The Currency of Love

Today during a mandated sweep and clean operation of Julia's room a discovery was made by her brother.

These are Julia dollars and apparently they're worth ten thousand regular dollars. You can also exchange them for love, which she says is endless. I had never seen them or heard about them until today, when they were unearthed in the much needed cleaning of her room.

I've been thinking a lot of thoughts lately, about love and feelings and since it's almost valentine's day maybe I've been inspired by candy hearts and decorative fat babies with arrows.

Different kinds of love have different prices out there in life. There's the kind of love you have for those first loves, those mistake loves that are how you learn what love is and isn't. You lose part of yourself in them, and you change based on what you learn. Sometimes there are loves that could've been the RIGHT one but the timing was wrong, and the price of the regret can be unending. You'll always wonder just a little bit "what if?"

The love for your children is different. My own experience was that the moment I became pregnant I began to change, and the fierceness with which I love my children is not quantifiable by man. A friend once said "I'd not only take a bullet for my children, I'd take a slow saw to the neck." That about sums it up to me. There is nothing I wouldn't do for them. I get annoyed when I have to get out of bed and parent in the night, don't be fooled. I don't leap out of like a fairy and flit about full of joy and happiness. But when there is coughing, or retching, or other sounds that aren't sleeping my eyes pop open and I listen. I get up.

Sometimes I open my eyes in the middle of the night and listen intently to them sleeping. In the room next to mine, just a few feet from my head, three boys slumber. I can hear the one who snores, and the one who rolls around and flops in his sleep, and the one who giggles in his sleep. I listen intently for the sounds that are the three of them. The girl is further down the hall and I'll have to creep down the hall and peek for a good inspection.

Then I go pee because I'm up and gravity is a thing and I had four kids so give me a break.

The love of my children has become a currency I'm paying in another way. I started working out because I was over 300 pounds and had a heart incident. It started out as vanity, I was ashamed of how I looked. I was ashamed that arthritis in my knee was keeping me from using stairs at work. I was ashamed that I tried to do aerobics and collapsed on the floor crying after 7 minutes.

I vowed I wasn't going to shop in fat girl stores any more. I was going to be SKINNY. No one was EVER going to yell rude things at me (they still do btw) and I was going to make sure no one could EVER refer to me as fat again with any sort of basis in reality.

Then eventually, despite that voice in my head saying all the stuff above, it became about being more healthy. My heart condition is a real thing. I actually have a couple of different things happening heart-wise, one because of the other, and they have names and sound super scary and everything. They are the sort of things that aren't really that big of a deal if you are healthy and stuff. They are the sort of things that people ignore and then one day they have heart failure and everyone goes "Wow dead at 50 who knew X could kill you?"

X can kill you. X will always kill you.

But the reality hit me in 2015 when both of my parents up and died. The first thing was that they'd both died of X, those things that might've been handled so differently if dealt with earlier. The second thing though was the reality that suddenly my brothers and I were orphans. At 46, 36 and 26 we now were on our own. Yes we're all grown but it was a sobering moment because you never really think you'll be orphaned yet there we were.

My own children are some day going to be orphans.  I have two children who will never, ever be able to do for themselves. The other two, if I died today, would be very sad but would also be FINE. They're smart, they're capable. The Jesuits say give us the child for the first seven years and we'll give you the man well, she'll be 7 this year and he's 14 and frankly - while I don't WANT TO DIE now, I'm not afraid of what will happen to them. I know solidly in my heart they will be fine.

But my twins....will not.

They need me and/or their father alive as long as possible to care for them. Maybe some day to over see where they go live when we can no longer care for them. So I go to the gym. I try to watch what I eat (some days more than others let me tell you). I am running. I'm terrible at it, but I also hate being terrible at things so I keep going. So when I'm sweating and I'm hurting, I'm paying part of the currency of love. I'm paying the price of loving them so much, and I don't regret it.

I regret eating whatever I wanted for 20 years, but not for loving them this much. I lift weights on Tuesday and Thursdays and push myself to run up that hill even though my legs are about to brick. I push and push and push. I have to lose more weight, not tons, but more to ease the strain on my heart from all this extra fat. I need to build strong bones and keep them as I age so that I'm not made weak too soon by the toll of years.

I'm putting it off, this aging thing. My vanity likes the smaller sizes but my heart likes it when it gets to NOT take blood pressure medicine and when the ridiculously expensive tests don't find anything bad beyond what's known.

