Gold Star

Today, I give myself a Gold Star.

At weigh-in this morning, I stepped on the scale to find I had lost another 2.2.

What.  The.  Fuck?!

Pardon my language, but Holy Crow!

This is week 3 of maintenance, where I should be holding steady.  For whatever reason, my body decided to drop 2.2 in ONE week.

I haven’t had a loss like that in ages and, frankly, I don’t know where it is exactly coming off of.  I’m skinny enough as it is.  I don’t know what happened, but, okay.  I’ll take it!

This brings my loss total to 20.0 exactly.  Admittedly, I thought I might continue to lose.  I’ve upped my Points from 29 to 32, but honestly, I’m having a hard time eating all of those 32 every day.  My daily workouts usually burn off my breakfast, which means by lunchtime, I still have ALL my daily Points left.  I’m not feeling deprived in any way possible.  I’m still allowing myself those cookies before bed, and my meals are totally satisfying.  I’m guessing soon enough, my body will level off when it decides it’s at it’s optimal size.

After the meeting today, I was approached by the territory manager for WW to apply to be a Leader.  I had been entertaining the idea for a few weeks now.  I’m only 3 weeks away from being a Lifetime Member, which means I no longer pay for meetings.  I thought I had to wait to be Lifetime before applying, but the manager said no, and that she was very interested in me for a Leader position!  I, of course, am not looking for anything time-consuming, as school is my first and only priority.  Maybe a morning or two a week, but wouldn’t that be fun??  I think my days of being a working actor and stage teacher might come in handy with this type of job, as well as my aptitude for counseling/helping people solve problems.  We’ll see what happens!

Have had all three classes by now, and really enjoying them.  Tomorrow is a busy day: elliptical/strength train early AM, Lunch and Learn seminar at The Abbey on Military with PTSD and Addiction, then class in the late afternoon.

Still missing my boy, but every day is a little better. The house is much quieter with him not in it.  Maddy has been confused, moping around the house a bit here and there.  I think, despite her intolerance of him sometimes, that she misses the little guy as much as we do.  Treated her to a day at the spa today, which is her favorite thing.  We’ve been talking with a few Sheltie rescues in the Midwest, hoping to get another adorable boy in our house soon.  We are definitely a two-dog household.  It is apparent that all of us, including Maddy, agree.

Who am I?

Sometimes, I have no idea who I am.

The way thoughts come in and out of my head.  I can’t be this person, can I?

Ike’s death really made me question a lot about myself, the kind of person I am.  I didn’t really feel like myself until Wednesday.  Of course, it will still take some time for me to mourn and grieve my boy.  But I’m feeling better.  The more I think about last Sunday, I realize that our boy was very ill, probably more ill than we had imagined, and that it was definitely the right decision to let him go peacefully.  I miss him.  A lot.  But I know he is out there somewhere, making sure we are okay.

Tomorrow, we have a meeting with Central Illinois Sheltie Rescue.  We filled out the application to rescue a Sheltie who desperately needs a home.  While I know no dog would ever replace my boy, I think it is a testament to how much we loved him and he us that we want to continue to give that love to a little one who needs us.

On a MUCH brighter note, school started up again this week.  As fate would have it, The Runner is in one of my classes.  He walked in, and I froze.  I felt so dirty.  I mean, I knew, sooner or later, that this was going to happen.  We were bound to have a class together some time or another.

But when I saw him walk in, I instantly turned red, and felt like a 15-year-old girl again.  This man, of whom I’ve written one of the most intimate works of my life, sat down close to me.  Not 4 feet from me.  He could probably smell my Japanese Cherry Blossom perfume.  And all I could do was look down at my notebook and want to crawl into a hole.  There are two parts of me at work here.  One looks forward to the day we actually have a conversation.  I am a 33-year-old WOMAN, who has lived an interesting and unorthodox life.  But then there is the other part, who dreads having a conversation with him.  I would, of course, NEVER in a million years tell him about the journal/blog entries I’ve written about him.  And why do I let myself get carried away when it comes to him?  He is just a person.  I have seemed to put him upon some higher plane, a place I could never understand  or reach.

It’s ridiculous.

