Monday, May 23, 2011
We got back from Cape Cod on Saturday, and things looked okay on Sunday morning, only up by .2 and I'm thinkin', this isn't so bad.
Oh, no. That was *yesterday*.
Silly me. I am not allowed to lose weight anymore! So long as I remember that, I won't be disappointed, eh? Because, of course, I'm up another 1.4. Yes, oh, thank you, sir, may I have
I am tired of this nonsense.
I am in the final week of my "eat more, see if you can reset the setpoint" experiment, and so far it has been a big, fat failure. As in, I weigh what I did in April.
See why I'm a lil ticked off, eh?
I can totally see why, and how, people backslide (hell, I regained several times when I was younger. This isn't exactly unknown territory for me). I can see it, and I can hear it, the siren song of sugar and idleness and alcohol and oh, one won't hurt you!
And then suddenly it creeps back a little, but your clothes still fit, even though they don't look quite so hot, but you go with it, because a little play is natural. And then you're just wearing the stuff with forgiving waistbands and then you buy a few bigger pieces because you need a nice dress or a suit for a job interview or whatever and then you do that again and I swear it is like being a backsliding alcoholic because 14 is okay, and then 16 and 18 are okay and then 20 is okay because it's not the size 26 you used to be, eh? And then suddenly you're back to 26 but somehow that's justifiable because it's comfortable and you used to be that size and people loved you and you were fine and now you know better and you can do it again, right? Right?
Except you're older, and more cynical, and the low-hanging fruit was plucked a long, long time ago and you are staring at yourself in the mirror and thinking, I am too old for this nonsense, and I hate this, and I am tired of it and why can't life be easy like it used to be and oh poor me and God I hate my life and my clothes and my body and wouldn't it be good if somehow someone would invent a way to make it easier and I would do that except right now I just can't haul my butt off the couch.
Yeah, I know those thoughts, those feelings, those actions.
And they have crossed my mind lately. Let it go. Be Zen. Toss it all away.
It all seems so simple. Backsliding. For sliding is easy. You just let gravity take a hold of you and whoosh! You're back to where you were before except, for real, you're lower and the mountain is steeper and you just haven't got as much energy as you used to.
This morning, on the site that I manage, I had a discussion (I don't want to say fight although I was hopping mad) with a girl who was trying to convince people that REM sleep burns more calories than running on a treadmill. And she was annoying and self-righteous and I did my best to present the arguments and say, yes, you do burn a few calories at rest because your heart and your lungs are powered by calories, but to say that that is more than running is just downright irresponsible.
It got me angrier than it should have, and so I am attempting to at least be Zen about that.
As for being Zen about the weight gain, I am not Zen about that.
I am annoyed. I am tired, yes, but I am annoyed. And I am also -- and this seems a nutty thing to admit -- I am hurt.
I am hurt that my body has decided that, for whatever reason, eating well and exercising and drinking water and getting rest are just, somehow, not even cuttin' it for maintaining the weight loss I've achieved so far. I am hurt and I am angry. Something, someone, needs a spanking. Bad body! Bad! Naughty!
So, where do I go from here?
Back to basics? Uh, no, I've been at basics all along. Basics are not working for me. Basics are, right now, a rut. I track. I work out. I eat right. I drink the damned water (I live in the bathroom enough already, thank you very much). I watch the salt. I don't go carb-crazy.
Tomorrow (for today I have a job interview, and that is a part of why I am stressing right now, too), I return to my gym, and pound the treadmill, like I have been, like has not been working for me, for I know that giving up is not in the playbook, and depending on REM sleep for my weight loss is a lot like depending on elves to get it done.
Look out, naughty body. You're not gonna know what hit ya.
Monday, May 16, 2011
First, thank you all again for your kindnesses last week. I am actually feeling a bit better although the stress level continues to be pretty high. But I am workin' on it.
Last week, I went to NY for my Dad's 80th birthday bash (no pics yet), and saw various cousin type people and a relative who is ill (and for whom this song was chosen - so now you know what kind of a treatment that person is going to get). Specifics about the ill family member will not be forthcoming, as that person is entitled to their medical privacy, of course.
Though I gotta say, it's interesting. I rarely see my cousins, seeing as they all live in NY and NJ and we are in the wilds of oh so far North Bahstin. In all fairness, one of them has small children. I recognize that visits are not easy or cheap, and I am totally understanding that as I haven't worked in a dog's age, and I know some others haven't, either.
But we all hugged so much tighter this time. And the vibe I got was -- we may all be thinking this, consciously or unconsciously, that this might be one of the last times we can all do this together. So it's a tad bittersweet.
My father is the last male of his generation on that side, and one of the last on the other side, as well. Even his younger brother (5 years younger, I might add) is gone. Dad is IT. And he seems to take that in stride, kinda being everyone's Dad now. He doesn't just have a son and a daughter, and a son-in-law and a daughter-in-law and one grandson. Oh, no.
