This dress wasn't worn by me. But it figures into Bridesmaid Dress No. 3, so I have to tell the story. This is also not really my story, so I'm a little hesitant to tell it. As such, I'm changing a few details to protect the innocent.
It stinks to be the biggest bridesmaid in the bunch. There's no way around it. I have been that girl. And I have stood beside that girl, thankful I was not her.
That's the case with Bridesmaid Dress No. 2. The biggest one among us didn't show up for the fittings. In fact, she was kind of MIA for most of the pre-wedding festivities. There were rumblings that the dress didn't fit, but no one knew for sure what was going on. I remember there being concern that she might not show at all.
Try making that news palatable to a young bride on her big day, when emotions are running high and there's an over-abundance of estrogen in the air.
She did show up. The dress had obviously been altered as there were additional panels of fabric on the sides of the bodice that didn't quite match the rest of the dress.
Oh, and she had her upper arms, all the way to the elbows, wrapped in ace bandages. Clearly visible by one and all.
My heart broke for her.
To this day, I'm still not sure if the ace bandages were to cover up something on her arms she didn't want us to see of if she had to wrap them, compression style, to get them in the sleeves. It doesn't matter, really. Whatever the reason for all of it, you could tell she was miserable. Embarrassed probably doesn't begin to scratch the surface.
Then she did what I was sure I couldn't have done.
She stood up straight. She stuck out her chin. And she carried on.
A lot of life happened to all of us after that day. We graduated from college, got our first jobs, moved from our hometown. Some had kids. Some got divorced. One of us was killed in a car accident. Some married again. Rounds two and three of babies came. Some of us got fat. Some didn't change that much.
I ran into this old friend a year or so ago on an errand day. She was with what I assume was one of her kids. She looked fantastic. I had heard that she had lost a lot of weight (somehow when you lose weight, people tell you about others that do/did, too) and I'd heard she was a runner.
As soon as we recognized each other, we did that, "Oh my gosh, I thought that was you! How are you? Do you live here? Gotta run! So good to see you," thing people do when they don't know what else to say. Over-zealous smiles in place, voices too loud and too cheerful to be totally believable.
I'm happy for her. I don't know her well enough now (or then, really) to know how what carrying extra weight meant for her life. I don't know if affected her head like it affected mine. I don't know if she thinks about it at all ... for all I know, she's been healthy for a long, long time and never gives it a second thought. I'm also sure she doesn't care one bit about what I think.
And that's why I didn't take the time to tell her how much her experience that day oh-so-long ago affected me years later.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Bridesmaid Dress No. 1
Remember the first few weddings you were in? Everyone was so young. We thought we were partying like rock stars. There was a rented bus, penis whistles and gifts of lingerie.
And in the 90s, we also had pink bridesmaid dresses. In fact, I had two baby pink dresses in one year.
I remember them both for two very different reasons.
One because we were able to rent -- yes rent! -- them. I thought this was a genius idea.
And one because I didn't sleep for weeks worrying that the dress wouldn't fit.
This is the story of the latter.
The bride-to-be had moved with her fiance hundreds of miles away. If I remember right, she first told us to get together, go to Madison and pick something out. We did get together. We did go to Madison, but we hit a lot of bars on the way there and didn't really complete the task at hand. If I remember correctly, the bride found a way to intervene from afar and at some point, we ended up at a JCPenney outlet store, ordering pink taffeta moire numbers from a catalog. I bought a size 11 and when it arrived at my house, it didn't fit. Wasn't even close.
I hung it in my closet, too scared to tell anyone that I was too fat to fit in the dress (as if a size 11 was fat ... but it was to me then) and too embarrassed to actually exchange it. At night I'd lie in bed and calculate how many weeks I had left before the wedding, how many pounds per week I needed to lose each week to get there. The week would go by and I'd recalculate, feeling my heart climb high in my chest and beat faster every time another week ticked off the calendar. I was paralyzed by the fear and shame.
I didn't try on the dress again. I was too afraid. I didn't know where to go to get it altered. I didn't know what I'd do if it didn't fit. Every week my anxiety climbed one notch higher.
The week before the wedding, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. With my heart thumping in my chest, I mustered the courage to slip it over my head.
And, miracle of miracles, it fit. The same dress that I couldn't come close to zipping when I first brought it home zipped right up with no issues.
I stood in my bedroom mirror and looked at myself with my mouth hanging wide open. There was no way this dress should fit. No possible way it could fit. All that worry. All that stress. All those negative feelings beating on my self esteem for so long.
Never has anyone been so relieved. Never has anyone been so confused. Never has anyone believed in divine intervention as much as I did at that moment.
And in the 90s, we also had pink bridesmaid dresses. In fact, I had two baby pink dresses in one year.
I remember them both for two very different reasons.
One because we were able to rent -- yes rent! -- them. I thought this was a genius idea.
And one because I didn't sleep for weeks worrying that the dress wouldn't fit.
This is the story of the latter.
The bride-to-be had moved with her fiance hundreds of miles away. If I remember right, she first told us to get together, go to Madison and pick something out. We did get together. We did go to Madison, but we hit a lot of bars on the way there and didn't really complete the task at hand. If I remember correctly, the bride found a way to intervene from afar and at some point, we ended up at a JCPenney outlet store, ordering pink taffeta moire numbers from a catalog. I bought a size 11 and when it arrived at my house, it didn't fit. Wasn't even close.
I hung it in my closet, too scared to tell anyone that I was too fat to fit in the dress (as if a size 11 was fat ... but it was to me then) and too embarrassed to actually exchange it. At night I'd lie in bed and calculate how many weeks I had left before the wedding, how many pounds per week I needed to lose each week to get there. The week would go by and I'd recalculate, feeling my heart climb high in my chest and beat faster every time another week ticked off the calendar. I was paralyzed by the fear and shame.
I didn't try on the dress again. I was too afraid. I didn't know where to go to get it altered. I didn't know what I'd do if it didn't fit. Every week my anxiety climbed one notch higher.