I could say I want to stay alive just because I'm selfish and I want all of my days. But actually I want my days so that I'm here not just for me, but for them. That's the price of loving them. It's part fear, it's part just plain love. But it's real, and it's a currency I will gladly pay until the day I die.

The Currency of Love

Today during a mandated sweep and clean operation of Julia's room a discovery was made by her brother.

These are Julia dollars and apparently they're worth ten thousand regular dollars. You can also exchange them for love, which she says is endless. I had never seen them or heard about them until today, when they were unearthed in the much needed cleaning of her room.

I've been thinking a lot of thoughts lately, about love and feelings and since it's almost valentine's day maybe I've been inspired by candy hearts and decorative fat babies with arrows.

Different kinds of love have different prices out there in life. There's the kind of love you have for those first loves, those mistake loves that are how you learn what love is and isn't. You lose part of yourself in them, and you change based on what you learn. Sometimes there are loves that could've been the RIGHT one but the timing was wrong, and the price of the regret can be unending. You'll always wonder just a little bit "what if?"

The love for your children is different. My own experience was that the moment I became pregnant I began to change, and the fierceness with which I love my children is not quantifiable by man. A friend once said "I'd not only take a bullet for my children, I'd take a slow saw to the neck." That about sums it up to me. There is nothing I wouldn't do for them. I get annoyed when I have to get out of bed and parent in the night, don't be fooled. I don't leap out of like a fairy and flit about full of joy and happiness. But when there is coughing, or retching, or other sounds that aren't sleeping my eyes pop open and I listen. I get up.

Sometimes I open my eyes in the middle of the night and listen intently to them sleeping. In the room next to mine, just a few feet from my head, three boys slumber. I can hear the one who snores, and the one who rolls around and flops in his sleep, and the one who giggles in his sleep. I listen intently for the sounds that are the three of them. The girl is further down the hall and I'll have to creep down the hall and peek for a good inspection.

Then I go pee because I'm up and gravity is a thing and I had four kids so give me a break.

The love of my children has become a currency I'm paying in another way. I started working out because I was over 300 pounds and had a heart incident. It started out as vanity, I was ashamed of how I looked. I was ashamed that arthritis in my knee was keeping me from using stairs at work. I was ashamed that I tried to do aerobics and collapsed on the floor crying after 7 minutes.

I vowed I wasn't going to shop in fat girl stores any more. I was going to be SKINNY. No one was EVER going to yell rude things at me (they still do btw) and I was going to make sure no one could EVER refer to me as fat again with any sort of basis in reality.

Then eventually, despite that voice in my head saying all the stuff above, it became about being more healthy. My heart condition is a real thing. I actually have a couple of different things happening heart-wise, one because of the other, and they have names and sound super scary and everything. They are the sort of things that aren't really that big of a deal if you are healthy and stuff. They are the sort of things that people ignore and then one day they have heart failure and everyone goes "Wow dead at 50 who knew X could kill you?"

X can kill you. X will always kill you.

But the reality hit me in 2015 when both of my parents up and died. The first thing was that they'd both died of X, those things that might've been handled so differently if dealt with earlier. The second thing though was the reality that suddenly my brothers and I were orphans. At 46, 36 and 26 we now were on our own. Yes we're all grown but it was a sobering moment because you never really think you'll be orphaned yet there we were.

My own children are some day going to be orphans.  I have two children who will never, ever be able to do for themselves. The other two, if I died today, would be very sad but would also be FINE. They're smart, they're capable. The Jesuits say give us the child for the first seven years and we'll give you the man well, she'll be 7 this year and he's 14 and frankly - while I don't WANT TO DIE now, I'm not afraid of what will happen to them. I know solidly in my heart they will be fine.

But my twins....will not.

They need me and/or their father alive as long as possible to care for them. Maybe some day to over see where they go live when we can no longer care for them. So I go to the gym. I try to watch what I eat (some days more than others let me tell you). I am running. I'm terrible at it, but I also hate being terrible at things so I keep going. So when I'm sweating and I'm hurting, I'm paying part of the currency of love. I'm paying the price of loving them so much, and I don't regret it.

I regret eating whatever I wanted for 20 years, but not for loving them this much. I lift weights on Tuesday and Thursdays and push myself to run up that hill even though my legs are about to brick. I push and push and push. I have to lose more weight, not tons, but more to ease the strain on my heart from all this extra fat. I need to build strong bones and keep them as I age so that I'm not made weak too soon by the toll of years.

