Monday, September 20, 2010
So, like, what's new?
Me, oh nothing. Just a thirty-seven pound increase. In one week.
Huh? That's impossible.
Yeah, oops, you're right. It was actually 37.6 pounds.
Huh? So, er, jes, are ya pregnant? You know, with the World's Fastest-Growing Mutant Super Alien Ninja Baby?
So you had surgery and they put hardware in? Artificial leg, perhaps?
Incredible, Guinness Book of World Records-worthy parasitic infection?
Is it -- uh -- really possible to gain that much in a week? Like, lard cake for every meal, all week long?
No way. A pound is 3,500 calories, my metabolic rate is something like 2,000/day, so just to gain seven pounds in a week is to eat 5,500 calories/day, every day, with no working out whatsoever, and this is over five times that. Hence I'd probably have precipitated a heart attack by Thursday or so.
So what is it?
It's a new scale.
Yes, the old one was THAT bad.
It was lying, lying, lying to me even as my 5K times declined, and even as my clothes started to give me a hard time. And, looking at my measurements, they are comparable to when I was last between 195 and 205 pounds. I am certain that this one is accurate.
So I was never in the 170s, and God knows I was never in the 160s, although I definitely hit the 190s and may very well have hit the 180s. There was a slide, but it was not as huge a skid as the numbers would imply.
And it also got me thinking (and you know that's dangerous). If I can put out there, for the world to see, this crazy super mutant ninja weight "gain" (or difference, or correction, if you prefer those words), then surely every moment of shared intimacy is all right. I suspect, at some point, you will all yell "TMI!" at me. But until you do, my life to you is an open book.
Of course I have privacy. I have secrets and hidden things, just like everyone else. And I try to respect others' privacy (particularly my family's). But me you can get.
Am I disappointed? Only slightly. I love seeing happy, pretty numbers as much as anyone else does, I won't lie. But they are merely numbers.
Today's number is comparable to, I kid you not, late April of 2009. And what has happened since then? I've run, what, 11 5Ks. I've pushed myself into a new job and industry that I love. I've made friends. I've had surgery. I've blogged my head off.
Pretty numbers, ugly numbers. Heh, it's all good, dawg. Like I said in the most recent vlog, I'm catching myself before things become truly dire. I am righting the ship. I am going back to basics. I never stopped tracking, I never stopped drinking the water and I never stopped weight training, but I have been slacking off in the cardio department and I haven't been getting enough sleep. Both of those things are on my fix-it agenda. And I'm carrying all of you along with me, too (see, I toldja I do strength training).
Come along, my Super Mutant Ninja Rock and Roll friends. There are more and newer and better places to go, more than have been dreamed of in your philosophy, Horatio.
Hey, let's go all over the world.
Monday, September 13, 2010
The reason for the song is because I was recently in a car accident.
Oh, don't worry, It was nothing, a minor fender bender. Extraordinarily, I've now been rear-ended, I kid you not, ten times. In three different states. Heh, I must have a sign in the back of my car or something.
And, my ticker is all messed up. I *SO* did not lose seven pounds this week. The numbers are all over the place because the scale needs to be replaced. It's been faithful to me (despite my kicking it on more than one occasion) for over 2 1/2 years, so it's about to go to that great measurement paradise in the sky. The new scale will arrive in a few days, and I strongly suspect that my numbers are a good 20 pounds heavier than the ticker says -- this is because of how slow I've been running 5Ks and how my measurements are looking and my clothes are fitting.
My work life is semi-messed up in that I am beginning to really need more structure. Working for a startup is all well and good, and I enjoy the freedom but, at the same time, I also would love to get some plans nailed down, If you don't count this work, then I am rapidly approaching a year since I worked at the publishing company. This is a long time. I don't love long-term unemployment and, sad to say, I have already experienced it twice in my life. This is, essentially, time #3. With a startup, there is always the promise that somehow, someday, it will be funded and wonderful and off we'll go and our lives will change and all.
But ... that doesn't always happen and, in a continuingly poor economy, the likelihood is not as good. If nothing else, I need a day job, I am still waiting to hear about the most recent interviews so I am not totally out of the running but it is just so much more limbo and lemme tell ya, I really and truly despise limbo.
So. My car is disordered. My weight is disordered. My job is disordered. We are going on vacation in a few days and, while I love that idea, I know that the eating is going to be disordered. And that won't happen until we've gone through the Mass Innovation company appearance this Wednesday, which I am excited about, and want to go well, but I am tired of the ramp-up and kinda just want it done already.
Life is disordered.
But then again, it has always been so.
Have you ever had a perfect week, where everything went wonderfully? The dog didn't knock your sandwich off the table? The kids did their homework on time? Your spouse came home early, with flowers or a nutritious dinner so you wouldn't have to cook? Your boss gave you a raise (or, hell, while we're at it, a promotion)? Your car ran like a top? Your lawn was gorgeous? Your in-laws gave you the perfect gift? Your parents had a beautiful sharing day with you as you all gloried about the past? The world was living in peace and harmony? The lottery numbers came up for you? Yadda yadda yadda?