Enough of that.  Also in this class is my new friend D, who was also in a class with me last term.  Have you ever met someone and you just felt you two were supposed to be friends?  I feel this way about D.  She is terribly fun, down-to-Earth and hysterical.  It is a different dynamic this semester, because I now actually know a lot of people in my classes, as well as in the program.  So now, walking into a class, it is almost guaranteed I will know a few people.  My Thursday class I know just about everyone, with the exception of maybe three or four people.  I like that.  That sense of community I feel from these people.

In other news, I’ve stayed under my goal weight for the last two weeks in Maintenance.  I actually lost a little (.4) this past week.  We’ll see what the scale says on Tuesday.  Looking forward to getting back on the treadmill tomorrow after taking Friday and today off.  With the loss of Ike last weekend, both my runs this past week left a little to be desired.  I am sleeping/eating better now than I was earlier in the week, so hopefully my workouts will reflect that.  Also this week, I’ll be starting strength training and the Bridge-to-10K program.  I hope with strength training, I can pump up those leg muscles a little bit more to increase my speed as well as distance.  I’d like to be able to run the Bix this July, and the half-marathon in September.

All for now.  Mama is tired.

Goodbye, my boy

I am not a God person.  A “guy in the sky” kind of woman.  While I do consider myself to be spiritual, I am not religious in any sense of the word.  I consider myself to be more of an agnostic than an atheist, but I do stay open to the possibility of there being some kind of magic at work in the Universe.  I give thanks, every night before bed, to the Universe and all the wonderful gifts it has given me, as well as all of the lessons.  Every experience shapes who we are, especially the bad ones.

Sometimes, I think the Universe plants a little seed in your soul.  Maybe it is the fire that inspires us to do things, like getting off the couch and running a 5K.  Or eating better.  Or finally telling someone how you feel about them, or getting up the guts to audition for something, or apply to grad school or any number of a zillion things.  I think, on Sunday, the Universe planted a seed in me, telling me to “get on it” when it came to talking about my dogs, and recognizing how special they are to me.  When I blogged on Sunday about Maddy and Ike, little did I know it would be our last day with our boy.

As I had mentioned a few days ago, our little Isaac was diagnosed with a heart murmur last Summer.  When this happened, our vet had said this type of thing was very common in elderly dogs, and that it would never be something that would get better.  She gave us many meds to “keep him comfortable”, and didn’t give a promising prognosis.  Most dogs diagnosed with a heart condition have only a few months to a year to live.  We knew we didn’t have much time with him, or how much.

Over the last six months, our playful, happy boy started to become very lethargic, tired, and most importantly, depressed.  Our boy who used to bound up the stairs, or love to run the length of our fence every time a car drove by started to withdraw.  A walk around the block would tire him out, so much that one of us would have to carry him home.  The last glimmer of our old boy came this past Christmas morning, when out of his stocking came a squeezy chew toy, and the two of us played fetch for 20 minutes while Maddy happily ate a granola chewie.  Most times since the Summer, however, he just slept.

Since Christmas, our boy started having bad diarrhea and urinating/pooping in the house.  Combined with his poor eyesight and hearing loss, our happy boy was now an old man.  Since his diagnosis last Summer, his beautiful black and sable coat quickly grayed.  We knew it was almost time.

This past Sunday, we all went upstairs for bedtime, when I noticed his abdomen was full of fluid.  R and I promptly took him to the Emergency Vet, where the kind and comforting staff gave us a few options.  They could hospitalize him and run tests to find out what the fluid was.  However, in our hearts, we knew that no matter what tests they did on him, he would never be our boy again.  He would never be healthy again.  With many tears and breaking hearts, we made the decision to let him go.  We realized we didn’t want to be “those people” who held on to him because we were afraid of how we would feel if we lost him.  Those kinds of people are freaks, and selfish.  We knew he was ready, and could tell for some time that he was.  What was so shocking, of course, was that we didn’t expect to have to say goodbye to him so soon.  The staff put an IV in his arm, and brought the three of us to their Comfort Room.  We spent a few moments crying and holding him, giving him kisses and telling him we loved him so much.  We called the vet back in, and we were with him when he peacefully fell asleep.  I kissed his head like I had so many times, told him I loved him and that I would never forget him.  Within a minute, he was gone, looking just asleep like he had so many times before.  We stayed with him for a few minutes, saying our good byes.  We opted to have them cremate him, but we wouldn’t keep his ashes.  We aren’t “urn” kind of people, you know?

