Week 19D

My friend, Leah, sent me an email telling me I have inspired her. (That was neat!) However, I feel like Einstein's teacher. She just started seriously working out and dieting, and she ran in a REAL 5K this weekend! When she told me, I actually thought of getting up early and seeing how my time in 3 miles compared with hers. If the times were close, I was going to surprise her and show up to run the Brickfest 5K with her. Yeah, right...like I got up early! My alarm clock would go off and I would hit the snooze button, and then I would launch into that internal dialogue when one part of my brain says, "Come on! You can do it! You would feel so much better!" and the other part says, "Bite me." While she was running the streets of Malvern, I was giving serious study to the back of my eyelids.

And, yes, you read correctly, Brickfest. My hometown -- Malvern, AR -- is the self-proclaimed brick capital of the world. I guess that's why it is the home to people like me, built like a brick -- never mind. I must admit, I don't go to Brickfest often. Quite frankly, it scares me. The people are scary. Many of them look like they came straight out of "Deliverance." Put a family together and you might have a full set of teeth. Couple that with the country and bluegrass music from center stage, and it's enough to make me run screaming into the night.

I've been kind of depressed lately. How do I know? Because I've been wanting to eat like a horse. That's right, I've been wanting to strap a big ol' bag of food onto my head and chow down without lifting a finger. What went into the bag didn't really matter as long as it wasn't green, leafy, or whole grain. I'm talking stuff that would make a dietician's toes curl. How have I done? As well as I did with the getting up early...I've been a bad girl. But, you know, it's okay to visit this place every now and then. The key is not to dwell here.

Week 18D

If my memory were better, I would not get nearly as much exercise. I constantly walk the Forgetful 5K. I walk in one room and forget why I went in there. I walk out and start back to another room and remember why I needed to go into the first one. I pivot and start walking back the other way. Then I remember something I needed to take with me that I left, so I pivot again, go back to the room of origin, get what I needed to take, walk back to the other room, and forget again why else I was there. The good thing about the Forgetful 5K is you don't need a lot of room to run it. All it requires is two rooms and a walkway between them. Throw in a few distractions and you can easily add distance to the course. It's even longer with sleep deprivation.

I realized that I actually have more free time at work than I do at home, so I brought my mini stair-stepper to my office. Between patients, I'll hop on that thing and start stepping. I get little bursts of cardio going, and I love it. The only thing I worry about is someone walking by my office and peeking in the little window on my door. I'll deal with the paranoia.

Speaking of work, my pixie-dancer colleague is worried about me. (I can't call her a pixie-elf because she is taller than I am.) You would know that I would end up working next to a behaviorist who, if she stands sideways and sticks out her tongue, looks like a zipper. Anyway. She is worried about me because I am making too many changes too fast, meaning my stopping date of August 15. Soooooo, I had to bring her in my office and show her why she does not have to worry. I showed her my stair-stepper and my very organized drawer with drink mixes, oatmeal, and Grape Nuts. (Yes, I keep them at work, too. I'm telling you I'm addicted! Intervention anyone?) She felt better.

I have had one result of my quest that was rather unforeseen. Let's just say I can do those jumping jacks with a bit less frontal lobe damage. Yes, my cup no longer runneth over. No, it's more like my cup hath spilleth down the front of my shirt. I need a tuck.

Week 17D

Just when I'm feeling great, something happens to knock the wind out of my sails. Talk about a shot of humility! My son and I had a "Mommy-Jady Day." I took him to see "The Adventures of Shark Boy and Lava Girl." Wow. I didn't know until we arrived that part of the film was in 3D. When I bought our tickes, they gave Jadyn blue Shark Boy glasses and me pink Lava Girl glasses. Now, I've never done LSD but I bet 3D glasses with bifocals is just as wild. Jadyn was really funny. He kept jumping back in his chair and saying, "Mommy! I didn't know it could look so real!"

After the movie, I put the glasses around my neck like a good Mommy, and we went to the arcade in the theatre. It was raining outside, so there was no reason to rush out. We fished, shot dinosaurs, and rode motorcycles. As we were walking across the room, a cute little round woman winked at me and said, "It's a grandmother's paradise, isn't it?" Grandmother! GRANDMOTHER! I wanted to smack her in the head with my little pink glasses and say, "I'm his MOTHER! So I started late! Maybe I can get my social security when he gets his scholarship! Big Hairy Deal!" Instead, I smiled and said, "It is fun."

All this work. All those supplements. All that imaginary climbing on that stair stepper. Even with my tie-dyed Joe's Crab Shack t-shirt, Reef flip flops, and chicken-butt haircut...grandmother!!! Why do I even bother?

Wait. I know what this is. It's pay-back from my last post. Somewhere, a gang of pierced, tattooed, hip-hugger hippopotami worked themselves up into a kaballahesque frenzy and waved negative energy at my picture on a screen. Well, put down your floppy arms and hush all that yelling because it ain't gonna work! I feel much better now because I called Cindy and cursed her and all the other young beautiful grandmothers that are out there. No, I didn't cuss, I cursed. You know, the "May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your arm pits" kind of curse. I know I felt better. (You just scratched your arm pit, didn't you?)

By the way, my Lava Girl glasses are hanging from my rear-view mirror.