The week before the wedding, I knew I couldn't put it off any longer. With my heart thumping in my chest, I mustered the courage to slip it over my head.
And, miracle of miracles, it fit. The same dress that I couldn't come close to zipping when I first brought it home zipped right up with no issues.
I stood in my bedroom mirror and looked at myself with my mouth hanging wide open. There was no way this dress should fit. No possible way it could fit. All that worry. All that stress. All those negative feelings beating on my self esteem for so long.
Never has anyone been so relieved. Never has anyone been so confused. Never has anyone believed in divine intervention as much as I did at that moment.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Frumpy is as Frumpy Does
My workplace went casual this past winter. We'd always had casual Fridays--and I loved them--so I was really very excited about this change.
At first.
As the winter wore on, the rotation of my two pairs of jeans got boring. The same old jean-appropriate boxy, solid, cardigans made me yawn. My 15-year-old black sketchers and black ballet flats, worn because the heels went out with the knee, produced coma-like symptoms.
Sure, I threw in a scarf or two, every once in a while. But it wasn't enough.
My more formal work clothes mocked me from their hangers.
"You used to look sort of sharp. You know, put together," they chided. "Now you look like a midwestern, middle-aged, white-bread-and-American-cheese-slices soccer mom."
And, they were right. As my wardrobe became more sedate and predictable and vanilla, so did my attitude about me. I started to FEEL as boring as I was looking.
So I decided I needed a boost. A kick in the pants. New pants, really. A bounce into spring. An affirmation of my commitment to working out again and to me.
How? I went to the mall.
I bought shirts with yellow in them. I bought leggings and a long sweater. I bought a flowy, flirty, filmy top with some rockin' jewelry to match.
And I went to work the next day with pumps on. PUMPS! That long sweater and leggings made me feel like a million bucks. (And a little dirty because it was kind of like not wearing pants. Whoo hoo!)
I was reminded of how much better you feel on the inside when you feel good about how you look on the outside. It's powerful incentive to continue working hard to stay healthy.
See you later, Frumpy. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
At first.
As the winter wore on, the rotation of my two pairs of jeans got boring. The same old jean-appropriate boxy, solid, cardigans made me yawn. My 15-year-old black sketchers and black ballet flats, worn because the heels went out with the knee, produced coma-like symptoms.
Sure, I threw in a scarf or two, every once in a while. But it wasn't enough.
My more formal work clothes mocked me from their hangers.
"You used to look sort of sharp. You know, put together," they chided. "Now you look like a midwestern, middle-aged, white-bread-and-American-cheese-slices soccer mom."
And, they were right. As my wardrobe became more sedate and predictable and vanilla, so did my attitude about me. I started to FEEL as boring as I was looking.
So I decided I needed a boost. A kick in the pants. New pants, really. A bounce into spring. An affirmation of my commitment to working out again and to me.
How? I went to the mall.
I bought shirts with yellow in them. I bought leggings and a long sweater. I bought a flowy, flirty, filmy top with some rockin' jewelry to match.
And I went to work the next day with pumps on. PUMPS! That long sweater and leggings made me feel like a million bucks. (And a little dirty because it was kind of like not wearing pants. Whoo hoo!)
I was reminded of how much better you feel on the inside when you feel good about how you look on the outside. It's powerful incentive to continue working hard to stay healthy.
See you later, Frumpy. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Seriously ... Baconalia?
Our long weekend in Louisville presented a bunch of firsts for my husband and me. Among them:
1. Attending the Mid-America Truck Show. Imagine it... 80,000 truckers, 900+ exhibitors and 700,000 square feet of show floor. Ranks right up there with Vegas in terms of the professional sport of people watching.
2. Visiting Churchill Downs and crying at the movie in the museum. Man, I love horses.
3. Taste-testing bourbon at the Jim Beam Distillery. I liked the one that tasted like maple syrup, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was called.
4. Baconalia at Denny's.
That's right. Baconalia. Who in the hell invented this?
I'll ease you into the concept. A BLT with extra bacon. A cheeseburger with extra bacon of the peppery variety. Deep fried mac and cheese bites mixed with, you guessed it, bacon.
Then we take a left turn.
Maple bacon milkshake/maple bacon sundae. Yum.
Salted caramel brownie sundae with bacon. Uh oh.
And last, but not least, the Caramel Bacon Stuffed French Toast. You heard me. Two pieces of French toast. In between, a layer of white chocolate/bacon spread. Drizzled with caramel sauce and crumbled bacon. If that wasn't enough, they give you two eggs, two slices of bacon and some syrup on the side.
That is the job I want. I want to be the guy at Denny's that says, "How freaking ridiculous can we make this?"
No one should eat this crap. It actually pisses me off that someone acts so irresponsibly and puts it out there when no one needs to ingest those empty, pointless calories.
Of course, I would eat it... IF I had the self-discipline to eat ONLY that French-toast-1200-calorie-thing for the day.
But I don't. So I skipped the whole Baconalia experience and ordered the egg white omelette. (And a short stack of pancakes to get my maple fix.)
No willpower? Stay home. It's the best way to avoid temptation.
1. Attending the Mid-America Truck Show. Imagine it... 80,000 truckers, 900+ exhibitors and 700,000 square feet of show floor. Ranks right up there with Vegas in terms of the professional sport of people watching.
2. Visiting Churchill Downs and crying at the movie in the museum. Man, I love horses.
3. Taste-testing bourbon at the Jim Beam Distillery. I liked the one that tasted like maple syrup, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was called.
4. Baconalia at Denny's.
That's right. Baconalia. Who in the hell invented this?
I'll ease you into the concept. A BLT with extra bacon. A cheeseburger with extra bacon of the peppery variety. Deep fried mac and cheese bites mixed with, you guessed it, bacon.
Then we take a left turn.
Maple bacon milkshake/maple bacon sundae. Yum.
Salted caramel brownie sundae with bacon. Uh oh.
