Monday, April 22, 2013
I admit I started bitchin' about the shvitzin' to my husband. Then, on reflection, I realized, it wasn't so bad.
We live pretty far out of town, in a skinny little valley between two mountains. So when we go to town for anything, we do all our errands all at once. In this instance, we went to the grocery store after going to the gym. I did not shower afterwards. I washed my hands and face, but that was it. A shlump dressed in shmattes.
The first person we met was someone from the only job that ever downsized me. I was not fired. I was removed to a low-level job that payed a third as much and would not pay my mortgage. It was embarrassing to meet this person. He knew, and I knew, that I was not downsized for cause, because I was very hard-working and turned out GREAT "numbers". I was simply TOO EXPENSIVE. I was an employee hired from the East coast when the company had money, which they no longer had in a rough economy. A few other more experienced, more mature and therefore more expensive folks like myself were similarly replaced by younger and less expensive newbies.
I haven't seen this person since 2008 but he recognized me immediately and came over to talk. He was very friendly and didn't seem to have any bad feelings at all. He still worked there. He still thought my treatment was unfair and claimed to mention it periodically in hopes they would take me back. Not that I would ever want to go back. Fooey on them. They were, in fact, part of the stress that was part of my weight gain.
The second person was someone from my husband's office, a professional SUIT who has only seen pictures of me looking fine. I tried to find excuses to shy away but they failed.
Afterwards, I tried to find a mirror somewhere in the store. How BAD did my hair look? I didn't used to be so obsessed with feeling so negative about myself!
And then I remembered what the first person said, the person I used to work with. Someone told him I "resurfaced" in town last week, and he had answered, "Oh, sure, and you saw Captain America, too!"
I've actually been back in town for TWO YEARS, shopping in that store and in that neighborhood and even at that former workplace, once. But no one has recognized me. I am now back to the weight I was when they hired me. Not the weight I was before my dad died and I moved across country and things got frantic. But I am at the weight these employees recognize. My body and face have both responded to the changes I've made since I've been on Sparkpeople. Yep, I am recognizeably me again.
Heh, heh. Me again. Maybe I'll stop bitchin' about shvitzin' now.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
I was reading a friend's blog about sleeping in a tent on top of the roof of a Corolla (eh? is that possible?) and I just remembered that there was a time when I was indeed thin enough to do ridiculous things. At my lowest, I was 109 pounds (and looked horrible, I hasten to add, but I didn't know it at the time).
I went through a period when I wanted to be a spy. I was actually surrounded by people who I could have spied upon, but I was too naive to know who they were. I actually was FRIENDS with the daughter of a dictator who was being kept in a safe house by the US government. But she never told me who her father was and I never saw him because he didn't live with her. She was interesting. She had a horse. I had friends from multiple foreign countries, some of whom weren't even legal. I never thought to spy on them.
Instead, I chose to spy on a coffee shop that was owned by the family of my "boyfriend". (I was a freshman in high school.) I nonchalantly walked past security at the mall - and this was a VERY LARGE swanky mall near Washington, D.C. I won't say which one, but I will say again it was VERY LARGE. I let myself into the boiler room. I pulled the cover off the duct and crawled in. I pulled it back over me. Then I crawled through the system, which was noisy, blowy, and probably didn't deliver good air conditioning for at least half an hour because there was a 109 pound obstruction in it.
I sort of knew where I was going because I had studied the mall map. Security was a floor below the coffee shop. I don't remember how many stores I had to pass before I got to the coffee shop, but I know it was a long way. Fifteen? And some had multiple vents because they were large stores. I counted vents. I started coming up to listen when I thought I might be getting close. After awhile, I knew I had the right store, but there really wasn't much to hear. I mean, it was a coffee shop. A customer, the cash register. Silence. Foot steps. Some humming, That sort of thing. No boy friend's voice. No talking about me or anyone else interesting. But I hadn't really expected that. I didn't think they were going to. I just wanted experience as a spy. Next time I was going to hide behind a stairwell and listen in on the parole officer.