I'm putting it off, this aging thing. My vanity likes the smaller sizes but my heart likes it when it gets to NOT take blood pressure medicine and when the ridiculously expensive tests don't find anything bad beyond what's known.

I could say I want to stay alive just because I'm selfish and I want all of my days. But actually I want my days so that I'm here not just for me, but for them. That's the price of loving them. It's part fear, it's part just plain love. But it's real, and it's a currency I will gladly pay until the day I die.

Running From The Rain

I'm an intensely half-assed runner. As in, I am really not invested in it. The things I like about it are the caloric burn and oh that's about it. I am a duplicitous creature, though, and it bothers me to be bad at things (unless those things are  housekeeping or cooking or domestic chores). But I was two days in a row with no work out and I felt an intense desire to burn some calories off as well as just sweat and not be cooped up in my house. So with rain threatening to the west I decided I could do a mile before it started raining. I took off up the stupid hill which doesn't look like a hill at all unless you're on foot, and into the wind.

It was really a perfect day to be outside for a girl who mostly walks and half-assed runs. Personally I don't think it'll ever be MY THING as I've got some arthritis in one knee and I'm fat as hell and I have no stamina and oh god I could do this ALL DAY. There are REASONS why it's not going to be my thing, yet there I go, giving it another try.

Today I half-assed ran down our street, down the main street to the next neighborhood and the length of THAT street and back. I had a plan. I was going to push myself and do the running intervals I was supposed to do for a change. My plan was SOLID. The rain was west, and while the wind was picking up - seriously I'm going ONE MILE. Even my big ass can go ONE MILE in 20 or so minutes. I'm not fast. I stressed this on my whole "half-assed" part right?

So there I am running down the sidewalk and heading toward the next street when something squishes under my feet. I was busy cursing that bitch on C25k who is all "START RUNNING" like she's my boss and just kept going, much to the chagrin of the passing cars I'm sure. Oh well if you don't want to see a fat girl working out don't leave your house. We are legion.

About half way down the next street over the mist began. It wasn't bad, more of a Seattle type of event. Enough to annoy your glasses but not enough to complain about. By then I was struggling to obey my digital overlord when she told me to run so I was settling with walking fast. The street next to me also has a stupid hill that you don't notice except when you're on foot and when I headed back UP my entire body said YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVEN'T WORKED OUT IN TWO DAYS AND WE'RE DONE NOW SO JUST QUIT. It was right at about that moment that the entire sky said HAHAHAHA YOU CAN'T OUTRUN ME NOW and then well....nature happened.

As I walked/half-assed ran down the main street back toward my house I stopped under the canopy of trees as I realized what I had stepped on when I went by earlier. Persimmons! Persimmons, that most Hoosier of fruit, base ingredient for persimmon pudding which was one of the the great childhood cakes of my grandma's house.The owner of this house clearly does not know that you're supposed to put a ground sheet under your tree and that they're ripe when they fall, not a moment before. All these persimmons are getting crushed under my feet and the feet of others.

Philistine.

I made it home, soaked and sweating at the same time which is a delightful combination. Now I really need to go home and get some persimmon pudding. If you haven't ever hard it, here is the realest recipe - my grandma would approve. You have to put cool whip on top, however. It's a moral imperative.

If anyone needs me I'll probably be napping, dreaming of ground sheets and plump, small, orange bombs falling from the sky. There's worse ways to spend my afternoon.

Running From The Rain

I'm an intensely half-assed runner. As in, I am really not invested in it. The things I like about it are the caloric burn and oh that's about it. I am a duplicitous creature, though, and it bothers me to be bad at things (unless those things are  housekeeping or cooking or domestic chores). But I was two days in a row with no work out and I felt an intense desire to burn some calories off as well as just sweat and not be cooped up in my house. So with rain threatening to the west I decided I could do a mile before it started raining. I took off up the stupid hill which doesn't look like a hill at all unless you're on foot, and into the wind.

It was really a perfect day to be outside for a girl who mostly walks and half-assed runs. Personally I don't think it'll ever be MY THING as I've got some arthritis in one knee and I'm fat as hell and I have no stamina and oh god I could do this ALL DAY. There are REASONS why it's not going to be my thing, yet there I go, giving it another try.

