolve to be stronger in 2014. I hope strength will be represented not only with my body, but with my mind.  Perhaps I’ll learn to love myself like I’m loved by others.

I think I like that.  This is good.

Reading

Ok. Obviously this isn’t the “usual” thing to talk about or is related to New Year’s.  Maybe the “r” should be reinvention or rules or some such thing. But for me?  *Everything* can be associated with reading.  I recommend books to people for a living. I typically only give books as gifts.  Every person that is close to me is an avid reader (with my parents being the exceptions—weird, right?).  I love to talk about what I’m reading. I love to talk about and listen to *you* talk about what you’re reading.  Ideas and stories from books can change lives.  They can influence you, make you feel less alone. They can justify your beliefs, your worries and your loves.  Books rule my world in one way or another.

And yet…I never have a goal of how many books I want to read in a year.  So many of my friends do. I think it might be because reading is such a big part of my life that I don’t want (or need) to have a goal associated with it.  I may love running, but I still need a goal to get me out that door on a wet cold February (or March or November) morning.  But it’s a rare day that I don’t want to read.  In this sense, I feel like my life is so very rich and full and good.  Books and reading and conversations about what we read is what makes this woman happy.  Possibly even more than not having to suck in my gut when putting on my new size 10 pants. 🙂

And what have I read this year?  It seems like I’ve read anything I can get my hands on.  I’ve read only about 92 books but it included biographies, graphic novels, erotica, short stories, lots of literary fiction, teen fiction, mysteries, non-fiction, poetry and books about body image.  What isn’t counted are the hundreds of picture books and children’s graphic novels my son and I read together, as well as the large amount of magazine articles and blogs I’ve enjoyed reading all year.  (I’m a huge fan of goodreads.com, so if you’d like to see what I’ve read and want to read, you can become my “friend” there.)

Next year, maybe I’ll read 100 books, or actually count all of the books my son & I read, too.  We’ll see. I’m not making any promises.

I think 2014 should just be the year where we all just enjoy life.  Doesn’t that sound good?  If this year has taught me anything, it’s taught me that life is so very short.  Let’s all do what we can to make this next year be a good one, in whatever ways we choose.

May the new year be filled with peace, happiness, and love for us all!

(And possibly running and reading, too.)

🙂

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Coming Home

Do you know the song “Home” by Phillip Phillips?  A friend of mine once told me he heard it while running a race, then added it to his playlist.  I tried it for a bit, but it was just too slow for me.  No “oomph” in the song to get or keep me going, you know?  But this morning….this morning things were different.

I haven’t run in 61 days. (But who’s counting?)  I’ve tried to do a few running intervals within my treadmill walks and it’s been ok.  I immediately felt great after my mini-runs, like I was floating on air. I felt so light and free and fabulous.  Yet within an hour, my back always felt tight or just painful.  So I’ve continued my elliptical and walking workouts and just doing my best to stay in shape until my visit to the neurosurgeon to find out what my other choices will be.

When I woke up this morning, I immediately got into my workout gear….and just felt grumpy.  I walked out to the kitchen to discover my husband didn’t finish washing the dishes from the night before, like he said he would.  The coffee pot was dirty, as was nearly every coffee mug we own.  To say the least, I was pissed.  I slammed things around in the kitchen and washed the damn dishes.  I told my husband I was angry and why I was but just left it at that.  I didn’t want us to argue or be mad at each other all day, but I couldn’t let it go either.  Thankfully he understood why I was ticked and cleaned up the breakfast dishes without my asking.

As  I got my boy ready for basketball, I started to feel…jittery.  The thermometer said 25 degrees–the warmest it’s been in a while.  Maybe….maybe I could walk or even run outside?  Most of the ice was gone, wasn’t it?  I wasn’t sure, and honestly, I was nervous as hell.  I felt like I used to feel before a race, anxious and nervous and desperately wanting to just run and be ok at it.

Eventually I got the kid and husband off to basketball practice, put my running shoes on and just stood in my mudroom.  “I can do this,” I thought. I *want* to do this.  So…I put my headphones on, my hat, jacket and mittens, and stepped outside.

