Nope, I haven't.

I haven't told you much lately.

I've been out of touch, off the "grid", lazy and mute.

My last post was August 2012.  What's happened since then?

I crashed and burned; that's what.

Crashed. Burned. Gained 20+ lbs above the already 40+ I was over "normal" weight.

So ... this is a purging.  A purging of my failure.  What can I say?  I'm tired of being silent about a slow increase, slow failure, slow delusion I used to cover the up 5 lbs but no one will notice.  Up 10 lbs but I love to eat.  Up 20 lbs but I love to drink.  Up and up and up ... I always had an excuse.  A rationalization.  A reason why it wasn't time yet.

Time for what?

Time for me to get my act the hell together.  Time to stop procrastinating.

I worked out harder than ever before last summer.  Boot camp, city classes, climbs up the 140+ stairs on Division.  I worked out ... and expanded.  I worked out ... and gained. 

And I broke.  That's the only way I can really describe it.  I broke.  I went off the deep end of dieting/eating/trying to be healthy.  Or, perhaps more correctly, I fell off the wagon.  'Cause let's not kid ourselves friends and stalkers ... I'm addicted to food.  I'm a foodaholic.  Sugaraholic.  Carbaholic.  What-the-hell-ever-aholic covers the 'holic I am.

When I continued to expand despite my 5:30 a.m. boot camp ... I broke.

I stopped exercising ... completely.

I stopped curbing what I ate ... completely.

Papa John's and I entered into an intimate relationship.  Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory became my friend.  I. Didn't. Care. Anymore.

And I packed on another 20 lbs by Christmas. 

I felt miserable.  Ashamed.  Hopeless even.

See ... I did this already.  I lost the weight already.  I got in shape already.  DAMMIT.  What the HELL am I doing back "here" again?  Buying bigger and bigger sizes.  Turning away from pictures.  Putting non-me pictures as my profile on Facebook (you know ... the important things).

I broke.

And, I'm ashamed to say, I waited until I am well on my way to "fixed" before I admitted it.

I went back to the program that helped me before (in 2006); I went back to Spectrum Health and opted for the strict 12 week to 18 week program.  From January 3rd for 12 weeks, I consumed 800-900 calories a day of mostly protein.  [Oh, yes, you "read" me correctly - 800-900 calories.]  Then I added in regular food again and am back to about 1200 calories day.

From January 3rd to now, I've lost 51 lbs.  About five months.

I've gone from a size of (one pair of dress pants) 18 to size 8-10.  A reset, if you will.

And now the real work begins.  What's that?  Haven't I already done the "real work"? 

Oh, hell no.

The REAL work is maintaining once I reach my goal weight.  The real work is finding the healthy balance of eating healthy and living well. 

After all ... I'm not getting any younger. 

[I had to stop and laugh a few minutes at that.]

So ... what did I do wrong the first time?  Am I destined to revisit this hell every 5-7 years?  That's both difficult and easy to answer at the same time. 

I stopped going.

I stopped going to group.

Does that sound like an addict's statement?  'Cause it should.

 I'm addicted.

I stopped going to my group meetings - Wednesday nights. 

Group meetings for fatties?  Whaaaat? 

Absolutely.  Group meetings in which we keep accountability.  We revisit information on nutrition, on exercise, on behavior modification.  Most importantly for me ... accountability.  I thought I had this covered.  I thought ... no problem, I know what I need to do.  Well ... that's true.  I know what I need to do BUT that doesn't mean I'll do it. 

So where am I now?  I'm down 51 lbs and am not yet where I want to be.  Where I KNOW I can be because I've been there before.  I'm still going to group even though I'm done with the main program.  I'm still journaling the calories I consume (alcohol is a bitch BTW). 

And I just signed up for boot camp again.

I have to face my fear that hard exercise will equal weight GAIN and inch EXPANSION.  I know now that I let myself eat way more than I should last summer because I was working out so hard.  My hormones were crazy (over 40 is a BIIIIITCH).  I didn't account for water retention and inflammation from sore muscles.  Oh, yeah ... I've thought A LOT about this.  And I know I need to face my fear. 

So, last night I started back with boot camp with the army assessment test.  [And I suck but it's okay 'cause I DID it.]

I'm back on track ... full steam ahead ... goal in mind.

Oh ... and another difference. 

I'm doing this for me.

I've no thought of getting in shape for a guy.  Even a fictional maybe guy.  Guys were SOOOOO pre-40.  I'm done with that.  Seriously.  Mr. Right would now have to be Mr. Incredibly-No-Fucking-Way-Right for it to 'cause me any pause.  No offense guys.

I'm just finally at that space in life where I have my home the way I like it.  My activities the way I like them.  My life the way I like it.  There's just no room for you.  [Evil laugh.]

This is ALL for me.

And that's perfect.


------

There it is - hello after 10 months.  I totally swear I didn't have a baby (although I've lost the equivalent of a 6 year old in weight).

*purged*

Where Am I?

An hour ago, I wrote this title.  Then my phone rang.

I'm sure I had some excellent, life-changing hook when I wrote that title.

It's gone now.

I remember thinking that sometimes it's hard to find yourself under the muck of life.  Work.  Home (cleaning, laundry, the accumulation of daily "kibble").  Social. ...