Today I half-assed ran down our street, down the main street to the next neighborhood and the length of THAT street and back. I had a plan. I was going to push myself and do the running intervals I was supposed to do for a change. My plan was SOLID. The rain was west, and while the wind was picking up - seriously I'm going ONE MILE. Even my big ass can go ONE MILE in 20 or so minutes. I'm not fast. I stressed this on my whole "half-assed" part right?

So there I am running down the sidewalk and heading toward the next street when something squishes under my feet. I was busy cursing that bitch on C25k who is all "START RUNNING" like she's my boss and just kept going, much to the chagrin of the passing cars I'm sure. Oh well if you don't want to see a fat girl working out don't leave your house. We are legion.

About half way down the next street over the mist began. It wasn't bad, more of a Seattle type of event. Enough to annoy your glasses but not enough to complain about. By then I was struggling to obey my digital overlord when she told me to run so I was settling with walking fast. The street next to me also has a stupid hill that you don't notice except when you're on foot and when I headed back UP my entire body said YOU KNOW WHAT YOU HAVEN'T WORKED OUT IN TWO DAYS AND WE'RE DONE NOW SO JUST QUIT. It was right at about that moment that the entire sky said HAHAHAHA YOU CAN'T OUTRUN ME NOW and then well....nature happened.

As I walked/half-assed ran down the main street back toward my house I stopped under the canopy of trees as I realized what I had stepped on when I went by earlier. Persimmons! Persimmons, that most Hoosier of fruit, base ingredient for persimmon pudding which was one of the the great childhood cakes of my grandma's house.The owner of this house clearly does not know that you're supposed to put a ground sheet under your tree and that they're ripe when they fall, not a moment before. All these persimmons are getting crushed under my feet and the feet of others.

Philistine.

I made it home, soaked and sweating at the same time which is a delightful combination. Now I really need to go home and get some persimmon pudding. If you haven't ever hard it, here is the realest recipe - my grandma would approve. You have to put cool whip on top, however. It's a moral imperative.

If anyone needs me I'll probably be napping, dreaming of ground sheets and plump, small, orange bombs falling from the sky. There's worse ways to spend my afternoon.

Oh Good Now We Can Rock

So after my ill considered yoga experiment I've been so sore I can barely lift my arms. I'm blaming yoga however I just realized I also did circuit workout that same day so it's probably a terrible combo of the two. I spent my day not being to lift my arms up to do things like, hang up my coat at work because that hook was just UP SO FAR.
But I came home and decided to do some light working out on the total gym and just stretched a lot. I like to put on Pandora on SHUFFLE because nothing is better than Beethoven followed by Savage Garden followed by Johnny Cash followed by Barry Manilow followed by Opera Trance followed by Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

While doing squats and just closing my eyes and relaxing I realized that flailing around me is a whirling five year old, singing along suddenly to Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree in a super excited way. She was dancing and informs me that dancing is a great way to get healthy.

My shoulder is popping and I pull myself up a few times gently, feeling my stupid flabby arms burn and I wonder how the hell I ever got this unhealthy. I can remember being strong, being able to run, riding my bike everywhere.

Can I get a do-over?

No, I can't.

I'm slightly less sore but more achy now after around a total of 30 minutes of working out and stretching and I'm trying to decide if I have a hernia or what in my abdomen. I guess I have to get it checked out.

I lay on the total gym, feeling like I'm not ever going to enjoy this shit but at least I do it, when suddenly U2 comes on (Pride - In the Name of Love) and Julia starts bouncing madly..."OH GOOD! Now we can ROCK!" she declares.

I'm wrong. I do enjoy this. Just not the THIS I was thinking of.

Tweet

Oh Good Now We Can Rock

So after my ill considered yoga experiment I've been so sore I can barely lift my arms. I'm blaming yoga however I just realized I also did circuit workout that same day so it's probably a terrible combo of the two. I spent my day not being to lift my arms up to do things like, hang up my coat at work because that hook was just UP SO FAR.
But I came home and decided to do some light working out on the total gym and just stretched a lot. I like to put on Pandora on SHUFFLE because nothing is better than Beethoven followed by Savage Garden followed by Johnny Cash followed by Barry Manilow followed by Opera Trance followed by Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

While doing squats and just closing my eyes and relaxing I realized that flailing around me is a whirling five year old, singing along suddenly to Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree in a super excited way. She was dancing and informs me that dancing is a great way to get healthy.