He's got three other daughters. And one other son. And another daughter-in-law. And another son-in-law. And another grandson. And two granddaughters. And they may call him Uncle or Great-Uncle but they come to him, and he jokes with them, as he fixes their light fixtures or fiddles with their computers or explains about refrigeration (inside family joke: if you ever have insomnia, call my father and have him explain refrigeration. It's better than Ambien. Trust me.). And he offers advice. Or sometimes he's just there, and he makes an example.
He is up at 6:30 AM like a shot, every single morning. He still walks faster than I do. He can fix things. He has over forty patents (most of which are hanging on the walls of my house). He wears bowties. He is a jokester. The belt on his pants gets higher every year and is now under his armpits. I imagine it will become a headband one of these days. He forwards every Internet warning there is. He teaches senior citizens how to use computers (and, probably, also how to send that kinda junk). He loves my mother unconditionally. He is everyone's Dad and Grandpa. He has a work ethic that is off the charts, even as he jokes that he never worked a day in his life. Well, it's not work if you love it.
He and Willie Mays turned 80 on the same day, May 6th, 2011. And to that I say, Say Hey, Dad.
Monday, May 09, 2011
Okay, Tim Curry in the 80s. Rawr.
All righty then.
So, life is mixed. On Thursday the 5th, I called my pals at Unemployment. Oh, answer these questions. Ah, you're still not working. Extension until mid-August! Score! Then this morning, I put in for a check and their computer spits out, oh no, you've exhausted your benefits. WTF???!!??!?
So now I have to call them again, and of course they are busy, fast busy signals. Gaah.
But there are also a lot of job calls suddenly. I am guessing that one of the sites where I am listed ( www.dice.com ) must have offered some sort of a May special. It's all centered around May, and these recruiters all seem to say that they found my name on Dice.
Prospects but nothing concrete yet, of course. And prospects don't pay the bills.
As for weight loss and working out, that's also less than optimal. I gained a pound since last week. Thank you so much, experiment in eating more calories so that the fitness tracker stops screaming at me. I am still continuing with the experiment, it'll end at the end of the month, but this is annoying and dispiriting. My measurements are meh, some slightly up, some down. My calves are slightly firmer, I suppose. This does nothing toward getting me back into size 12s.
"Hey baby, I dig your hot calves!" I do not hear this too often.
I walked a good 25 miles this week and went to my gym 3 times. Part of the walking/jogging included a 5k that totally was not a 5k. We did it for brain tumor research (God, that's an awful disease to have) and the course was absolutely not laid out long enough, as Mr. J and I both got honkin' amazing PRs that had no basis in reality. Others also said they felt the course wasn't long enough. I am guessing, based upon my usual speeds, around 2.85 or 2.95 miles, as opposed to 3.1. I mean, I did it in 36:10 (they did not have an official timekeeper; this was by Mr. J's watch). Since my best before that was 38:12, when I weighed a good 24 lbs. less than I do now, well, no. That was so NOT a 5k. But it was nice, and our finisher medals look like dog tags so we are all set if there is a scene of M*A*S*H ever filmed here - we can be extras.
I am going back to the gym today, and I am going to call my friends at the Commonwealth and try not to turn purple as I explain to them that they TOLD me I had an extension, so couldja please enter that stuff properly into the computer already???
And I also wait for news for a relative, who needs treatment (I am being deliberately vague about this but it is not a happy disease - not a brain tumor, though) and so that is tossing me on edge some more.
And I am workin' on my hot calves.
Monday, May 02, 2011
This is one wacky video. The cigar-chomping dude reminds me of Curtis Armstrong.
Anyway, eh. Not such a hot day/week/etc.
It is week #2 of eat more and stop have the fitness tracker yell, thereby, presumably, lose weight!
Not so fast.
Last week, I stayed the same. This week, I am up 1.4.
In all fairness, I've also got TOM going on, but still!
Very discouraging, particularly as I walked almost 30 miles last week and went to the gym twice, for a total of 2 hours cardio/weight training there. Measurements are, mainly, up, although not by too much.
It is discouraging.
And other fun stuff is not helping.
The Commonwealth has decided -- look, little job seeker? See the hoop? Jump, job seeker, jump!
There is a new form to fill out online. But you can't fill it in on Sundays. But that's nowhere in the literature. And so we hold your check because you had the audacity to try to fill it out on Sunday, when every other part of that website is usable.
I do hope they realize they are also shooting themselves in the foot with this, as two trips multiplied by however many job seekers = more strain on their server.
Jump, job seeker, jump!
You'd think with all this jumping, I'd lose some freakin' weight.
Anyway, it is not a happy day. I am sorry I am not funny or perky today. I am just tired of it all.
Why am I not getting a job? Well, uh, there aren't any in my field. Or, at least, the match is just not being made. I have been told I'm great but, oops! We're going with someone internal. Or, oh, you don't fit our vision (whatever TF that turns out to be). Or, you're perfect, but we found someone perfect-er! Or you're too experienced (I always wonder about that one -- I'm sure in most cases that's code for, you're too old). Or you're just, hmm, well, we had 87 specifications and you only fit 86 of them, so sorry. But we do love to watch you jump. Jump again, and you might get a biscuit!