So, what do we do, when the dishes overflow the sink, the cat misses her box, the kids don't pick up their clothes despite you telling them for the umpteenth time, the news is depressing, the weather stinks, your favorites sports team loses, the toilet backs up and someone mentions termites and they're talking about your house?
Eating caused none of those things and it does no good for getting rid of them anyway. It doesn't prevent the wreckage and it doesn't clean it up. It hides it. It pushes the cracked bumper, the brown lawn, the child with the F on her report card and the yelling boss into the background, but only temporarily. And when they return, those things are worse. They're dirtier, louder, smellier, more insistent.
Denial is oh, so easy. So many of us have lived in that mansion for so long. But it's not a mansion. It's a car wreck. It's broken glass and shattered plastic and dented metal. Sitting there and eating is not going to get you out. You need to unlock the door and lift the handle.
Get out of denial. Stop pacifying your problems with food. You are far, far stronger than you think. Go out and meet your problems head on. And I bet you'll find that, much of the time, they're not as big as you though they were.
Sunday, September 05, 2010
This video log is the sequel to "Now playing in right field": www.sparkpeople.com/mypage_public_jo
Yeah, so I've slipped up. But you know what? I'm fixing it, and that's all that matters. Go Red Sox!
Thursday, September 02, 2010
This is the third birthday I have spent here on Spark. So here are three songs that have something to do with three -- trios, three in the name of the group, etc. Enjoy.
Yeah, I know the third one is really weird. But have you ever tried to grab a song from the Internet about the number three that wasn't by Britney Spears?
Anyway, I'm turning 48 today. 48 is the new 33 1/3 or so.
I'm still sick, so I don't feel as kick-bun awesome as I'd like. And, with Hurricane Earl arriving, er, tomorrow, we are going to just order in enough food to go for a couple of days. Probably Vietnamese, with some seriously hot soup, as Mr. J has the cold as well. But we are going to a Red Sox game in a few days so the real celebration will be in a few days.
But, hey, it's my birthday today! So it's time for a somewhat more low-key party than usual, but a party just the same.
Party on, Spark dudes and dudettes.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Now, don't worry, lil Sparkies. No one's been abusing me.
I just find the title lyric amusing. The video, in case you can't get to it, is Alice Cooper's "No More Mr. Nice Guy". And that's what I want to talk about -- not about being down another few pounds or whatever.
Let's talk about being nice. Or, rather, TOO nice.
You know what it's like. You meet someone who agrees with everything you say. EVERYTHING. You get tired of it, it's too much bland affability. And so, if you're anything like me, you pick at that, to see if you can create some disagreement. Black is white you say. Of course, says the other person.
But -- what happens when that all-too agreeable person ISN'T someone else? What if it's you, or if it's been you?
You're up for anything. You "go along to get along". You take whatever's put on your plate and don't complain, even if it's not what you wanted. Your friend says, not today, no walking for me today, and you allow that to color your behavior as well, so you stay at home. There's only one healthy snack left, but you let someone else have it.
Oh, you are the martyr. And you suffer. Oh, how you suffer! But you are secretly hoping that someone will notice your suffering and -- well, what exactly? Reward you with the Medal of Honor and the love of your fellow countrymen? Alleviate it by somehow magically figuring out that something is wrong (even though you never told them there was any problem)? Make the impossible come true, and immediately pop the weight off you because, well, not so much that you worked to get it off, but because you SUFFERED?
I see it every day here. People (and, let's face it, these are mostly women), who reveal that their husbands don't want them losing their curves and losing too much weight. And these are not 110-pound proto-anorexics but rather women who weigh a good 410 pounds. Or their kids bring in candy. Or their mothers-in-law are constantly serving cakes at family occasions.
Well, I am not advocating being rude. Please don't misunderstand me. Rather, I am saying, break out of the passive-aggressive rut. Don't do it to yourself, and don't let others pull it on you. Your husband says he's afraid you'll lose your curves? Just tell him they'll be better sculpted, not gone. It takes a really serious dip in body fat percentage for a woman's curves to truly go away. Your kids are bringing in candy? Tell them it goes in their room and nowhere else. Or, better yet, tell them it's not allowed in the house AT ALL. Your mother-in-law insists on plying you with cake? Tell her that the meal she just served you was so delicious and wonderful that you couldn't possibly eat another bite. That cake looks wonderful but, sorry, no room.
What I am saying is: PUT YOUR FOOT DOWN.
Your health is IMPORTANT.
So quit letting things happen to you.
Quit letting people dictate your life to you.
Quit opening your mouth and accepting whatever they toss your way.
SparkPeople talks about asserting your Food Rights. And that is what this is all about. And you don't just have Food Rights in restaurants (e. g. to be able to ask for dressing on the side without being made out so as to be a pariah) but in the home as well.
You are a person, an autonomous adult.
YOU DO NOT HAVE TO JUST TAKE IT
Get what you need -- without hurting other people, of course -- but make sure that you are taking care of your own health because, at the end of the day, and at the end of your life, you are the one who has to live in your body, not them.
No more Ms. Nice Gal.
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