Monday was an awful, horrible day.  R called off work, both of us moving past each other like ghosts.  We went to the gym and worked out, then to Starbucks for a coffee.  Being in the house was too painful, our first full day without him.  We spent the evening with our good friend J, having sushi and playing video games.  Yesterday was the first day I started to feel somewhat normal again.  I didn’t burst into tears in public like I did on Monday.  I had a new emotion every five seconds on Monday.  R said that is what grief is.  Today, I feel more like myself.  I think all day Monday, all I could think of were the “what ifs….”  What if I had taken him to the vet sooner?  What if we had done this or that?  If I wasn’t thinking of the “what ifs” I was thinking about watching him die Sunday night.  I couldn’t remember all the wonderful silly things about him.  I couldn’t remember him as a healthy, happy boy, which is what he was most of the time he was with us.  But then I realized, I didn’t want to keep blaming myself.  Ike was old, he was sick, and he was going to die sometime.  Putting off the inevitable would be worse in the long run.  And my boy, my soul mate would have never wanted me to feel like that.

I am reminded of those years when R and I were trying for a baby.  I cried countless tears, a lifetime of tears during those long months.  Every time I would cry, that boy was at my side, his head on my thigh, nuzzling his nose into my hands and comforting me.  He just knew. And he wouldn’t have wanted me to be sad.  He was so grateful, every day, to be a part of our family.  He showed us with his goodness, his obedience, his loyalty and his bottomless well of joy and love he gave to us every day.  He also wouldn’t want me to remember him as a blind, deaf, crotchety old man.  He would want me to remember him as the boy who ran a sprint on Christmas Eve 2007 down the street after a car with me chasing him in my slippers and flannel pants.  He would want me to remember all the times he would sit at the top of my yoga mat, snuggling with my feet during relaxation.  Or how every time you shouted “READY???!!!” he would chirp and sing like a little bird.  Or how if you peeled an onion or a bulb of garlic and a piece of the skin would fall to the kitchen floor, it would inevitably stay attached to his adorable wet nose for as long as it could before you removed it.  Or how he inhaled an entire Taco Tato in about 45 seconds our first Halloween with him, 2007.  Or how he slipped out of the fence on a windy fall day in 2008 and was just loping down 17th street sidewalk in Rock Island, exploring the world when R finally found him and brought him home to me, hysterical and crying that I’d lost my boy.

Those are things he’d want me to remember.

And I find it so fitting that our boy came into our lives on my birthday, October 14, 2007 and left this world on R’s, January 16, 2011.  It’s like he planned it that way.

So I share these photos of him when he was still “my boy”, my sweet healthy and happy boy.

This photo was taken the day after we brought him home, October 2007.  I love this photo because of it’s “Extreme Close-Up” factor.  You can also see how he didn’t have a full coat yet, as we had just adopted him and they had shaved him down due to all his mats!

This photo was taken by our dear friend JD, who snapped our boy under the fence at our Memorial Day party this past May.  I love his smile in this pic.  He smiled like this a lot.  When the staff at the Emergency vet started getting him ready, they made him a plaster paw print.  Ike has his own shelf in the office now with his collar, his paw print, and a copy of this photo in a frame.

In my previous post, I mentioned how Ike sat with me those two weeks R and I had the flu, three years ago.  I took this picture when I was ill and he was snuggling with me on the bed.  I love his squinchy eyes, sly smile and floppy ears.  He looked like this many days of his life.

This last photo I took last Winter just after a yoga practice in our upstairs Master Suite.  Ike liked to be upstairs with me when I practiced.  He was so calming, and he loved to sleep on the bed when I was doing poses.  I love his sweet, sleeping smile and his little mouse face.

It’s easier for me to move on from his death when I think of him like this.  No dog will ever replace him.  He was the King of Kings.  A philosopher, with his old soul and depth beyond any non-human creature I’ve ever known.  He is missed, and will always be missed.  Now, I carry him with me in my heart and soul.  While I will never be able to snuggle him up again, this will do.