And last, but not least, the Caramel Bacon Stuffed French Toast. You heard me. Two pieces of French toast. In between, a layer of white chocolate/bacon spread. Drizzled with caramel sauce and crumbled bacon. If that wasn't enough, they give you two eggs, two slices of bacon and some syrup on the side.
That is the job I want. I want to be the guy at Denny's that says, "How freaking ridiculous can we make this?"
No one should eat this crap. It actually pisses me off that someone acts so irresponsibly and puts it out there when no one needs to ingest those empty, pointless calories.
Of course, I would eat it... IF I had the self-discipline to eat ONLY that French-toast-1200-calorie-thing for the day.
But I don't. So I skipped the whole Baconalia experience and ordered the egg white omelette. (And a short stack of pancakes to get my maple fix.)
No willpower? Stay home. It's the best way to avoid temptation.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Jammin' to a New Soundtrack
It starts in your head, right? If you want to make a change, you have to start with your head.
So, this morning I woke up a little before my alarm. My first instinct was to think, "Crap. The alarm is going to go off in a few minutes. I'm so tired and it was a long weekend with not a lot of great sleep. I would like to sleep in just a bit ..."
And then I caught myself.
I had made the deal with me last night before I went to sleep to NOT go down that road.
So, when that bad song started playing this morning, I changed the channel.
"I am lucky to be able to work out. I feel better all day long when I do it first thing in the morning. It helps me start the day right. I am worth it. I like working out and I hate the feelings of doubt and fear that sneak in when I don't. I am going to do it for me because I deserve to treat myself well and to feel good."
Last, but not least, "Do the right things often enough and good things happen."
With that, I rolled over, caught the last few seconds of quiet and when my alarm went off, I didn't hesitate to hop out of bed and head downstairs.
A step in the right direction feels good.
So, this morning I woke up a little before my alarm. My first instinct was to think, "Crap. The alarm is going to go off in a few minutes. I'm so tired and it was a long weekend with not a lot of great sleep. I would like to sleep in just a bit ..."
And then I caught myself.
I had made the deal with me last night before I went to sleep to NOT go down that road.
So, when that bad song started playing this morning, I changed the channel.
"I am lucky to be able to work out. I feel better all day long when I do it first thing in the morning. It helps me start the day right. I am worth it. I like working out and I hate the feelings of doubt and fear that sneak in when I don't. I am going to do it for me because I deserve to treat myself well and to feel good."
Last, but not least, "Do the right things often enough and good things happen."
With that, I rolled over, caught the last few seconds of quiet and when my alarm went off, I didn't hesitate to hop out of bed and head downstairs.
A step in the right direction feels good.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
I Desperately Need a New Routine
I'm out of practice. In every way.
And I need to snap the hell out of it.
My exercise is all out of whack as I try to figure out my capabilities and follow the new treatment plan. My eating is all out of whack as my head struggles to make sense of my new reality: up too many pounds and feeling helpless.
I'm not helpless.
I have to find new footing. And I'm struggling, perhaps like the rest of you.
So I'm sorry the posting has been sporadic and short. The truth is I'm not feeling very inspirational. I'm feeling defeated and full of failure. I'm not scared that this is the end and I'm going to get fat again. But I am trying to figure out what's going on in my head so I can learn something from the situation.
The bottom line is I don't feel good right now. I don't feel strong. I don't feel in control. I don't feel happy with myself and with my choices.
I miss feeling that way.
And I need to snap the hell out of it.
My exercise is all out of whack as I try to figure out my capabilities and follow the new treatment plan. My eating is all out of whack as my head struggles to make sense of my new reality: up too many pounds and feeling helpless.
I'm not helpless.
I have to find new footing. And I'm struggling, perhaps like the rest of you.
So I'm sorry the posting has been sporadic and short. The truth is I'm not feeling very inspirational. I'm feeling defeated and full of failure. I'm not scared that this is the end and I'm going to get fat again. But I am trying to figure out what's going on in my head so I can learn something from the situation.
The bottom line is I don't feel good right now. I don't feel strong. I don't feel in control. I don't feel happy with myself and with my choices.
I miss feeling that way.
Friday, March 22, 2013
You Can't Un-Eat It
It only takes a split second for your hand to move to your mouth. But it takes a long damn time for your feet to work those quickly consumed calories. Once it's in, it's in.
Don't sabotage yourself for a few seconds of gratification.
Don't sabotage yourself for a few seconds of gratification.
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
Happy First Day of Spring!
I am celebrating with an 80-calorie hot cocoa. Something is just not right here.
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
I Just Want to Scream!
On the one hand, there's good news: No surgery. Instead, the surgeon recommended injections of "lubricant" that mimics real cartilage and prevents the pain associated with impact.
On the other hand, there's confusion: Sports med doc ignores cartilage, focuses on cyst, drains it and shoots cortisone into the knee. Pain returns worse than before. Family doc, after consulting with orthopedic surgeon, says, "Bad news. Big tear. Fix is likely surgical and likely big. Go see specialist." Pain gets better, while I behave like a Doomsday Prepper, trying to figure out how I'll drive with my whole right side in traction. Specialist says, "Yup, see tear and cyst and bone bruise. Draining cysts is pointless, cortisone is pointless. Let's give you three shots in the joint to augment the cartilage you have and the less running you do, the less you wear on it, obviously. But I'm not telling you to not run. Run if you can stand it." Huh?
On the third hand (I can have three ... like a beautiful Hindu goddess, please), there's frustration: Am I not listening right? Do I not understand what they're saying? I know in my heart I'm going to be sitting in the same spot six months from now, asking the same damn questions. I don't feel like I'm getting a "fix.: But I'm also not sure there is a "fix." I'm a reasonably educated woman who occasionally solves a difficult problem or two and I just can't seem to understand this.
I just want to run.
And then be able to walk afterward.
And I don't want to dick around in between.
So we'll try the shots. One a week for three weeks into the joint. And then go from there. Again.