[Give me a minute to laugh at that last one.]

At times I find that my life feels too much like a gerbil running in its wheel.  A constant go ... without going anywhere.  Where has this summer gone? 

Let's see ... *enter rambling mode*

****

Ooh! I started a three month long "boot camp" class in June. *proud smile*

Seriously! I showed up the first day at 5:30 a.m. (whimper), excited but nervous about this new class, ready to "be all I can be" ... but in the completely civilian can-leave-anytime way, only to hear, after the greetings, "Okay ... let's go run a mile." 

Ah ... Whodawhat?

Run? A mile?  I don't run. 

Ever. 

These tennis shoes are five years old, man. 

No ... you don't understand.  I was that girl in her college fitness "class " that the professor saw rounding the corner during a run as a signal to tell the rest of the class to turn around and head back.  I was a new kind of super hero - - Shin-Splint Girl. 

Or ... if you'd rather ... "Side-Ache Woman."

I was the inspiration for the professor digging out flippers during the swimming portion of class after a sadly comical episode of me clinging up and down the wall of the pool.  Yeeeeeah.

If college taught me nothing else, it taught me that I am not a closet athlete no matter what my inner high-school geek tried to sell me in a band-camp induced hysteria.  But it began much earlier.

I "played" 7th grade volleyball and basketball. 

And then I thought I'd rather keep the few friends I have rather than thoroughly piss them off by screwing up each and every game.  I became "Score Book Girl" instead.  Hey ... no pressure, I got to ride with the team AND ... they PAID me to do so.  Win - Oh so win.

So my college "Health Dynamics" class aka "Health Die" was the last time I toyed with the idea of possibly being more athletic than ... well ... any other living thing.

Scratch that ... plants grow.

Any other inert thing.

Yep.  I am more athletic than a rock.  Unless someone picks it up and skips it across a lake.

I saw my feeble non-athletic life flash before my eyes as I huffed and puffed my way (and walked and ran) through a mile in under *gasp* 15 minutes.  Then I managed 38 full sit ups in 2 minutes and 8 standard push ups (with 30 girlie ones). 

And then I threw up.  Honestly.  Don't eat dairy before an early morning workout. 

And ... you're welcome.

That was month one.

Month two found me dreading each 5:30 a.m. workout yet feeling strong immediately after.  My body, of course, completely rebelled during this time.  I was bloated and convinced I'd entered into some sort of peri-menopausal hell.  I felt stronger but hadn't lost inches or weight.  I occasionally vomited during class and had heart palpitations.

Oh joy.  I'm old.

In mid-July, I gave in and went to my doctor's office.  A normal EKG was followed by the ordering of a stress echocardiogram and new birth control prescription. *eye roll*

I missed one class in July.

Enter month three, August 2012, and envision dread turning to 'OH HELL NO' mid month.  Rather than the stronger, leaner woman I'd envisioned at the beginning of the summer, I found a hormonal mass of nerves that had actually GAINED weight rather than lost any.  I felt like I'd worked harder than ever only to fail ... and fail miserably. 

Oh sure ... my mile was 2 minutes faster, my sit ups were in the mid-50's and my standard push ups were in the twenties ... but, dammit ... bloated and heavier does not incentive create.

I am a boot camp class dropout. 

Stellar summer, you?

***

About that stress echocardiogram.  Wow.  I was nervous when I arrived for it, having fasted for 8 hours, and dressed as instructed in workout clothes.  That request seemed appropriate since I'd be presumably walking then running on a treadmill to increase my heart rate.

First words in the room?  "Please remove all clothing from your waist up."

"Sports bra?"

"That too."

*cocked eyebrow*

So, let me get this straight.  You're going to put me on a treadmill and run me like a rodent until my heart rate reaches optimum capacity ... and I'm bra-less???????!!!!!!  I realize the girls are named Betty and Bertha and not Dolly but ... dude ... flopping will not be pleasant ... for either of us.

FINE.

Oh, no worries ... I have a wonderful doctor's dressing gown that will ... wait ... this isn't a gown.  This is a poncho that opens in the front. 

This is a FLORAL poncho that opens in the front.

I came into that facility a normal human being and within five minutes, I became "Floral Girl" ready to smack kindly men in their faces ... no hands, ma!  I donned black workout pants, a floral cape, and multiple nodes stuck to my chest with dangling wires but, hey, let's take my blood pressure again so, here, I'll put my hand on your shoulder for balance.  Awkward?

Of course not (said no one ever under these circumstances).

I was instructed over and over again to remember that when I reached the maximum heart rate, when I could go no further, I needed to stop the treadmill, immediately sit down on the cot next to it, roll onto my other side, and try not to huff and puff the poor echocardiogram technician away as I attempted not to pass out.

Humble does not sufficiently describe the woman who left that day.

***

 

Where am I?

 

At times, overwhelmed.  At times, bored.  Most times, unorganized. 

 

Where am I?

 

Staring down a Labor Day Weekend with family.  

Where am I?

Sitting quietly on a love seat, covered with a blanket, and typing with no real thought as to what I'm throwing out to the 'verse. 

So ...

Where are you?