Goodbye, my boy, my little mouse faced boy.  I love you so very much.  I hope you are chasing cars and feasting on Taco Tato’s wherever you are.

Loves of my life

Since I mentioned in my last post how I wanted this blog to originally be about my love of writing and photography, I thought I might actually share a few photos with you.

Today, R and I watched a documentary called “My Dog”, a short film about famous people and their love of dogs.  It really got me thinking about my two babies, who I can’t imagine my life without.

Here is our little dog, Isaac, or Ike.  Or Icky, or Ikey or Ick or any other number of silly nicknames we’ve given him over the last three and a half years.  When we first adopted Ike in October of 2007, he was practically bald from being shaved down at the shelter due to mats in his fur.  He was so ugly.  His shelter name was Franklin, and R kept hovering around his cage as I looked at the other dogs in the shelter.  He said to me “What about Franklin??” in the sweetest voice imaginable.  Franklin was sitting so peacefully and quietly in his cage.  We asked to sit with him in the visit room, where we learned he was hard of hearing.  R instantly fell in love with him, but it took me a little while longer to find my groove with him once we brought him home.  The first month he was with us, he had constant health issues, and our little $80 dog we adopted turned into the $800 dog we adopted.  In March of that next year, R and I were very, very sick with what we believe was an early strain of H1N1 virus, or Swine Flu.  For two weeks, neither of us could work, let alone walk from the bedroom to the bathroom.  We pulled the TV into the bedroom and watched movie after movie (including the entirety of the LOTR Trilogy in one day).  During those two weeks, Ike spent his entire day nestled in the space between my arm and chest, his head resting on my shoulder.  He would give me a kiss and wag his tail, somehow knowing that I was miserable as I have ever been.  Since then, we’ve been inseparable, he and I.  He is my best friend, my soul mate.  This past summer, he was diagnosed with a heart murmur.  Unsure of how much time we have together, I make sure I spend time snuggling and loving him every day.  He is currently on meds for his heart condition, and has remarkably regained much of his energy (after losing some weight).  I know when he goes, my heart will be broken.  This little dog who so quietly came into our lives from a shelter has turned out to be the most needed, wanted and loved of animals I’ve ever known.  He is the best dog, and I love him.

This smiley girl is Maddy.  Or Muzzy, or Muz or Midgey or Midge or Mudge or my favorite as of late, Midget.  Maddy came into our lives in July of 2001, only 8 weeks old when we brought her home.  She was an absolute, unholy terror.  She tore up baseboards, carpet, legs, arms, toys.  You name it and she destroyed it.  Needless to say, R and I did not get our deposit back from that rental when we moved away to Cincinnati that next summer.  Maddy is not your typical Golden Retriever.  She does not like to play with toys, or retrieve them for you.  Maddy’s favorite pastime is eating paper products.  Tissues, toilet paper, magazines, bills and tampons (used or unused).  Even a $100 check (my favorite) that was sitting on the dining room table.  She is ridiculously smart and savvy, and can pull one over on you before you can even blink your eye.  She has a horrible case of allergies and dry skin, and constantly either licks or scratches herself, much to our dismay.  She has a terrible problem with keeping busy (much like I do), and always needs something to do in order to keep herself satisfied.  Thus the licking and scratching or eating things that she shouldn’t.

This is Maddy on her 9th birthday last year.  On May 21, she will be 10, but you wouldn’t know it by her disposition.  While her face is completely white now, she still acts as if she is 2 years old.  It hasn’t been until recently that she has become a very snuggly and sweet old lady.  Just today, she sat with her head in my lap for an hour, peacefully napping.  She was my first dog that was actually mine.  R and I got her only 10 months into our relationship.  When she goes, it will devastate us both.  We’ve become adults along with her (I was only 23 when she came into my life).  I’ve become a grown-up with her.  It will be the end of an era when this beautiful girl leaves us.  Judging at the rate she is going, however, that won’t be for quite a while.

A New Year

In 2011, I will not make a single resolution.  Because in 2010, I changed my life.

2010 started out begrudgingly.  R and I were sideswiped by a rift in a very close and important friendship.  While R was upset and bothered by the events that transpired, I was hit like a ton of bricks.  It took me a long time to grieve the end of that relationship, but I had a moment of clarity last January, where I decided I would not hold on to the control I was feeling slip through my fingers.  I just let go.

