Tuesday, February 23, 2010


I've mentioned before that it has become very difficult to walk the distance from my car into work every morning.  I recently got a temporary parking pass that cuts my walk in half in hopes of diminishing the stress I feel everyday trying to get my body from home to work.  It has still been a struggle, but something amazing happened this morning.  I parked my car at work, walked to my building, up the steps, down the hall, into my office, and sat down out my desk...without stopping to catch my breath.  My first non-stop flight in many, many months.  I was thrilled.  I bragged to my friend at work about it.  He gave me a high five and asked playfully, "Have you been workin' out?"  I thought for a second and said, "Why, yes I have."  I guess all this "training" is paying off:  walking up and down the hall, when I have no other purpose except to walk up and down the hall. 

I was curious just how far "up and down the hall" was so, the other day, I drove my car along the road next to my building and one round trip is 0.1 miles.  I am up to 0.3 miles/day now of non-necessary movement.  I feel anxious and worried that it's not enough.  I should be running 10 miles a day.  But I have to remember that even though it's not that far, it's further than 0 miles, and I need attainable goals.  I need to feel successful.  And unlike eating right now, I can succeed at this walking business.

Speaking of walking, I am reminded of my grandmother who started walking a mile a day when she was 50.  She's 92 now and we don't know where the hell she is.  :p

Monday, February 8, 2010

One Step at a Time

I've been thinking that one of the reasons I'm stuck when it comes to weight loss is because I feel very overwhelmed with all the requirements of heathydom.  I'm so far off the path that changing seems insurmountably.  There's a huge obstacle in front of me and I'm frozen, paralyzed.  It's as if I'm trying to move a mountain and all I have are my bare hands.  Moving dirt one handful at a time seems so piddly that I don't see any worth in the effort.  I say, leave the mountain where it is.

Then I wonder if I'm making a mountain out of a mole hill.  I don't think so.  My struggles are bigger than a mole hill.  (But I admit they may not be Everest, either.)  Becoming well is going to take a while. At least a couple of years, if not more.  And I'm going to have to be vigilant.  I've spent time moving my mountain many times before, but the minute I turn my back, someone starts putting all the dirt back.  And then that someone starts trucking in more dirt to throw on top.  It makes me afraid to hope.  Afraid to hope that I can keep monitoring my mountain for the rest of my life.  What will be different this time?

I am interested in a permanent, healthy solution.  I am more aware of how important it is to change my relationship with food.  It can't be my drug of choice, my best friend, or my abusive husband anymore.  I need to find other ways to deal with life and let food just simply nourish me.  I have also decided that dieting is just a band-aid.  It doesn't teach me how to live with food, it just helps me ignore it.  It doesn't fix the illness (the abuse, obsession, craving), it just covers it up for a while until I can't contain it any longer.  Then the weight comes back plus more and I feel even more horrible than before.  It's a vicious cycle.  And it's got to stop!

Today has been a good day.  My mind is clear, my body doesn't hurt, and I feel happy and confident.  Today I feel like I could actually tackle this demon and win.  So, today I am at the foot of my hill contemplating getting my hands dirty.  It is a tremendous undertaking.  But as they say, "A journey of 1000 miles begins with one step."  Or, as the question goes, "How do you eat a giant cake (and when I say cake, I mean elephant)?  One bite at a time."  I am finally understanding and believing that it's okay to break it down into small chunks.  I'm not sure how to break down the food side of the equation yet, but the exercise I can understand.  I don't have to walk an hour everyday right now.  I don't have to "go to the gym" right now.  Those two things paralyze me and if I am to progress, I need a goal that doesn't leave me at the bottom of my hill with the covers over my head.

It's a small step, but I have committed myself to a little exercise.  At least three times a day, I have to get out of my chair at work and walk up and down the hall.  It sounds "piddly", but it's what I can do right now.  It's my handful of dirt.  It increases my heart rate, my legs get tired, and I am successful at it.  And when it gets easy, I'll do more.  One step at a time.  One bite of cake at a....oh wait, that's not right. :p

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

I've Fallen and I Can't Get Up

While walking to my car on Thursday, I slipped on the ice and fell.  It wasn't quick like "Slip-Boom".  It took a few seconds.  More like "Slide-Teeter-Slip-Boom-Slip-Boom-Bang".  I remember the feeling when I knew I was going down and then hearing my default expletive rush past my lips, "S***!"  I'm really not a big cusser, but when I know I'm about to biff it or I run into something with my car, "s***," sometimes escapes my lips of it's own accord.  I don't know why. 

My first recollection is in junior high when I slipped in the hall of the school and whispered the word to myself.  One of the kids saw the fat girl fall and said something about how he used to fall down alot...when he was learning to walk.  And then I saw my math teacher chuckling to himself.  I think it was because he had just seen a quiet, reserved, shy girl say, "s***," under her breath.  So through the years, backing into other cars, near miss car crashes, falling down stairs, it has been my companion. 

More recently, I yelled it as I was thrown from a jet ski in the middle of Bear Lake.  My immediate concern was for the rented jet ski because I didn't want it to capsize (expensive).  After I had confirmed that it had not tipped over, my next fear became evident.  It takes a village to get me on the thing in the first place.  I need very shallow water, a strong shoulder to boost me up and then a push to get me out to the required depth to start the engine.  The fear I had of falling off was not physical injury, it was the impossibility of getting back on at a depth greater than 6 inches.  I fell off in the middle of Bear Lake and there was no way that I had the upper body strength to pull myself back on again and it was too far to swim to shore.  "Call the Coast Guard," I told my companions.  (Really, I should be commended for not consciously saying sh** a few more times.)  In the end, my friend waved her blue sarong in the air and caught the attention of a passing boat.  I was hoping for a ladder, but it only had a platform on the back.  Somehow, I managed to get one of my legs up on it and with the help of 2 men, roll myself onto the platform.  I felt a bit like a beached whale.  I had to lay on the platform for a minute and rest and try to calm myself.  Thankfully, the family who helped me was perfectly kind.  (No looks of disgust or judgement at my fatness.)  They made sure I was comfortable, gave me something to drink and even the teen-aged boy kept asking me if I was okay all the way back to shore.  Unfortunately, my good friend's sarong was "lost at sea" during the rescue.  I will never foget it's sacrifice. ;)

So back to Thursday.  I fell on the ice.  It was right next to a truck and the ice slanted downward toward the truck so I ended up with half of my body under the truck.  For the life of me, I could not get any traction and I kept slidding under the truck.  I smacked my knee on the ice so it was painful to kneel and I didn't quite have the strength to get myself up.  I wondered how long I would be there.  "I've fallen and I can't get up!"  I finally mustered the strength and traction to get up, but it wasn't pretty.  I had to stand by the truck for a minute to catch my breath, staighten my clothes and cry a little.  Stupid ice!

So I am left to ponder, once again, "What has happened to me?"  I've gained 85 lbs in the last 10 months and there is no end in sight.  Why doesn't my lack of physical agility, strength, and endurance motivate me to stop this?  I wish I had the determination and motivation to really buckle down and fix my unhealthy body.  Somebody tell me how to stop.