My shoulder is popping and I pull myself up a few times gently, feeling my stupid flabby arms burn and I wonder how the hell I ever got this unhealthy. I can remember being strong, being able to run, riding my bike everywhere.

Can I get a do-over?

No, I can't.

I'm slightly less sore but more achy now after around a total of 30 minutes of working out and stretching and I'm trying to decide if I have a hernia or what in my abdomen. I guess I have to get it checked out.

I lay on the total gym, feeling like I'm not ever going to enjoy this shit but at least I do it, when suddenly U2 comes on (Pride - In the Name of Love) and Julia starts bouncing madly..."OH GOOD! Now we can ROCK!" she declares.

I'm wrong. I do enjoy this. Just not the THIS I was thinking of.

Tweet

Multitasking and Multipe Tasks - Like A Mom

I have decided I want to try yoga.I don't really know why but I want to. However I'm also pretty paranoid about going someplace and doing something like yoga in front of tons of other people.

I don't even have the clothes for this adventure. I've got ONE pair of shorts that fit and no way I'm wearing those in front of people.So I decided to dip my foot into this pond solo, like with all my other work out stuff, and see what's up. Starbucks suggested YouFit yoga app so I downloaded it because HEY FREE. Yesterday I decided to try it out.

However I also had lots of other things to do. This may be why yoga and I aren't meant to be because who has time to just give away doing ONE thing? I suspect that's an ideal situation for that but even working out at my house I've got 1 to 4 kids in the room talking to me if not my husband also.

I ran Julia's bath and slathered on some depilatory and decided to check out the app.

I sat on my bedroom floor, with my upper lip burning listening to a very nice lady explain the app set up. It really made a lot of sense. TRY each of the poses and then tap the screen and mark them too easy, just right, or too hard. As I gave them a try and tried to ignore the follicle mitosis killing field below my nose, I got kind of sad that oh 75% went into the TOO HARD category. (Or is it meiosis? I forget which is which.) I do want to mention I'm SUPER GOOD at this thing called Corpse pose. Second would be the sitting thing. I can sit. But it sort of hurts.

But I did it. My back hurt like a mofo and my hips were screaming and really most of my body was saying hey that's stupid let's don't do that. My body, however, is a poor steward for what it needs. It tells me I need chocolate shakes on the daily.

After her bath I decided that since Sunday is the Superbowl it means we're going to feast like we're Tudors and I've just gotten all the damn Vegas weight BACK off so there was nothing for it but to hit the total gym. My body was too shaking and achy for aerobics but laying on a slab I could do.

My arms disagreed heartily about this whole working out business and this morning they're reminding me of their rancor. Too bad arms. You're flabby and gross.

Post bath and post workout the girl decided to remind me we were going to paint our nails for the Superbowl. We're legally required to root for Manning around here if we can't root for the Colts or Falcons so Orange it was.

I love painting her tiny toes. She says that proper ladies always paint their toes. This makes me smile because my own mother used to tell me that a lady always has her nails done. I'm trying Mom, I'm trying.

I didn't have any orange so we had to use her polish.

No regrets.

I also am playing this stupid game on my phone and it's a collecting game but I don't know what the hell I'm doing is this good is this bad? I don't know I'm just playing it because other people are playing it and that makes me feel like a lemming but.....kitties!

I cannot tell if I am doing well or poorly.

The end of our day came later than usual and my tiny blonde companion brought a pillow and a blanket onto my lap for family time. Then promptly this happened.

In the silence of Sunday morning I've fed those cats on my phone and am considering which workouts to do today, I would like to try to fit in two to combat that which I am about to consume.

Who knows what I will get done. Maybe none of it.

That's Mom life. I wouldn't trade it for the world, though.
Tweet

Multitasking and Multipe Tasks - Like A Mom

I have decided I want to try yoga.I don't really know why but I want to. However I'm also pretty paranoid about going someplace and doing something like yoga in front of tons of other people.

I don't even have the clothes for this adventure. I've got ONE pair of shorts that fit and no way I'm wearing those in front of people.So I decided to dip my foot into this pond solo, like with all my other work out stuff, and see what's up. Starbucks suggested YouFit yoga app so I downloaded it because HEY FREE. Yesterday I decided to try it out.