This was a running theme for the entire year.  Letting go, moving on.

This is something I’ve spent my entire life searching for: the ability to let go.  To live in the moment.  While the first few months of this year still seemed to drag on, I plugged through, and realized that I had the power to make everything better.

I think for three years, I was at the mercy of my own negativity.  I didn’t know how to pull myself out of the deep pit of despair I was in.  A part of me wanted to give up, but the control freak inside of me felt like it might be easier to continue on that same path.  It was easier to label myself a pessimist, to blame the world for all the misgivings and mistakes and problems in my life.

I have many friends who think this way, and it really bothers me.  I think I am a prime example of what positive thinking can do for a person.  I think for many, it is easier to wear the garment of negativity.  I can see how it’s easier to blame every single problem on everyone, everything in the universe rather than take responsibility for your own shit.  Admittedly, I was scared to make the choice to change my life.  For a long time, I was “the woman trying to get pregnant”, and it was so easy for me to continue to be that woman.  It was easy to live in the comfort of my own depression because, honestly, I didn’t know any better.  I didn’t know what was out there waiting for me.  That was the scariest thing of all.

In the summer, I decided to not start out taking classes in my counseling program like many of my colleagues were doing.  I wanted those three months to clear the space in my mind, to understand the choices I had made or that I was going to make and how they effected/might effect my life.  It was a wonderful experience.  It was then that I decided to make that choice.  To be the person I always wanted to be, and stop being the labeled woman who was so unhappy and miserable and couldn’t find a way out.  And that was all it took, was making the choice.  It wasn’t that hard.  To change my life, this is what I did:

Continued letting go of stuff I couldn’t control, started Weight Watchers again (I was EXTREMELY uncomfortable in my own skin, and a size 14), started on the path of my new career of Clinical Mental Health Counseling, started a running/fitness program, and most importantly, gave up the notion of trying for a baby.

This last one was the hardest for me to do.  But once I did, I started to realize all the reasons why I let myself get so obsessed over it in the first place.  It was one of the most liberating things I have ever felt or done for myself.  EVER.  Once I was open to letting it all go, I started to see the world through new eyes.  I started to grow in ways I never expected, and I started to forgive myself.  Many people have a tough time doing this.  I recognized its importance, and have not looked back yet.

So far, I’ve lost 16 pounds on Weight Watchers, and have gone from a size 14 to a size 8.  Eating right IS NOT overrated.  It is okay to splurge every once in a while, but the more healthy stuff I put into my body, the more my body gives back.  This is another thing I’ve treated myself with.  Watching myself shrink is a treat, and watching myself fit into size 8’s and smalls and mediums is worth giving up foods that don’t seem to satisfy me any longer.

Starting graduate school has also changed my life.  Dear readers, if you have been with me this long, then you know that I absolutely, positively am in love with this program.  Personal growth is so important to me, and this program has helped me to understand much about my 33 years in the only few months I’ve been in classes.  I have found a passion I never knew existed, and that is to help those afflicted by addiction.  While I didn’t expect this when I first started my program, I was open to it, and have found that it may be what I continue with during my years in Clinical Mental Health.  Classes start up again in two weeks, and I.  CANNOT.  WAIT.

The first week of September, I embarked on a running program.  All my life, I have wanted to be a runner.  Watching my friends and loved ones around me become runners, and become the fittest people I know, helped me on to this new fitness path.  I followed the Couch-to-5K program over 9 weeks (I spaced mine out over 10 or 11), and never thought I would make it through.  The first week, I ran for 60 seconds at a time, and thought I was going to puke my guts out.  But I stuck with it.  If a week/interval was too hard, I just repeated it until I was ready to move on.  By November, I was running 2.5 to 3 miles every other day.  There are moments that I have to think to myself “This is actually me doing this.  Who is this person?!”  On Thanksgiving, I ran 5 miles.  On New Years Eve Day, I ran a 5K in 35 minutes.  While my speed may be slower than most, and I never plan to place in a competitive race, I just do it.  I am a runner.  There is a kind of mental clarity that running gives me.  I look forward to my Monday/Wednesday/Friday running regimen.  A 5K every other day.  It definitely does a body good.  Now that I’m running this much, I will begin training for speed and distance.  I would like to up my speed, but I don’t want to injure myself.  One of the things I’ve realized over the past three months is that running is very hard on the body.  Weekly, I nurse sore hamstrings, shins and ankles.  But it is so worth it.  My sleek, athletic body is the payoff.

