This is not a New Year's Resolution

It's way too far into January for even the most diligent of procrastinators (me) to claim it as one. It is, instead a declaration. A way to be held accountable (because heaven knows I need a whole stable of these sorts of things). I am publically affirming my need to change my life and my habits and get myself back on track, weight-wise and exercise-wise. I have let things slip the past year and a half and it's time to do something about that.

A little background. In 2007, I lost between 50 and 60 lbs. I did it on Weight Watchers. I hauled my butt out of bed on Saturday morning to go to an 8 o'clock meeting 15 minutes from my house. If that's not commitment, I don't know what is, especially when you consider the long and special love affair I have been conducting for most of my life with my bed and my pillow. No, I never practised kissing my pillow. I don't mean that kind of love affair! (Although I am getting the sudden urge to leave the computer and head upstairs to snuggle down in my covers.) I mean, I am the one who flat out told the swim coach in college that I wouldn't be coming to morning practice. No, I didn't ask. I told. And he never questioned me. Cursed me soundly probably, but... Anyway, so I lost this large amount of weight. And I started running and agreed to run a marathon and things were going really well. I could see my goal weight shimmering in the distance. I actually hit my college weight again. I looked pretty good, even if I still needed to lose a bit more.

And then we moved.

Yeah, I'll let that stand apart so it looks as stark as it felt. The move was a good one professionally for D. and I was on board. But moving does me in, each and every time. And we've done it enough for me to know this about myself. They say knowledge is half the battle, right? Yeah, um... not in this case. So even though I made new friends and continued training for my marathon, I gained weight. Yes, I actually gained weight training for a marathon. And not a pound or two of muscle. No, I actually packed on 20 pounds. This is not recommended. I am a professional stunt weight gainer on a closed track. Do not try this at home! Seriously, don't do this. It is very bad for you physically and emotionally. And you run a whole lot slower too. But moving does that to me.

So after the marathon was over, despite the fact that I loved the friends I met training for it (I trained through Team in Training and can't recommend them enough), I let my running taper off and finally stop altogether. After all, I no longer had any great need to give myself a pep talk and stumble out of bed to run at 6 or at 7am. And I had run a marathon. The whole thing. (Well, I walked *a little*.) So surely my fitness level wouldn't suffer if I took off a week, a month, 6 months, or more. Have I mentioned I'm very good at rationalizing things that are completely and totally delusional?

So that brings us to today. I sit here 20 pounds over the weight I was when I moved here, a couch potato of champion calibre. And I need to change this. It is a success that I only gained 20 of the 50+ pounds back. But that 20 pounds needs to go bye-bye now. And even before it goes, I need to redistribute the weight I do have so that it's not quite so Stay-Puft Marshmallow-y and the only way to do that is by exercising. So that's the deal. I will commit to more exercise and more mindful eating from now on into infinity.

And believe it or not, so I didn't have to feel like a total and complete loser when I wrote out how lazy and slack I've been, I actually did 10 slow sit-ups, 50 bicycle crunches, and held a plank for 1 minute. (More on this in a moment.) I also agreed to walk a half marathon this fall with a friend and to run a half with my little sister (she's gonna smoke my butt) in a year. I'm also about to agree to meet my running friends for a run Saturday morning. I may not go all 4 miles with them and I certainly won't be as fast as they are, but it will make me accountable and force me to pry myself out of the toasty warm coccoon of my bed, away from the soft heater pressed against my stomach that is the dog, and away from my loudly snoring husband. (Had to throw the last one in there so I didn't convince myself to just stay in bed.) And I might even go hog wild and enter a 5K in March so that I have something a little closer looming over my head with the spector of great humiliation behind it if I don't make and keep a real commitment.