Oh man, it felt great out there.  When it’s been 10 degrees during the day, 25 degrees (and getting warmer!) felt incredible.  I gingerly walked down our driveway between the icy ruts and stepped onto the road. There was a layer of ice underneath the dirty snow, so I knew it would be slow going, no matter if I walked or ran.  But it looked doable.  So I turned on my ipod and looked through my playlists.  I didn’t want anything too fast.  Normally I’d go for the dance music, something to make me want to move.  But this was unlike any run I had ever done before.  There was no speed goal, not even a goal of finishing really.  I think….I think I just wanted to feel good.  To feel happy. To feel like myself again.  But I was scared. I wasn’t sure if my leg would work correctly or if my back would start to hurt.  So instead of worrying about any of that, I  picked out a song that makes me think of my friends and my family and ultimately makes me feel safe and loved.  I listened to Phillip Phillips sing, telling me to be calm and not to think about those things that scare me, because they’ll just drag me down.  And to “just know you’re not alone, cause I’m gonna make this place your home.”

As the first chorus played, I picked up my feet and started a slow trot.  It never got much faster than that, but I didn’t care.  I trotted along, being very conscious of how my body felt.  The first thing I noticed?  Body parts were jiggling that didn’t jiggle two months ago.  THAT was disturbing.  But I went on.  At the end of the first 1/4 mile, my lungs felt like they were on fire.  It was only 1/4 mile!!!  But I kept on, damn it.  I figured that if I could make it to the 1/2 mile mark, then I could run my  previously typical run of 3.1 miles.  (Don’t ask me where the logic is in that, because I have no idea.)  Just past the 1/2 mile, I walked up a hill, did a quick body check (back ok? check. legs feel strong? check. feet numb? check.) and continued on down the road.

No matter the temperature, wintertime in Maine really is wondrous.  I kept looking up and around at the snow-covered trees, just admiring the beauty.  After a bit, I had to concentrate on the road and where my feet landed. It was a bit slick in some areas and even at my slow pace, running downhill was a bit challenging.  When I finally looked up again, close to my deerwinterturn-around point, I saw a young deer on the side of the road watching me.  I smiled…and actually waved.  (I really have lost my mind.) He stared at me for a few more seconds, then scampered across the road and into the woods.  I audibly sighed.  I’ve missed this so much in the past two months….the beauty of the outdoors, the wildlife….the sweat trickling down my back, the burning lungs, the ache in my legs as I try to sprint that last 1/4 mile.

With the thoughts of all the runs I’ve missed, I slowly made my way back home with more lively music pumping through my ear buds…Pitbull, Nicki Minaj, Flo Rida, Linkin Park.  As I ran my last 1/4 mile, I didn’t think I’d actually be able to sprint.  I was pretty sure my body wasn’t up for that. But I dug my ipod out again and found “Home.”   As I tried to pick my feet up, I felt like everyone I have ever loved, dead or alive, near and far, were with me…running ahead of me, behind me and beside me.  I don’t know if I finished any faster than the rest of my run, but I finished with a smile, a little laugh and I think I felt a little like the Grinch at the end of the book. Holly’s “small heart grew three sizes that day!”   It was a little surreal, but deliciously so.

The rest of the day went by in a happy blur.  I seemed to have more patience, even when my son was starting to lose it while we were shopping.  I teased my husband in a fun and flirty way and all in all just enjoyed the day with my little family.  There was no arguing, no whining, not even a roll of my eyes.  I even played a mind-numbing game of Yu-Gi-Oh! cards with my son and didn’t complain. (Seriously, have you tried to play these card games?  I think I’ve accomplished something major here.)

I do know that I can’t run like I used to….at least not yet.  My back didn’t hurt after this run, but it didn’t feel quite right either.  I feel a little out of alignment.  I did some stretching and such, but I know I need to find out what I am truly “allowed” to do and not to do.  I’ve been told by my physical therapist that running did not cause my herniated disc nor will it make it worse, BUT, if I feel pain, I shouldn’t do it.  Period.  So…for now….I will enjoy the occasional run and hope that running will continue to be a part of my future.  And until that time, I will listen to Phillip Phillips crooning, remember today’s run and feel absolutely loved.

heartgrinch

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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.  🙂