I am proud of myself.  2010 was the year I took into my own hands.  I took it by the balls and made chicken salad instead of chicken shit.  I am the happiest I have been in my entire life, and I very seriously mean that.  I made the choice to change my life, and I just did it.  I realize the fortitude it takes to do such things when I see the people around me continue down a path of self-pity.  The counselor in me wants to help them, to counsel them on how to change.  But the human being in me realizes that, if you aren’t ready for change, then it will never happen.  Changing my life has renewed so many positive, wonderful things about my existence.  Renewed friendships, an open mind, a healthy self-image, and personal growth.  Why in the world did I wait so long?!

Resolutions?  Why should I make any?  I don’t need to.

Bummers abound

Well friends, I didn’t make goal on Thursday.  Alas, Mother Nature interfered yet again, making me up .4 on the scale.  While I knew I was most likely going to be up due to my period, it was still a bummer.  I wanted to step on that scale and see that number and scream with joy that I would be able to FINALLY stop losing and start maintaining.  So now, I have 1.2 to lose to make it to goal.

The unfortunate thing (for the scale, anyway) is that this is the weekend before Christmas.  All told, R and I made it to 3 parties in two days, with another game night scheduled this evening.  I love my friends, and I love spending time with them, especially at this time of year.  However, the endless snacking isn’t good for a gal.  Yes, I am in charge of my own eating, but because I am so unbelievably hormonal right now, I tend to crave salty and sweet things, which means I WILL end up snacking.  All told, I was pretty good at all the parties so far.  I allowed myself a little splurge here and there, and most oft than not, I had a gut ache about 15 minutes later.  We were out pretty late last night at D’s holiday party.  Woke this morning with awful cramps and in a terrible mood, but am putting on the happy face.  A good night’s sleep tonight will do me good.  However, this afternoon, while doing the laundry, an 8-foot 2×4 fell on me.  Our laundry room, which is in an awful state due to all the house projects we are in the middle of, is also storing random 2×4’s.  One fell right on top of me.  My first reaction was to scream a thousand FUCKS, which I did.  Then I promptly burst into tears, tromping up the stairs to get a hug and kiss from R.  After, I had three chocolate-chip cookies and a glass of milk instead of the banana I had planned on.  I am ready for this period to be over.  It seems like the older I get, the more emotionally charged I get during this time of the month.  *UGH*

I know in a day or two, I will feel as right as rain!

I am, as I mentioned before, ready to be done with the losing part of this program.  This last couple of weeks has been hard.  My body is so cold ALL THE TIME, and my first reaction is to stuff it with food to make it warm again.  I’m pretty good at not listening to it, and fueling it with good things.  But because of my period, I get SO hungry, and it’s hard to NOT give it what it wants.  While I hope that I make goal on Thursday, I will not be bummed if I don’t.  It’s Christmas, for fucks sake.  If I want a few cookies, I’m going to allow myself to have them.  I have worked REALLY hard to get here, so I’m going to enjoy the holiday season.  I just hope my pants still fit when all is said and done!

 

Almost there…

Last week at weigh-in, lost another 1 pound, for a total of 16.2!  Now, I am only 0.8 from my weight-loss goal.  I can’t believe it is almost here.  I’ve worked my ass off (literally) to get where I am.  Once I make it to goal, then I go into Maintenance for 6 weeks.  Maintenance is awesome, because this means I get to EAT MORE FOOD.  On the WW plan, you get a number of Points to eat during the day for weight-loss.  Of course, once you make it to your ideal weight and not want to keep losing, you have to add Points back.  This, of course, means MORE FOOD.  Not that I’ve felt deprived, mind you.  There are certain days, especially in the afternoons, that I get terribly hungry, but feel like I don’t want to waste Points on something that wouldn’t be good or taste good.  I often resort to very boring foods just to get by.  With Maintenance, I might be able to add some foods back into my diet that I love, like hummus and REAL bread.