Week 16D

I am of the opinion that in life, absolutes do exist. I want to discuss one of those absolutes now. Fact: There are some clothes that we fat chicks just shouldn't wear. However, somewhere along the line a whole bunch of fat chicks just did not get the message, and I'm seeing them everywhere I turn. So, I am appointing myself as Proclaimer of Portly Panache.

First of all, stay away from those low-cut, tight-fitting jeans. Some hips just don't need to be hugged. The wide pockets that start half-way down the old bum cheek and end on the hammy makes most look like their sides should be lined with theatres...we're talking BROADway! Couple that with the tight thighs and flare from the knee to the ankle, and the look just doesn't work, ladies!

Second, along with those low-cut jeans, lose the high-cut tight shirts. Come on, most midriffs should not be seen in public! And you can forget about the belly-button piercings. For them to be seen, most women have to use something akin to the ball you would put on a trailer hitch! And while I'm at it, please stop tattooing the "small" or your backs (you know, the place where your waist is supposed to be), or anything on your trunk or anywhere else for that matter. The tattoo morphs into an image that looks like the de-evolution of a shrink-dink.

Third, if it looks like underwear, it IS underwear. Please wear it UNDER something else. Those little scraps of silk with the angel hair pasta straps have been around a long time. They are not a new fashion trend. My grandmother wore one. It's called a CAMISOLE! IT'S UNDERWEAR! Don't leave home without it COVERED UP!

Fourth, ditch the tight shirts with the billboard messages stretched across them. Everyone has to take pills for motion sickness just to read the darn things...up and down and up and down. The words get stretched like comic strip characters on silly putty, sometimes to the point of not even being recognized as anything in written form much less English. Trust me, gals, when people stare, they aren't trying to read the words.

Last but certainly not least, one word says it all...THONG! Bun floss on a Reubenesque rump is an absolute trespass against humanity. But, if you just have to wear it, make positively sure they do not ride your haunches above the waistband of your low-slung jeans. The protruding flesh looks like a distressed Vienna Sausage, for crying out loud.

The End Date

I have set an end date: August 15. I hear two questions. First, end date for what? The end date is for writing my blog and for my participation at in the UAMS Program. Second question, why August 15? I have set this date for several reasons. August 15 is Jadyn's first day of school. It's a new beginning for him and for our family, and I want to transition into something new myself. August 15 is the Monday after my 20th High School Reunion. I ain't gotta impress anyone at that point (like I really have to impress anyone then, anyway). Again, it's a new phase of life, and I am ready.

But the main reason I'm ending...MY FEAR OF GETTING BORING!!! Come on! I can't keep this up forever! Even I run out of things to say!

So, until August 15...Happy Blogging!

Week 15D

We meet Jesus in the strangest of places. My son seems to be convinced that Jesus lives in public restrooms. Oh, he knows the Holy Spirit lives in every believer and that "God is everywhere," but Jesus is in public restrooms because that's where we go to meet Him when necessary. On the eve of having to weigh in, I am convinced that Jesus lives at the Weight Loss Clinic at UAMS because I think I'm going to have a "come to Jesus" meeting with myself afterward!

I have slipped the past couple of weeks and not just on empty Flavor-Ice wrappers. I haven't blown it totally, but I feel as if I have been less disciplined. Perhaps it's time for an inventory of the good, the bad, and the ugly.

THE GOOD: I haven't eaten fast food in forever. The thought of French Fries or anything fried turns my stomach. We haven't bought a loaf of bread in months. Every now and then, I will eat my hamburger patty with a bun, but that's not often. I can't remember the last time I ate a candy bar or potato chips. If I snack at home in the evening, it's on frozen juice treats of various sorts, pickles, or Grape Nuts. I still love asparagus and put some kind of green veggie or combination of green veggies in every meal I eat. My exercise has increased a bit, and I am awaiting delivery of a mini stair-stepper that will help with cardio quick and easy at home. I drink supplements for breakfast and lunch when I am at work, and usually for breakfast on the weekends.

THE BAD: I'm not exercising with the regularity that I need. I have eaten pizza more than I should have. I have sneaked a few of Jadyn's cookies. I had been missing peanut butter, so I started putting a tablespoon on a wheat bagel for a snack at work. I haven't used the supplements with regularity on the weekends. I have eaten a couple of baked potatoes and dessert at one dinner I attended. I've eaten enough Flavor-Ice for a kindergarten.

THE UGLY: My body image, although it is getting much better. My feelings of dread going to see the scale nazi at UAMS and having to get labs drawn and see one of the medical people. My irrational fear that I have failed them in some way. Yes! I KNOW this is irrational, and yes I have good boundaries. I just recognize my own stuff and feeling responsible for everyone and everything is part of it! On the flip side of this coin is my irritation/frustration when and if they tell me I need to do better. This is where my oppositionality kicks in, and I have to override my initial desire and to remind myself what MY goals are, not their's, and do what I know I need to do, even if it is in agreement with them. (Sometimes I hate being a shrink!)

THE RESULT: Ok. I weighed in . It was a new scale nazi and the end of the day, so we did not have much conversation. I'm holding AND I am retaining water like a herd of camels ready for a holy war because of my monthly reminder that I am indeed a woman. All in all, I'm just a little less than satisfied.