Sorry I got you all whipped up. Apparently, I don't know what I am feeling and don't understand what I'm being told. So I'm never mentioning my knee again, to spare you and me the annoyance.
And then be able to walk afterward.
And I don't want to dick around in between.
So we'll try the shots. One a week for three weeks into the joint. And then go from there. Again.
Sorry I got you all whipped up. Apparently, I don't know what I am feeling and don't understand what I'm being told. So I'm never mentioning my knee again, to spare you and me the annoyance.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Nervous
I meet with the surgeon tomorrow.
I'm not thinking about a whole lot else, so I don't have much to say.
I'm not thinking about a whole lot else, so I don't have much to say.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Gringo Chilaquiles
I took my mom out for fish last night. And yes, I ordered the baked fish, but I also ate two big, ol' buttery pieces of white bread. And an ice cream cone (Frostie Freeze is open, people!)
Today we were out with my in-laws for a little furniture shopping. That meant a restaurant lunch. For me, it was a Greek salad ... lettuce, cucumber, tomato, onion and a smidge of salad dressing. Oh, and enormous hunks of delicious feta and a handful of soda crackers.
Tomorrow night, my husband promised to take me out for corned beef and cabbage. Which I LOVE.
So dinner tonight had to be 1) eaten at home, 2) better for me than fish fry and corned beef.
After seeing some TV cooking show, I decided to try my hand at Chilaquiles.
(If I remember my brother-in-law's narration, Chilaquiles are traditionally hangover breakfast food. I didn't have a hangover and it wasn't breakfast, so you can see the logic there.)
I'm sure this is a bastardization of some lovely Abuelita's recipe. For that I am sorry. But it was really good, so for that I am not.
Gringo Chilaquiles
Olive oil
1/2 onion, finely chopped
1/4 c red bell pepper, finely chopped
1t finely chopped garlic
Squirt of Tajin sauce (if you don't have this, just a shot of lime juice might do the trick)
1-2 cups homemade enchilada sauce
1/2 to 1 cup chicken stock (I actually didn't have chicken stock, but did have one of those little packets of concentrated chicken juice flavoring things from Swanson ... so I added that and some water)
1T-2T light sour cream or non-fat Greek yogurt or light cream cheese
Leftover shredded chicken (I had turkey on hand)
1/2 can black beans
1 T chopped canned green chili or canned jalapeno
Sprinkle of low-fat shredded cheese or queso fresco
A couple of baked corn tortillas or a handful of baked tortilla chips
4 eggs, sunny side up/over easy
Run a bead of oil in a big skillet. Soften up the onion and peppers. Toss in the garlic and let it cook, but not burn. Add the Tajin, enchilada sauce, chicken stock and let it come to a boil. You want it to be a little loose, because you'll let it boil and cook out a little. Once it comes back to bubble, turn the heat back to simmer and add the dairy product of your choice. If you use cream cheese, make sure it melts. Then add your chicken, beans and chili. Heat it through.
Now get your pan ready to fry the eggs. As soon as you drop them in and they start to cook, crunch up the crispy tortilla and mix it into the saucy, Chilaquiles mix. You want the chips to soften, but not turn to mush.
If you've timed it right, the eggs are done when the chips are perfect. Toss a handful of cheese in, stirring to melt.
To serve: Put the saucy mix down first. Top with egg. The yolk will run all lovely with your first bit and the richness cuts the spice a little. It's yummy!
Today we were out with my in-laws for a little furniture shopping. That meant a restaurant lunch. For me, it was a Greek salad ... lettuce, cucumber, tomato, onion and a smidge of salad dressing. Oh, and enormous hunks of delicious feta and a handful of soda crackers.
Tomorrow night, my husband promised to take me out for corned beef and cabbage. Which I LOVE.
So dinner tonight had to be 1) eaten at home, 2) better for me than fish fry and corned beef.
After seeing some TV cooking show, I decided to try my hand at Chilaquiles.
(If I remember my brother-in-law's narration, Chilaquiles are traditionally hangover breakfast food. I didn't have a hangover and it wasn't breakfast, so you can see the logic there.)
I'm sure this is a bastardization of some lovely Abuelita's recipe. For that I am sorry. But it was really good, so for that I am not.
Gringo Chilaquiles
Olive oil
1/2 onion, finely chopped
1/4 c red bell pepper, finely chopped
1t finely chopped garlic
Squirt of Tajin sauce (if you don't have this, just a shot of lime juice might do the trick)
1-2 cups homemade enchilada sauce
1/2 to 1 cup chicken stock (I actually didn't have chicken stock, but did have one of those little packets of concentrated chicken juice flavoring things from Swanson ... so I added that and some water)
1T-2T light sour cream or non-fat Greek yogurt or light cream cheese
Leftover shredded chicken (I had turkey on hand)
1/2 can black beans
1 T chopped canned green chili or canned jalapeno
Sprinkle of low-fat shredded cheese or queso fresco
A couple of baked corn tortillas or a handful of baked tortilla chips
4 eggs, sunny side up/over easy
Run a bead of oil in a big skillet. Soften up the onion and peppers. Toss in the garlic and let it cook, but not burn. Add the Tajin, enchilada sauce, chicken stock and let it come to a boil. You want it to be a little loose, because you'll let it boil and cook out a little. Once it comes back to bubble, turn the heat back to simmer and add the dairy product of your choice. If you use cream cheese, make sure it melts. Then add your chicken, beans and chili. Heat it through.
Now get your pan ready to fry the eggs. As soon as you drop them in and they start to cook, crunch up the crispy tortilla and mix it into the saucy, Chilaquiles mix. You want the chips to soften, but not turn to mush.
If you've timed it right, the eggs are done when the chips are perfect. Toss a handful of cheese in, stirring to melt.
To serve: Put the saucy mix down first. Top with egg. The yolk will run all lovely with your first bit and the richness cuts the spice a little. It's yummy!