So, do you believe the little bit of exercise so far this morning? I really did do it. Promise. I stopped at ten sit-ups because I do want to be able to get out of bed tomorrow morning without having to roll right over the edge. The bicycle crunches were a little gross as I got to watch my stomach accordian fold and pleat into itself over and over again. Makes me want to sew my mouth shut for the next eternity or so. As for the plank, I was pretty darn proud of myself that I actually held that sucker for a whole minute. My arms started shaking at 45 seconds and I actually started Lamaze breathing shortly thereafter. Didn't work to keep me from feeling the pain now either. But I did all this and might even do it again later tonight. Consider it my delayed bit of circuit training. ;-)

My ultimate goals? Get back into shape so that the only heavy breathing I'm doing is of the fun variety. Lose the 20 pounds I gained by the time I go on vacation this summer. That's four pounds a month. Seems reasonable enough. And once that 20 is gone, set a goal weight and really shoot for it. I know I can be singleminded (I can also be bloody minded but that's a whole different kettle of fish) and do this. Especially putting it out into blog land where everyone can see it.

So, if you know me in person, please don't put tasty looking hors d'ouvres down in front of me. I am an unconscious eater and will just clear the platter. Even worse, once I regain consciousness, I will look at the devastation I have wrought and think "Oh well. I'll just keep going then, shall I?" So put the good stuff quite a ways from me. The public humiliation of crawling over others to get to it should at least slow me down. You can, instead, put the veggie tray in front of me. I'm liable to clear it like a plague of locusts as well but I'm okay with that if you are. Also, don't be offended if I hie myself away from the interesting conversations in the kitchen. I am fairly simple and essentially lazy so if I am sitting away from the food and have to hoist myself out of the chair to actually walk over to the food, chances are inertia will win. See Mr. Hale? I *was* paying attention in physics all those years ago. Inertia is a very powerful force. And it should be used for good, not evil. ;-)

Well, I think that's more than enough for now. I thought about doing a daily update like in Bridget Jones' Diary but didn't want to bore you all stupid. I mean, my fragile ego can only take so many people unsubscribing from the blog. (And incidentally, someone did that just the other day, not that I am obsessing over it or anything, but why? Didn't you love me anymore? And yes, I know you won't even see this because, after all, you unsubscribed. But really, you couldn't even fake it and tell me that it was you not me? That I'm still great and all that jazz? **sob** No, don't worry, I'll eventually get over it.) So I think the daily update is out but feel free to nag the heck out of me if I haven't posted an update in whatever time frame you deem best for keeping me accountable. Tonight I crunch some more; tomorrow I run.

Recent self-reflections

I ran my hands through my hair the other day in an effort to help it dry and came away with a lot of grey hairs. Actually, not a one of the hairs that fell out was brown. I guess that's a good thing. Maybe the browns are holding on tight, afraid of being outnumbered. Or maybe I should have lived in a time when powdering your hair was a la mode since the greys do seem to be coming in at a rapid clip. I'd say I frost my hair given the current state of my head but the 70's are on their way out again and frankly, I don't look great in plaid (madras, now, that's a whole other thing).

I suspect that doing a measly ten push-ups a day isn't going to do much for my flabby upper arms. But really, is it too much to ask to not look like a flying squirrel (a *grey* flying squirrel) when I hold my arms out? Of course, my little hand weights seem to have disappeared and I refuse to try D.'s. Not only are they chunky and ugly, but they are heavy. You could really hurt yourself with those suckers!

I also wonder how effective the push-ups are if you only lower your body until your squishy, pendulous, stretch-marked tum grazes the floor. I mean, I don't know who I could possibly be describing here at all (not me, no way, um huh) but if you barely have to bend your arms and you're there, well, it can't be much of an exercise. It's like there needs to be the midsection equivalent of a sports bra to keep all wayward swinging bits appropriately in check. Oh, and yes, I know I shouldn't have my head down enough to be looking at my stomach anyway but it's a bit like a gawking at a train wreck. There might not be any blood but it is an ugly, ugly sight. One from which you just can't look away. Or so I imagine it would be, if it was me, which it's not.

Yesterday morning I hopped on the scale and the first of three readings was a number I haven't seen in quite some time. Of course, times two and three were just 0.2 lbs. enough more to make it a number that was not nearly as psychologically lovely. Don't ask about the obsessive compulsive three times on the scale thing. I am who I am and that's all there is to that. But that first number sort of excited me. So I celebrated by having cheesecake at bookclub. Seriously, I wrote the book on sabotage.