However I also had lots of other things to do. This may be why yoga and I aren't meant to be because who has time to just give away doing ONE thing? I suspect that's an ideal situation for that but even working out at my house I've got 1 to 4 kids in the room talking to me if not my husband also.

I ran Julia's bath and slathered on some depilatory and decided to check out the app.

I sat on my bedroom floor, with my upper lip burning listening to a very nice lady explain the app set up. It really made a lot of sense. TRY each of the poses and then tap the screen and mark them too easy, just right, or too hard. As I gave them a try and tried to ignore the follicle mitosis killing field below my nose, I got kind of sad that oh 75% went into the TOO HARD category. (Or is it meiosis? I forget which is which.) I do want to mention I'm SUPER GOOD at this thing called Corpse pose. Second would be the sitting thing. I can sit. But it sort of hurts.

But I did it. My back hurt like a mofo and my hips were screaming and really most of my body was saying hey that's stupid let's don't do that. My body, however, is a poor steward for what it needs. It tells me I need chocolate shakes on the daily.

After her bath I decided that since Sunday is the Superbowl it means we're going to feast like we're Tudors and I've just gotten all the damn Vegas weight BACK off so there was nothing for it but to hit the total gym. My body was too shaking and achy for aerobics but laying on a slab I could do.

My arms disagreed heartily about this whole working out business and this morning they're reminding me of their rancor. Too bad arms. You're flabby and gross.

Post bath and post workout the girl decided to remind me we were going to paint our nails for the Superbowl. We're legally required to root for Manning around here if we can't root for the Colts or Falcons so Orange it was.

I love painting her tiny toes. She says that proper ladies always paint their toes. This makes me smile because my own mother used to tell me that a lady always has her nails done. I'm trying Mom, I'm trying.

I didn't have any orange so we had to use her polish.

No regrets.

I also am playing this stupid game on my phone and it's a collecting game but I don't know what the hell I'm doing is this good is this bad? I don't know I'm just playing it because other people are playing it and that makes me feel like a lemming but.....kitties!

I cannot tell if I am doing well or poorly.

The end of our day came later than usual and my tiny blonde companion brought a pillow and a blanket onto my lap for family time. Then promptly this happened.

In the silence of Sunday morning I've fed those cats on my phone and am considering which workouts to do today, I would like to try to fit in two to combat that which I am about to consume.

Who knows what I will get done. Maybe none of it.

That's Mom life. I wouldn't trade it for the world, though.
Tweet

We've Got A Long Way To Go...

I decided last week that I was going to get back on focusing on making myself more healthy as of today. I was at a record low number the day before Dad died, and then I ate like Jabba ever since. I hit a number and managed to hover and there I've been since November.  I decided that through the holidays I was going to be content to just HOVER there. A pound up, a pound down this way or that and I didn't mind. I wasn't going to go berserk, I was going to eat and enjoy my holidays but not graze and stuff myself.

I failed a bit on that last part but mostly I didn't. I didn't work out much, I didn't focus on water, I just let myself exist. It was intense relief, not considering my food all fucking day I have to admit it.

Today however I'm back on it. I did have sugar in my coffee and no regrets but even that will have to go except for maybe once in a while. It's time to get serious again. I know I'm not ever going to be model thin. I sometimes say I want to lose another 100 pounds but that's not really realistic I know. However I'm going to shoot for that number and somewhere along the way I think I'll find the place that feels right.

What I want is to be healthy. I want to diminish my risks for things like diabetes (Dad and Mom had it), of liver and kidney disease (Mom had it), heart disease (Dad had it). I know I can't ever completely eradicate them but I can't accept that I didn't TRY.

So I'm trying. Or - I'm doing, as it were.

Not eating a ton of junk is the easy part to me. I'm always just sort of hungry and I've learned to deal with that. I think that hunger is mental and it fades into real hunger and I try to eat things that aren't total crap and deal with the fact that I would over eat every opportunity I have, if I let myself. So, I don't let myself.

Working out is the struggle.

I could go on about how much I fucking hate it but there's no point. This body needs it. But you can't just go full tilt back into where you were because bodies don't work like that. That's how you get hurt. I decided to do circuit training tonight on the total gym and set the timer at 30 minutes, thinking "If I can just do 20 tonight...just 20 minimum." I knew I wouldn't make the full 30 as the muscle fatigue began to wear me down. My legs began to get numb and ache at the same time, my shoulders and arms began to scream. I thought god I have to be about done right? It's been along time...