Friday, March 15, 2013
The Cheese Fairy
After a mid-morning dentist appointment which left me with a new crown on the bottom left and a new filling on the top right, my chewing capability wasn't so great come lunchtime.
I wasn't drooling or anything, but I was still sort of numb and not yet willing to chomp down on something hard, hot or cold.
Raw veg? Out. Popcorn? Out. Soup? No way, Jose.
So I settled on a yogurt and a handful of trail mix. The nuts weren't too crunchy and the raisins were OK.
So, God bless the Cheese Fairy who showed up in my office long-about 4 p.m. with some cheddar, some brie and some water crackers.
She (and whatever meeting on a Friday afternoon that generated the leftovers) saved the day.
I wasn't drooling or anything, but I was still sort of numb and not yet willing to chomp down on something hard, hot or cold.
Raw veg? Out. Popcorn? Out. Soup? No way, Jose.
So I settled on a yogurt and a handful of trail mix. The nuts weren't too crunchy and the raisins were OK.
So, God bless the Cheese Fairy who showed up in my office long-about 4 p.m. with some cheddar, some brie and some water crackers.
She (and whatever meeting on a Friday afternoon that generated the leftovers) saved the day.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
Trying to Figure It Out
As I sit here and imagine what's going to happen with this potential surgery thing, I am also trying to plot my strategy for how I'm going to eat and how I'm going to exercise during this process.
I'm worried.
I have put on 12 pounds already. My clothes are tight and uncomfortable. I have developed a constant snacking habit. And I'm unwilling to change it.
I'd say "unable" but we all know that would be a cop out. I'm able. I'm just not doing it.
I'm trying to find that place in my head that says, "Enough is enough. Start already."
And then I remember ... there is no magic lightening bolt that comes down and aligns the stars so that all conditions are right and all system flip to go.
There is no magic. No perfect time.
In fact, there's nothing but a decision. To be made. By me.
Only me.
If I tell myself it's anything more complicated than that, I'm lying.
It's not complicated at all. It is difficult. But it is not complicated.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
The Results Are In ... Sort Of
Drumroll please.
Per my family doc and the second MRI, I have a full thickness tear in the hyaline cartilage that covers the weight bearing/inside part of my femur (thigh bone). And she says the cartilage on my tibia (big shin bone) looks "annoyed" where it articulates.
She also talked to an orthopedic surgeon who said there are a few options for treatment, but the most common is to harvest a plug of healthy cartilage from a non-weight bearing part of the joint and fill in the hole.
So now I have to go see the surgeon.
It had better happen soon, because I'm spending too much time on the internet trying to interpret the medical jargon on the MRI results and read between the lines of what my doc says. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've learned a few surgical techniques from medical journals.
Best case scenario? It's a simple arthroscopic, outpatient thing and I'm good as new in a couple of weeks.
But now that I'm practically a surgeon, if YOU need a little nip or tuck, let me know.
Per my family doc and the second MRI, I have a full thickness tear in the hyaline cartilage that covers the weight bearing/inside part of my femur (thigh bone). And she says the cartilage on my tibia (big shin bone) looks "annoyed" where it articulates.
She also talked to an orthopedic surgeon who said there are a few options for treatment, but the most common is to harvest a plug of healthy cartilage from a non-weight bearing part of the joint and fill in the hole.
So now I have to go see the surgeon.
It had better happen soon, because I'm spending too much time on the internet trying to interpret the medical jargon on the MRI results and read between the lines of what my doc says. In fact, I'm pretty sure I've learned a few surgical techniques from medical journals.
Best case scenario? It's a simple arthroscopic, outpatient thing and I'm good as new in a couple of weeks.
But now that I'm practically a surgeon, if YOU need a little nip or tuck, let me know.
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
Muscle Matters
Did you see The Biggest Loser last night? Did you see that Danni put on 19 pounds of muscle in less than three months and lost an amazing 95 pounds of overall weight.
She set a record for most muscle gained in the show's history. Yes, you heard me. 19 pounds ... that's more muscle than the 6'2" MEN put on over the course of the show seasons.
Muscle matters.
Muscle burns more calories when you're sitting still than fat does.
You go, Danni Allen from Mundelein IL.
The rest of us will go lift some weight and think of you.
She set a record for most muscle gained in the show's history. Yes, you heard me. 19 pounds ... that's more muscle than the 6'2" MEN put on over the course of the show seasons.
Muscle matters.
Muscle burns more calories when you're sitting still than fat does.
You go, Danni Allen from Mundelein IL.
The rest of us will go lift some weight and think of you.
Monday, March 11, 2013
Red Robin Find
iLast night we had a birthday celebration dinner at Red Robin. There's something decidedly figure-unfriendly about "bottomless steak fries," so I knew reasonable eating might take some doing.
I eliminated cheeseburgers, fries and anything with barbecue sauce immediately. Obviously, deep fried was off the list.
My eyes and tastebuds landed on the Gardenburger and Turkey Burger. Both included a whole wheat bun and arrived without cheese. But they came with those damn fries.
And then I saw it. The Ensenada Chicken Platter.Grilled, seasoned chicken with a side salad. Available with one or two pieces of chicken.
I ordered the single breast. Salad dressing on the side. Per the website, the whole thing clocks in at 300-ish calories ... about half that of the turkey and garden burgers.
Yippee!
Of course I did participate in the tower of onion rings and I did snatch a few fries from my niece ... so my total was higher than that.
After all, as Dr. Kidd said, "You gotta live a little."
I eliminated cheeseburgers, fries and anything with barbecue sauce immediately. Obviously, deep fried was off the list.
My eyes and tastebuds landed on the Gardenburger and Turkey Burger. Both included a whole wheat bun and arrived without cheese. But they came with those damn fries.
And then I saw it. The Ensenada Chicken Platter.Grilled, seasoned chicken with a side salad. Available with one or two pieces of chicken.
I ordered the single breast. Salad dressing on the side. Per the website, the whole thing clocks in at 300-ish calories ... about half that of the turkey and garden burgers.