And further more, that Weight Watchers leader who said that every ten pounds was a pants size is a lying piece of caca-poo-poo. Almost ten pounds later and some of my cutest pants still strangle me about the waist (although the pendulous flab I don't admit to means that I can relocate the fat enough to actually get them buttoned) and give me the ever attractive camel-toe look. These suckers are going to be long out of style before I ever get to wear them in public.

I'm also thinking of seeing if any of the local laser hair removal places have any folks that need to bone up on their skills because I'm happy to offer up my chin, free of charge, for experimentation. Home depilatory methods are akin to picking bristles out of an ox-hair brush, one bristle at a time. And the last thing my husband needs is beard burn on *his* face given that he's already suffering the ignominious fate of having married the bearded lady. But I have a plan to distract him from my five o'clock shadow. If I neglect to shave my legs, the prickly badness of those bad boys should effectively deflect all focus on the chin, right?

So, after all that, let me please remind you all. Please don't hate me because I'm beautiful. ::snort::

I'm a brat but then you already knew that

So I went and re-signed myself up for Weight Watchers today. I did it very successfully in Michigan, ultimately losing over 60 pounds. I only had about 5-10 more to go to be at my goal weight. But then I agreed to the marathon and decided that if I was going to stress my body out with the training, I couldn't very well also keep actively trying to lose weight. And I don't regret that decision because I think it was healthy and the right one. The problem came in when I had to move in the midst of training and being a stress eater, well, the move drove me right back to the great white psychiatrist in the kitchen (the fridge for the uninitiated--and sometimes his partner: the pantry). So I trained and gained all at the same time. Huh. It even rhymes. And then the marathon was over and instead of cutting back on the eating, I continued to eat as if I was asking my body to run 20 miles at a go. Obviously that was not the smartest thing I've ever done. And believe me, I've done more than my share of pretty stupid things. So I looked online and found the closest WW meeting and mentally noted when I needed to be there. I knew I wouldn't find a leader the caliber of the leader I had in Michigan. Julie was outstanding and funny and so great I hauled my sorry butt out of bed on Saturday mornings to go to her 8am meeting. She even made a donation to my marathon when I announced my grand plans at one of the spring meetings up there. All in all, she was fantastic and I knew I'd miss her. Anyway, I rolled into the meeting (in full running gear since I had a planned run with a friend scheduled for afterwards) and the leader greeted me. She was all bubbly and peppy, which is important for me. But, and this is a big but, after welcoming me and giving me the literature (essentially the same stuff I've gotten each other time I've signed up), she leaned in to give me a hug. Whoah lady! I don't know you but I like my personal space. I live in a bubble and I expect people to respect that. I'm sure she felt me flinch away from her since she hurried off to the next newbie. But I was still going to give her the benefit of the doubt because, after all, I was there for myself, not for her. And I will say she was a very energetic leader. But by the third time she used the word "ain't" as if it really was proper, I was twitching. I suspect that WW would say that was okay since it was an extra bit of exercise though. Argh!!! Are you kidding me? AIN'T? And not once, not even thrice, but uncountable numbers of times. I am a snob. What can I say? I am a snob but I accept that and I like me. Would it surprise you to hear that I disagreed with her vocally on her assertion that every ten pounds is a dress size? I just couldn't help myself. I know this is conventional wisdom and that every leader ever spouts it, but it is still not correct. She didn't like me saying that losing over 60 pounds led me to drop four dress sizes rather than six. Oh well. Maybe now she regrets that ill-considered hug. ::Wicked grin:: But I decided that I didn't want to be the horrid new girl that M. resents having in the front row each and every meeting (because this is the only meeting close to my house--d@mn the skinny southerners anyway) so I threw her a bone when someone was whining about multi-vitamins and I chimed in with Viactiv's chocolate chewy vitamins as a treat for yourself: sweet and good for you. She even gave me a bravo sticker for that one. I will go back; I paid for the monthly pass which charges my credit card every month whether I go or not, but the grammar issue is going to kill me. Here's hoping I make lifetime quickly and can back down to once a month asap!