I crawled backwards down the vent and let myself back out. I smoothed my hair back down but my clothes were very dirty and rumply. Somehow a very dissheveled me passed by security again without any questioning. And out of the mall I went.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Other than doing "the bump" at the 6th grade dance with my friend Michele, and participating in the obligitory chair and circle "dances" at my wedding 2 years ago, have never danced in public. I won't even wiggle my hips if my husband is watching because I feel THAT uncoordinated and stupid.
I'm almost 48. This is kind of silly, don't you think? I've thought so for awhile. I've been on a gradual Larisa makeover for about 10 years now. I even took group voice lessons a year ago because I love to sing but never did in public and I go to a very music-oriented shul. I was shocked to find this group voice class included solos, but I got through them, trembling. I also took a speech class - a MAJOR undertaking for someone who always considered herself a stutterer and bumbler - and I got through that, trembling, too. Actually - I should pat myself on the back here. I got A+ in both classes. Both teachers recognized the extraordinary work I put in to surmount my nerves.
There are Zumba classes at the Y. I love music and would love to be one of those women who looks like she is having a wonderful time, translating that rhythm into every inch of her body. Zumba incorporates Reggae, Funk and Latin rhythms, so it uses a lot of rhythmic rocking and fluid motions that I'm too arthritic to manage well. Plus, I'm just plain uncoordinated. I literally bump into my own walls and counters and fall down my own stairs. I have bruises all over. But I WANT to try this. I WANT to try to be one of those women.
So before I make a fool out of myself, I am practicing at home. I found a free tutorial online and tried it out in my kitchen today before I went to a client's to deliver some home made gumbo and corn bread. (He thinks I'm being nice. I think he needs the calories more than I do.) Here's the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nzm3jO_yQno
There are a whole bunch of videos besides this one, so if you are more coordinated than I, you can just keep on going. Or you can back up and do it again like I did.
The cracking noises my shoulders made during the high reaching movements apparently bothered Solly. He kept jumping up and down and barking. As soon as I stopped reaching, he stopped barking. I took his hint and reached at a 30 degree angle and he didn't bark again. Besides, it felt better.
By the second time through the video, I still felt uncoordinated, but I was laughing about it. It's ok. I know what I can do and can't do. If I reach half way and do singles where she says doubles, that's fine for now, as long as I'm moving approximately in the right direction with approximately the right rhythm and approximately the right dance step. Especially since every 16 seconds or so Solly was interrupting to have me throw him his ball.
My dance moves went like this... single step and reach, single step and reach... Solly throw and reverse... single step and reach, single step and reach... Solly throw and reverse...
Friday, April 12, 2013
I have been avoiding measuring myself. I've lost only 7 lbs. and my reflection looks the same in the bathroom mirror. Two or three pairs of my pants fit the same, but I am also able to wear several pair I could not a couple months ago without embarrassment.
I'm one of those people who considers many, many shades of gray rather than just black and white. It will be a good trait for me to have as a healthcare provider, because I won't just guess what's wrong, scribble prescriptions and rush you out the door. It's problematic when I'm thinking about ME because I ruminate so long on the diagnosis I'm overwhelmed by the time I start thinking about the cure! So instead of just getting out the measuring tape, I've been berating myself for all those times I could have squeezed in a few more steps, bypassed peanut cookies and not tasted the dinner seventeen times just to make sure it was really yummy. (Did I mention I used to cook professionally? So we eat Greek one night, French the next, Japanese the night after that... I find it very hard to not overeat. The LEAST I could do is not snack on peanut cookies!)
Finally today, 2 months after starting Spark, I measured myself, expecting to see little or no improvement. My waist is one inch smaller. Individually, my thighs measure the same as they did in February. HOWEVER, I've lost 4 inches off my hips! I took the measurement low, at the saddlebag area, which aren't technically hips, but are my widest spot. And that's apparently where I've lost it. Can't see too low in the bathroom mirror, so I wasn't getting that reinforcement when I looked in the mirror. Also, the "relaxed fit" pants I've gotten in the habit of buying weren't telling me I'd made any progress.
I guess I've done better than I thought!
Now what would my thighs be like if I had really bypassed those peanut cookies...?
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