Yippee!
Of course I did participate in the tower of onion rings and I did snatch a few fries from my niece ... so my total was higher than that.
After all, as Dr. Kidd said, "You gotta live a little."
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Maybe It Is In My Head
Had my second MRI last week. The first one, if you remember or care, uncovered a Baker's Cyst and some minor "fraying" of meniscus. Neither should have given me the pain I was experiencing, per my cheerful and effervescent sports med doc (not).
But I had the cyst drained and some cortisone shot in there as preventative action and then went on vacation where I proceeded to have a bit of trouble in choppy seas on a snorkeling trip ... climbing a ladder and wiping out on deck. That caused two weeks of limping, new pain in the front of the knee, cursing, crying and exasperation. Oh, and the need for the aforementioned second MRI.
The day after the MRI?
My knee felt pretty good.
Not right. Not pain free ... still waking up in the middle of the night, etc. But it felt better than it had in two weeks. In other words, my limping was decidedly less pronounced.
On the one hand, this seems like good news. On the other hand, it drives me batty. I almost feel like I'm making this all up.
And I'm not sure if I want that to be the case or not.
But I had the cyst drained and some cortisone shot in there as preventative action and then went on vacation where I proceeded to have a bit of trouble in choppy seas on a snorkeling trip ... climbing a ladder and wiping out on deck. That caused two weeks of limping, new pain in the front of the knee, cursing, crying and exasperation. Oh, and the need for the aforementioned second MRI.
The day after the MRI?
My knee felt pretty good.
Not right. Not pain free ... still waking up in the middle of the night, etc. But it felt better than it had in two weeks. In other words, my limping was decidedly less pronounced.
On the one hand, this seems like good news. On the other hand, it drives me batty. I almost feel like I'm making this all up.
And I'm not sure if I want that to be the case or not.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Old People in McDonald's
Have you ever seen the couple my title refers to? They're a sweet, white-haired duo; she has her hair set in rollers once a week at the beauty parlor and he walks just a bit bent over, always opening the door for her. He gently touches her elbow as he walks beside her, leading her as if they were dancing up to the counter.
She has a scarf in her purse and he is wearing something plaid.
They order. He takes longer than you want to wait to pull out his wallet and finger through all of the bills inside. (They're all in order, smallest denomination to largest, all facing the same way to make this process easier.)
The McDonald's server puts one burger, one fry and one drink on the tray. He carefully picks it up with both hands and they walk, slowly, to a booth.
Then she unwraps the burger and splits it in two, placing half on an unfolded napkin in front of him and the other on front of the napkin in front of her. He shakes a few fries out on the tray and removes the plastic lid from the Sprite so they can each drink from the cup when the urge strikes.
They've spent $4.24 and everyone is happy.
Jim and I split a turkey sub combo at Jimmy John's today, just like that sweet couple. But we didn't do it because our Social Security budget or senior citizen appetites couldn't swing two meals.
We split the "healthy" part of lunch so we could go next door to Cherry Berry for dessert.
But someday I hope to be so lucky to share my lunch with Jim, wearing plaid, at McDonald's, both of us smelling like BenGay and Polident.
Happy Anniversary to my dear, sweet, patient, kind husband. I am lucky to be able to grow old with you.
She has a scarf in her purse and he is wearing something plaid.
They order. He takes longer than you want to wait to pull out his wallet and finger through all of the bills inside. (They're all in order, smallest denomination to largest, all facing the same way to make this process easier.)
The McDonald's server puts one burger, one fry and one drink on the tray. He carefully picks it up with both hands and they walk, slowly, to a booth.
Then she unwraps the burger and splits it in two, placing half on an unfolded napkin in front of him and the other on front of the napkin in front of her. He shakes a few fries out on the tray and removes the plastic lid from the Sprite so they can each drink from the cup when the urge strikes.
They've spent $4.24 and everyone is happy.
Jim and I split a turkey sub combo at Jimmy John's today, just like that sweet couple. But we didn't do it because our Social Security budget or senior citizen appetites couldn't swing two meals.
We split the "healthy" part of lunch so we could go next door to Cherry Berry for dessert.
But someday I hope to be so lucky to share my lunch with Jim, wearing plaid, at McDonald's, both of us smelling like BenGay and Polident.
Happy Anniversary to my dear, sweet, patient, kind husband. I am lucky to be able to grow old with you.
Friday, March 8, 2013
For Your Imagination Only ...
Picture this:
Neon green tennis shoes.
Socks that used to be while with cobalt blue trim, but the white has turned a dishwater gray from so many washings ... with a big, brown stain on the top of the foot that looks like a dried blood spot but is really the unremoveable remnant of a shoeless wood staining project in the garage.
Two-tone biking shorts in a large mint green and gray houndstooth print.
A red-violet (if you remember this crayon from your box of 64 crayolas ... somewhere between purple and magenta),workout top with a black/gray design thing on it.
Hawaiian-flower print hot pink and white Bondi Band.
You're welcome.
I looked good.
Neon green tennis shoes.
Socks that used to be while with cobalt blue trim, but the white has turned a dishwater gray from so many washings ... with a big, brown stain on the top of the foot that looks like a dried blood spot but is really the unremoveable remnant of a shoeless wood staining project in the garage.
Two-tone biking shorts in a large mint green and gray houndstooth print.
A red-violet (if you remember this crayon from your box of 64 crayolas ... somewhere between purple and magenta),workout top with a black/gray design thing on it.
Hawaiian-flower print hot pink and white Bondi Band.
You're welcome.
I looked good.
Thursday, March 7, 2013
One Good Thing
Ever have one of those days?
One of those days when EVERYTHING sucks?
I had one today. I couldn't do anything right. I couldn't make anyone happy. I couldn't find the right answer. I couldn't pull the magical rabbit out of my ass. (Yes, I cried a little. But not in front of anyone.)
Then I got home.