In the meantime, I’m still averaging running 3 miles every other day (with weekends off!).  After the holidays are over, and since I’m a Couch-to-5K graduate, I’ll start the Bridge-to-10K plan.  This means running, on average, for an hour.  Yikes!  Of course, like the C25K plan, the B210K trains in intervals, and takes about 10 weeks.  Hopefully, by April, I’ll be running those 10K’s with ease!  Then it’s onto half-marathon training!

Christmas is on the way in only 12 days.  I actually asked R for a Snuggie.  He thought I was joking, but in truth, I am not!  When a girl loses the majority of her fat, and lives in the Midwest, the winters can be mighty cold.  I am cold ALL THE TIME.  Not that I’m complaining!  I’ll take skinny and cold over fat, miserable and somewhat warmer.  However, R and I decided our Xmas gift to each other will be a three-day trip back to Vegas!!  Since our spring breaks won’t coincide anymore, we decided to get out of town before we both go back to school after New Years.  This time, we are staying at an all-suite, non-gaming hotel Mid-strip that offers a free fitness center (which is very rare: most hotels charge you an enormous daily fee to use), and no buffets for breakfast!  We have already found a sushi place we’d like to eat at (super healthy!), and then the best part is that I’ll finally get to meet a dear friend who I’ve actually never laid eyes upon in person.  AE and I have been internet pals for about 4 years, but have never actually met.  With her close proximity to Vegas (she lives in LA), she has mentioned the possibility of coming to Vegas to party with me!  Whilst R spends money at the Blackjack tables, AE and I will be dancing the night away somewhere fabulous.  I can’t wait to finally meet her!

Classes are also over.  One last meet up for a class tonight (pot-luck!) and tomorrow (meeting at Governors for beers and food!), then my break officially begins. Don’t honestly know what I’m going to do with my time.  I’ve acquired the complete works of Jane Austen, so I’ll be starting those.  Keeping up with my running, of course, but other than that, I must find something to do with my time!

Busy Making Other Plans

I am not a Beatles fan.  Most certainly not a John Lennon fan.  While I can understand the impact the Beatles and Lennon had on the landscape of music in the 20th century, I’ve just never really liked their/his music.

However, I have always had a fond spot in my heart for Beautiful Boy/Darling Boy, and the very famous quote “Life is what happens to you while you’re making other plans.”

I was driving home from the grocery store today and thinking about the life I had planned for myself.  How the decisions I’ve made over the last few months/years have turned into what they are.

I had made this plan that I was going to have a baby.  I was going to be a mother.  I had watched it like a movie in my head a million times, over and over again.

Then, the worst happened (at least it felt like the worst).  I couldn’t have a child.  I felt like there is one thing a woman is put on this Earth to do (among many, many other things, of course) and that is to pro-create.  To give life.  And I couldn’t do it.

Somewhere in the middle of all the absolute chaos, my life happened.  Once I started volunteering, I found there was more to life than feeling sorry for myself.  There was a world of people who needed a warm heart like mine to care for and about them.  What started out as just getting out of the house to avoid feeling like crap turned into this rich and wonderful experience that I get to spend at least 10 hours a week doing.  Then I realized I had a passion.  Caring for those people made me realize that I was a good listener, and that I cared about people and their problems.  My own rich and life-changing time in therapy made me understand that it was something I loved, and wanted to give back.  Who would have thought that, four months into my program, I would realize another passion, and that is to work with people in Addictions.  When I entered the program, I kept my eyes and mind open to the vast possibilities of the counseling world.  And BAM!  Addictions hit me over the head like a frying pan, and I find that I am IN LOVE with it.  Who knew?

Lastly, after nearly three years of countless people telling me to lose weight/not lose weight to achieve pregnancy, I decided to say a big FUCK OFF to them all (in my mind, of course) and go for something that I’ve always wanted: a sleek, healthy, athletic body.  14 weeks ago, I had lost only a few pounds on WW, but decided to become a runner.  This was something I’ve always wanted to do.  I always saw my runner friends who were the fittest, happiest people I knew, and I wanted to be like them.  Now, I’m running between 9-11 miles a week.  I still can’t believe it’s me doing it.  I often take a moment while on the treadmill to think about what I’ve accomplished.  I am only 1.8 pounds from my weight loss goal.  I feel great, I look great.  Now, if I could just get my body to not be so COLD during this winter.  I’ve lost all my padding!