I had a dream early this morning of this awful coworker I had had years ago (who became my boss IRL). I dreamt I was working with this person again, who was as loud and obnoxious as ever, and sitting even closer to me than this person had over a decade ago. The company (in the dream) compensated my annoyance by giving me a printer. But of course I had to share and service this printer as well.
And that is how I am feeling. I have home and family things going on as well and I am not going to get into those on a public page like this but I am just plain tired of battling. The forced perkiness that I will need to be able to network and do all of the hoop-jumping is just not gonna come easy, if at all, right now. I have had it.
Does this mean I am stopping? Not really. But I am not up to par by any means.
Oh and it also doesn't mean I want a pep talk. A pep talk is not gonna cure this. I appreciate your thoughts - I do - but this is not a pep talk situation.
Again, sorry this isn't cheerful or funny. It's just ... not. It really does feel like hell.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Beware, this is gonna be a whiney blog.
You've got your chance.
You can turn back now.
I mean, I wouldn't blame ya.
Or you can leave a quick comment, get a Spark Point and head back to safer ground.
Here, I will even provide some quick comments for your copying and pasting pleasure:
* jes, you're weird
* jes, what's gotten into you?
* jes, quit yer whining
* Is this the Ceramics class?
Okay, now that we've gotten that out of the way....
Yesterday it was beautiful weather for the first time in what feels like a good six or seven years. My husband and I both went out walking (although not together, and he ended up running more). There were blooming trees. There were friendly dogs with soft, velvety ears to scratch. There cute guys from BC (er, that's Boston College, and not British Columbia, although the two are not mutually exclusive) to ogle.
And today ... feh. Back to dismal drab icky blah-ness.
It seems almost worse that we had a good day as now it's even clearer what we are missing.
It is not just the weather, kids.
It is still being unemployed -- and Unemployment is looking to run out in something like five weeks.
It is 32 weeks now of being stuck at 201 - 206 pounds. It is the increased calorie experiment (I'm not done with the experiment yet, and I am attempting to be patient with it) resulting in an incredibly exciting no change since last week.
It is watching my friends also drowning in sameness and fatigue and losing their motivations or at least seeming to be dragged out and grasping for motivations.
It is a feeling of wondering --
Is that all there is?
And I didn't go with the Peggy Lee song (although I suppose I could have), but the sentiment is similar.
There is a lot of foofaraw given to starting. And I totally get that, because initial inertia is mighty powerful. There is an enormous amount of support given to the new, the fresh, the inexperienced. So much to learn! So much to see! So much to do!
And a bunch of changes are made (assuming that person is committed to losing weight) and firsts are attained. Goals! 5Ks! First size change! First ticker change!
Suddenly that person is eating 8 fruits/vegs in a day! They're drinking eight 8 oz glasses of water! They're walking a good 10,000 steps on average! They're weighing and measuring! They've given up soda! They've joined a gym! They finally said no to cheesecake! They tried quinoa!
And while this is all awesome, folks like me, well, we've been there, done that.
Yanno, Spark has four diet stages. I am in the fourth. I have been so for, I believe, over two years.
There are no other stages. This is it, kids!
And it's hard, after a while, to get up, day after day, week after week, month after month and, yes, year after year, and keep on keepin' on.
There is no more low-hanging fruit to pluck.
There are no more simple lifestyle changes.
There are no more quick or even moderate fixes.
Now it's just work.
Slow, slogging, hopefully steady work.
And people wonder why maintenance is hard, why the success rate (yes, even here) is far less than 25%.
I know, and I'm technically not even on maintenance yet.
It's because it's a lot to sustain, over time.
It is not easy.
It is not pretty.
It is not celebrated, except by those in the know.
Longevity is not an easy accomplishment.
Ask Cal Ripken.
It's not as flashy as big numbers. It's not as exciting as wins, and trophies and newbies on their personal growth roads of discovery.
There is no award here for 100,000 fitness minutes. Should there be? I speak not just for myself but, yeah, I kinda think so. I mean, doesn't that level of commitment warrant some actual recognition?
Hell, there isn't even an award for 10,000 fitness minutes, except for a quickie mention in your feed.
There is an award for attendance, yes, but it feels odd and unglamorous, like Miss Congeniality at the Miss America Pageant. Nice try, Toots, and everybody loves ya, but you lose the tiara and the scholarship to the gal who trained a chihuahua to accompany her on the harp and flugelhorn while the two of them sang "The Girl from Ipanema".
I am well aware that health, etc is the main reward. I do get that. And while this is a whiney blog it isn't, so much, being written by me to get you to recognize me.
It is, I hope, for you to recognize longevity in yourselves.
This is a freakin' marathon.
It goes through every Middlesex village and town of your life. You know, the one where you blame your eating habits on your mother, and then a later one where you forgive your mother and then yet another one where you figure your mother wasn't to blame at all. It's in the town where you get the "I didn't get diabetes" trophy, and the one where you get the "I can still walk upright and with strength and purpose even though I'm eighty" award.
But those towns can seem far away, at times, and so whiney blogs like this one bubble up to the surface.
And, by the way, no, this is not the Ceramics class. That is two doors down, you can't miss it.
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