I glanced at my timer...17 minutes.

OH GOD ONLY 17 minutes in and I don't even know if I can keep going UGH STUPID BODY WITH NO MUSCLE TONE WHY ARE YOU SO WEAK???

Now maybe it's because I was a music major, or maybe it's WHY I was a music major but music always plays a huge part in how I feel, and I always find that sometimes a song can push me this way or that. It can make me sadder, it can make me stronger, it can make me consider my life even a ridiculous pop song can sometimes say things to me I doubt were truly intended. Music makes my world a better place, and I can't count the number of times a song has randomly come on that changed me at that moment.

So there I am, pulling pulling on the total gym, muscle fatigue taking over, shaking in all my extremities and I think "DAMMIT 17 DAMN MINUTES REALLY???" when it happens. The plucking and planking of banjo and suddenly blasting through my Pandora 70s Country Music channel....

JERRY REED....Eastbound and Down.....

You wanna know where I found another 3 minutes I needed to at least get to 20 minutes for my work out today? From that hillbilly Jerry Reed twanging his guitar and suddenly I'm singing along and busting my ass because BY GOD I am getting to 20 minutes.

I've got a long way to go, and a short time to get there.

Just put that hammer down and give it hell...

Hell yes.

20 minutes. Done.

Thanks Jerry.

Tweet

We've Got A Long Way To Go...

I decided last week that I was going to get back on focusing on making myself more healthy as of today. I was at a record low number the day before Dad died, and then I ate like Jabba ever since. I hit a number and managed to hover and there I've been since November.  I decided that through the holidays I was going to be content to just HOVER there. A pound up, a pound down this way or that and I didn't mind. I wasn't going to go berserk, I was going to eat and enjoy my holidays but not graze and stuff myself.

I failed a bit on that last part but mostly I didn't. I didn't work out much, I didn't focus on water, I just let myself exist. It was intense relief, not considering my food all fucking day I have to admit it.

Today however I'm back on it. I did have sugar in my coffee and no regrets but even that will have to go except for maybe once in a while. It's time to get serious again. I know I'm not ever going to be model thin. I sometimes say I want to lose another 100 pounds but that's not really realistic I know. However I'm going to shoot for that number and somewhere along the way I think I'll find the place that feels right.

What I want is to be healthy. I want to diminish my risks for things like diabetes (Dad and Mom had it), of liver and kidney disease (Mom had it), heart disease (Dad had it). I know I can't ever completely eradicate them but I can't accept that I didn't TRY.

So I'm trying. Or - I'm doing, as it were.

Not eating a ton of junk is the easy part to me. I'm always just sort of hungry and I've learned to deal with that. I think that hunger is mental and it fades into real hunger and I try to eat things that aren't total crap and deal with the fact that I would over eat every opportunity I have, if I let myself. So, I don't let myself.

Working out is the struggle.

I could go on about how much I fucking hate it but there's no point. This body needs it. But you can't just go full tilt back into where you were because bodies don't work like that. That's how you get hurt. I decided to do circuit training tonight on the total gym and set the timer at 30 minutes, thinking "If I can just do 20 tonight...just 20 minimum." I knew I wouldn't make the full 30 as the muscle fatigue began to wear me down. My legs began to get numb and ache at the same time, my shoulders and arms began to scream. I thought god I have to be about done right? It's been along time...

I glanced at my timer...17 minutes.

OH GOD ONLY 17 minutes in and I don't even know if I can keep going UGH STUPID BODY WITH NO MUSCLE TONE WHY ARE YOU SO WEAK???

Now maybe it's because I was a music major, or maybe it's WHY I was a music major but music always plays a huge part in how I feel, and I always find that sometimes a song can push me this way or that. It can make me sadder, it can make me stronger, it can make me consider my life even a ridiculous pop song can sometimes say things to me I doubt were truly intended. Music makes my world a better place, and I can't count the number of times a song has randomly come on that changed me at that moment.

So there I am, pulling pulling on the total gym, muscle fatigue taking over, shaking in all my extremities and I think "DAMMIT 17 DAMN MINUTES REALLY???" when it happens. The plucking and planking of banjo and suddenly blasting through my Pandora 70s Country Music channel....

JERRY REED....Eastbound and Down.....