I changed into my workout gear, headed to the basement and climbed on my bike. I pedaled for an hour.
In that hour, I did what was right for me. I made me happy. I found the right answers. And the only thing I had to pull out of my ass was my padded bike shorts.
I've been thinking a lot lately about how I choose to live my life. I have a choice to be miserable or to celebrate all the good things. My professional life has been a bit challenging for the past few years and just when I think it can't get any more complicated or difficult, it always seems to do so. My out-of-work life has the same trials and tribulations as everyone else: family, finances, general fretting. There's so much beyond my control.
And the more I can't control the outer chaos, the more I need to control the one thing I can. Me.
Even on my worst days, I know I can find one good thing.
Today it was that hour of pedaling in my basement. Screw every single crappy thing that happened to me during the day. That hour is mine to do what's best for me. No one controls it but me.
That one good thing is the difference between a totally sucky day and a pretty good one.
One of those days when EVERYTHING sucks?
I had one today. I couldn't do anything right. I couldn't make anyone happy. I couldn't find the right answer. I couldn't pull the magical rabbit out of my ass. (Yes, I cried a little. But not in front of anyone.)
Then I got home.
I changed into my workout gear, headed to the basement and climbed on my bike. I pedaled for an hour.
In that hour, I did what was right for me. I made me happy. I found the right answers. And the only thing I had to pull out of my ass was my padded bike shorts.
I've been thinking a lot lately about how I choose to live my life. I have a choice to be miserable or to celebrate all the good things. My professional life has been a bit challenging for the past few years and just when I think it can't get any more complicated or difficult, it always seems to do so. My out-of-work life has the same trials and tribulations as everyone else: family, finances, general fretting. There's so much beyond my control.
And the more I can't control the outer chaos, the more I need to control the one thing I can. Me.
Even on my worst days, I know I can find one good thing.
Today it was that hour of pedaling in my basement. Screw every single crappy thing that happened to me during the day. That hour is mine to do what's best for me. No one controls it but me.
That one good thing is the difference between a totally sucky day and a pretty good one.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
How About a Pabst?
(This is not for the delicate and polite among you.)
I'm making a fairly earnest attempt to eat better. That means lots of raw veg, and in my case this week, cauliflower. When your body isn't accustomed to so much raw veg, it can wreak havoc on your innards and produce a rather unfortunate and off-putting byproduct.
This byproduct can cause a quiet house to become, shall we say, more noisy. Sort of percussive, if you will.
To accompany the raw veg, I boiled up a bunch of eggs on Sunday. I love hard-boiled egg whites and at 17 calories of pure protein, so they're a great snack. (I throw away the yolks. Don't like 'em.) But as you know, eggs can contribute to the problem above.
Jim sees me peeling eggs. And he's already complained loudly about the side effects of the cauliflower. It's more than he can take.
"Why don't I just run down to The Friendly Village and get you a 6-pack of Pabst so you can really raise the roof?"
This cracked me up. But I couldn't laugh and let him know he was right.
"Beg pardon, kind sir. We both know I am a delicate flower and have no earthly idea what you're talking about."
Deny, deny, deny.
For more glorious fun facts on this entertaining bodily function, please check out this link sent by HR Girl:
http://www.heptune.com/farts.html
I'm making a fairly earnest attempt to eat better. That means lots of raw veg, and in my case this week, cauliflower. When your body isn't accustomed to so much raw veg, it can wreak havoc on your innards and produce a rather unfortunate and off-putting byproduct.
This byproduct can cause a quiet house to become, shall we say, more noisy. Sort of percussive, if you will.
To accompany the raw veg, I boiled up a bunch of eggs on Sunday. I love hard-boiled egg whites and at 17 calories of pure protein, so they're a great snack. (I throw away the yolks. Don't like 'em.) But as you know, eggs can contribute to the problem above.
Jim sees me peeling eggs. And he's already complained loudly about the side effects of the cauliflower. It's more than he can take.
"Why don't I just run down to The Friendly Village and get you a 6-pack of Pabst so you can really raise the roof?"
This cracked me up. But I couldn't laugh and let him know he was right.
"Beg pardon, kind sir. We both know I am a delicate flower and have no earthly idea what you're talking about."
Deny, deny, deny.
For more glorious fun facts on this entertaining bodily function, please check out this link sent by HR Girl:
http://www.heptune.com/farts.html
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
To Those of You ...
This is a shout out to those of you who are battling injuries, conflicting inner voices and plain, old, ordinary fear:
Monday, March 4, 2013
Moody Truths
I'm not sure if you've noticed.
But I spent some time today looking over the past three or four months of posts and it's very clear to me.
I'm a bitch when I don't exercise and eat right.
And I get all mopey. And pissy. And wallow in the bleah. The more bleah, the less I exercise and eat right. The less exercise and eating right there is, the more bleah that follows. It's a stupid, depressing, downward spiral.
I was looking through old posts because I was making yet another trip to the doctor to see if I can get this damn knee figured out. (It turns out, writing a blog comes in handy to keep track of things I'd never normally keep good track of.) What I noticed was that as my ability to get the miles in decreased, my general unhappiness increased. I also got sloppy with my eating, made you promises I made no attempt to keep and just sort of gave up.
Yeah. It's hard to work around an injury. And nearly everyone who's ever lost weight has struggled to keep it off. When a couple of pounds creep back on, it's easy to get discouraged.
Discouraged and pissy.
I'm back to the radiology department for another MRI of my sore knee. I'm going to bike in an attempt to keep some cardio going, since even walking right now is out of the question. I'm going to try to help Jim get ready for his first 5k and I'm going to do my best to lifts some weights and eat better.
Bring on the spring. I'm ready for the sunshine. Literally and metaphorically.
But I spent some time today looking over the past three or four months of posts and it's very clear to me.
I'm a bitch when I don't exercise and eat right.
And I get all mopey. And pissy. And wallow in the bleah. The more bleah, the less I exercise and eat right. The less exercise and eating right there is, the more bleah that follows. It's a stupid, depressing, downward spiral.