So what, life handed me a chicken.  I decided to make chicken salad instead of chicken shit.  And I’m the happiest I’ve been in years.

Run for your Life

Today, I hit 30 minutes of running non-stop.

This was a huge goal for me.  For two weeks, I’ve been stuck between 25-28.  What helped was the last two minutes, I slowed my pace down .2 MPH, which allowed me to crank it out!  Yahoo!

In honor of reaching this huge milestone, here are the things I love about running:

-How 10 weeks ago, I could only run 60 seconds at a time, with walking two minutes in between

-Defined, strong calves and thighs

-A glowing complexion

-No more double chin!

-No pooch/belly

-stronger and longer yoga poses

-this might sound gross, but sweat between my boobs.  Makes me feel like I’m REALLY working

-it’s helped me to drop two sizes and get back into a single digit size

-hitting my stride about 6 minutes into the run

-while I’ve only ever had one, The Runner’s High

-no more shin-splints/ankle pain

-just DOING it.  It hit me today that I was really doing it.  I am officially a runner!

-no more flabby skin hanging over my knees

-how my ass looks in compression pants (or any pants, for that matter)

-the feeling of accomplishment when the run is over

And here is what I DO NOT love about running:

-Losing my boobs

-side stiches

-how I work my ass off for 30 minutes and still only get 3 Activity Points for it (sheesh!)

 

The Change

Each morning I wake up, I always think I’m going to feel my chubby thighs.  When I wake up most mornings, I forget that I’m skinny again.  I always wonder that I’ll wake up and POOF!, it’s been all a dream, and I’ll be chubby like I was before August 5.

When I step on the treadmill on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I start to run and think to myself “Oh, you’ll stop after 5 minutes because you’ll be tired”.  But my body just keeps going.  Today, it was 26 minutes without stopping.  I felt like I could keep going, but decided to stop at 26 (this was 2 miles at 13 minutes a mile).  I didn’t want to push too hard and then not be able to move up in the next few days.  Wednesday, I try for 30 minutes.

Anyway.  I keep forgetting.  I keep thinking that something inside of me is going to crap out.  But it never does. It just keeps going.  By the end, I think to myself “Who just did that?  Was that really me?”  Because I’ve never been able to do that before.  Never in my whole life.  In my mind, I know I’ve put in the hard work and the 9 weeks of training, and certainly, so does my body.  But sometimes I wonder when my brain will catch up to my body.  When will I mentally and emotionally feel thin?  When will I mentally and emotionally be able to recognize that I am (finally!) a runner?  When does that happen?  How long will it take?

I really, honestly still can’t fathom the changes that have happened and continue to happen in my body.  Today, I was in the shower shaving my legs and looked at my thighs. I was blessed with long legs, but the thighs have always been the bane of my existence.  They have never been something I was fond of.  But now, I’m watching them change shape.  What was usually just flab is now turning into indented, firm muscles.  There is shape and definition to my thighs that I’ve never seen before.  This makes me ecstatic, but it is still unbelievable.

Last week, I lost .8, for a total of 12.4 pounds.  I am only one pound away from when I was at my lightest in Cincinnati, before R and I got married.  I only want to lose 4.8 more pounds, and then I’ll be at goal.  These next few pounds are going to be difficult to take off, I just know it.  Following the program is easy, and I never feel deprived of food or the things I love.  But no matter how hard-core I stay on the plan, those last few pounds are going to be a bitch.  I hope the long distances I am running now continue to turn my muscles into fat-burning machines.

Looking forward to Thanksgiving morning.  R and I are running the Turkey Trot.  This will be the longest I’ve run, at 5 miles.  I doubt I’ll be able to run the entire thing, as I’m only running 2 miles as of now, with only 2 more weeks to train before the big day.  I’ll bet I’ll be able to run 3.5 to 4 miles of it, with walking the other mile.  I’ve even bought my first pair of compression running pants to help keep me warm and keep my muscles more energy-efficient during the run.  I can’t wait!