You wanna know where I found another 3 minutes I needed to at least get to 20 minutes for my work out today? From that hillbilly Jerry Reed twanging his guitar and suddenly I'm singing along and busting my ass because BY GOD I am getting to 20 minutes.

I've got a long way to go, and a short time to get there.

Just put that hammer down and give it hell...

Hell yes.

20 minutes. Done.

Thanks Jerry.

Tweet

30 Minutes on the Total Gym

I won't be able to fix typos today, and for that I apologize. That's mostly because I'm MOSTLY numb right now. I think the correct term is muscle fatigue. It's a thing that's good for you. Like most things that's good for you, it's bullshit.

I don't mean it's bullshit in a "this is an untrue thing" sort of way. I mean, it's a big ball of terrible and miserable and it makes you feel bad in some way that is supposed to make you feel good on the other side of whatever barrier you have to get through. At some point in time, I will feel great afterward. I will feel strong, and positive and like this.

That day has not arrived.

I have not eaten right, I have not worked out enough and I only have myself to blame.  There is this part of me, though, that is just pissed off because I CAN remember this not hurting so much. I can remember not feeling DREAD AND DESPAIR at the thought of the work out. Maybe I didn't love it but I didn't just think how much more I'd like to go eat some chocolate covered cherries. (The cheap ones from Walmart, not the good ones). I guess in my big long constant justification stream, I don't want it to be EASIER I just want it to NOT HURT SO FUCKING MUCH.

I burned off 300 calories allegedly a few minutes ago, and perhaps that's true as I'm still struggling to use my arms properly. My legs will be fine if I just sit here.

The worst part to me lately is while I am working out, I feel pissed off. Not at me, not at my diet or my weight, or the fact that working out is requisite. I don't feel a calm and peace, or sense of renewed energy. I don't get whatever you get from endorphins or whatever. (I have never experienced this and consider it a lie, like cuddling after sex.) As I'm slogging away hauling my own body weight up and down a sliding board I start thinking of all the shit I'm pissed off about.

And I get madder.

By the time I get off, the people I am pissed off at are lucky they aren't in my sight, because I would probably set them on fire. My time of introspection and personal improvement just ends up being 30 minutes of me getting wound up about things that I have done my best to ignore and push away, or at least let go because they weren't worth me being upset about anyway.

It feels like if I ramped up my workouts the way I actually should, I would end up being one really hard to get along with bitch.

Luckily I'm not armed.



Tweet

30 Minutes on the Total Gym

I won't be able to fix typos today, and for that I apologize. That's mostly because I'm MOSTLY numb right now. I think the correct term is muscle fatigue. It's a thing that's good for you. Like most things that's good for you, it's bullshit.

I don't mean it's bullshit in a "this is an untrue thing" sort of way. I mean, it's a big ball of terrible and miserable and it makes you feel bad in some way that is supposed to make you feel good on the other side of whatever barrier you have to get through. At some point in time, I will feel great afterward. I will feel strong, and positive and like this.

That day has not arrived.

I have not eaten right, I have not worked out enough and I only have myself to blame.  There is this part of me, though, that is just pissed off because I CAN remember this not hurting so much. I can remember not feeling DREAD AND DESPAIR at the thought of the work out. Maybe I didn't love it but I didn't just think how much more I'd like to go eat some chocolate covered cherries. (The cheap ones from Walmart, not the good ones). I guess in my big long constant justification stream, I don't want it to be EASIER I just want it to NOT HURT SO FUCKING MUCH.

I burned off 300 calories allegedly a few minutes ago, and perhaps that's true as I'm still struggling to use my arms properly. My legs will be fine if I just sit here.

The worst part to me lately is while I am working out, I feel pissed off. Not at me, not at my diet or my weight, or the fact that working out is requisite. I don't feel a calm and peace, or sense of renewed energy. I don't get whatever you get from endorphins or whatever. (I have never experienced this and consider it a lie, like cuddling after sex.) As I'm slogging away hauling my own body weight up and down a sliding board I start thinking of all the shit I'm pissed off about.

And I get madder.

By the time I get off, the people I am pissed off at are lucky they aren't in my sight, because I would probably set them on fire. My time of introspection and personal improvement just ends up being 30 minutes of me getting wound up about things that I have done my best to ignore and push away, or at least let go because they weren't worth me being upset about anyway.

It feels like if I ramped up my workouts the way I actually should, I would end up being one really hard to get along with bitch.

Luckily I'm not armed.



Tweet