I was looking through old posts because I was making yet another trip to the doctor to see if I can get this damn knee figured out. (It turns out, writing a blog comes in handy to keep track of things I'd never normally keep good track of.) What I noticed was that as my ability to get the miles in decreased, my general unhappiness increased. I also got sloppy with my eating, made you promises I made no attempt to keep and just sort of gave up.
Yeah. It's hard to work around an injury. And nearly everyone who's ever lost weight has struggled to keep it off. When a couple of pounds creep back on, it's easy to get discouraged.
Discouraged and pissy.
I'm back to the radiology department for another MRI of my sore knee. I'm going to bike in an attempt to keep some cardio going, since even walking right now is out of the question. I'm going to try to help Jim get ready for his first 5k and I'm going to do my best to lifts some weights and eat better.
Bring on the spring. I'm ready for the sunshine. Literally and metaphorically.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
He's My First Victim ... Err, Student
My husband has decided to run a 5K.
He decided to run the Habitat for Humanity 5K last year and then ended up walking it. This year, he says he's really going to run it.
So I'm spending tonight researching Couch to 5K programs.
Looks like you need 9 weeks. You run 3 days a week. The first week seems imminently doable:
Three days with rest days in between (M-W-F for instance), each day with a 5 minute fast walk warm up, then 20 minutes of alternating run/walk intervals of 60 seconds each.
So, walk one minute, run one minute, repeat 10 times.
Don't worry about speed. Don't worry about distance. Just think of how short 60 seconds is.
"You're not going to yell at me and tell me I'm doing it wrong," he says.
As if I'd do this? (OK, I would, if he was just my husband. But now he's my first coaching project, so I'm going to treat him like a total stranger.
You know, nice-like.
He decided to run the Habitat for Humanity 5K last year and then ended up walking it. This year, he says he's really going to run it.
So I'm spending tonight researching Couch to 5K programs.
Looks like you need 9 weeks. You run 3 days a week. The first week seems imminently doable:
Three days with rest days in between (M-W-F for instance), each day with a 5 minute fast walk warm up, then 20 minutes of alternating run/walk intervals of 60 seconds each.
So, walk one minute, run one minute, repeat 10 times.
Don't worry about speed. Don't worry about distance. Just think of how short 60 seconds is.
"You're not going to yell at me and tell me I'm doing it wrong," he says.
As if I'd do this? (OK, I would, if he was just my husband. But now he's my first coaching project, so I'm going to treat him like a total stranger.
You know, nice-like.
Friday, March 1, 2013
This Might Be My Favorite Blog Line Ever
From GAF's acupuncture guest post:
"He asked me a bunch of questions and then asked me to take off my pants and lay on the table."
Insert your own joke here.
And Cupcake Queen would remind former copywriter me that, "Chickens LAY eggs. People LIE on the bed/floor/exam table."
But she's no fun.
"He asked me a bunch of questions and then asked me to take off my pants and lay on the table."
Insert your own joke here.
- Sounds like a great first date!
- If I had a nickel for every time an appointment started like that!
- Great ice-breaking small talk in a room full of strangers.
And Cupcake Queen would remind former copywriter me that, "Chickens LAY eggs. People LIE on the bed/floor/exam table."
But she's no fun.
GAF's Acupuncture Adventure
Our CC friend GaryAllenFan has been battling a foot injury for a while. She's taken time off, iced, OTC drugged, chiropractered, doctored, podiatrist-ed ... all to no avail.
So she headed east, far east, for a trial run of the ancient art/practice of acupuncture. Here's here story:
So she headed east, far east, for a trial run of the ancient art/practice of acupuncture. Here's here story:
So It Begins
I've had 3 "treatments" and will have 3 more....hoping that is all I need.
First appointment:
The doctor and I discussed why I was there....where is my pain? I explained the pain I've had in the side of my foot for months. I told him I had been running intervals with no issues and first felt the pain when I started running "straight through," no intervals.
He asked me a bunch of questions and then asked me to take off my pants and lay on the table. He started poking around on my foot and up the sides of my legs and he would locate pressure points. Some were sore to the touch....others not so much. He would find a spot and say, "Oh, this really hurts, doesn't it?" He was always spot on.
Then it was time for the needles. He placed them up and down the sides of my legs and a couple in my pelvis area. After putting the needles in the "right" spots....I had to stay still for about 15 minutes. I didn't really feel the needles being put in and I couldn't really see them as I was flat on my back, trying not to move. If I moved, the did sort of poke and hurt, so I stayed as still as possible.
I did notice relief the next day.....which surprised me. After just one treatment?
Second appointment:
The doctor asked me how I was feeling and we discussed the work he did on the first appointment. I got on the table and he started feeling around for "spots" again. This time he was finding really sore spots in my pelvis. So he focused on that a lot and also up and down my legs. We also discussed my lower back. He asked if my back is ever sore or stiff. And I said, "As a matter of fact, it's super stiff every morning!" So he put the needles in my pelvis and legs for about 15 minutes, then I rolled over and he put some in my lower back. He left the needles in my back for 5 minutes or so.
The next day.....WOW....no stiffness. The doctor had vacation the following week, so we skipped a week. Still no stiffness in my back during that time.
Third appointment:
This appointment we focused on my back....and legs. He thinks my pain has started in my back and worked its way down to my foot since everything is connected. (And my back has been feeling great!) So we're hoping that with the three more appointments the pain will be gone.
The pain in my foot has lessened and it has moved back and up my foot a little bit, which he says is good. I actually got on the treadmill and walked a bit yesterday....and today my foot doesn't feel too bad. He asked me to not run while going through treatment, so I'm trying to listen. I don't want to un-do any progress we've made.
So IF this treatment has done anything, my back isn't stiff anymore when I first get up in the morning. And if the foot pain lessens, I'm happy. I don't really "get" how this works....but it seems to work.
It's just kind of weird.
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