Today was a fairly good day, in terms of diet, mainly because we didn't follow our usual Saturday pattern of eating our main meal at a restaurant. And, sad to say, we didn't do that because my husband had to go into work today. The chickadees and I did have a lunch made up of a small slice of pizza each in the cafe of our local grocery store. I figure I made up for the caloric content of the pizza with an elevated heart rate caused by said chickadees' misbehavior in the aisles after lunch. After the grocery store, we went to the local swimming pool -- the chickadees got more exercise than I did. My workout consisted of schlepping all our gear across two parking lots (it was CROWDED) while pushing a toddler in a stroller and making sure a preschooler didn't get hit by speeding teenagers in Humvees, followed by contortions in the locker room as I attempted to get changed with modesty.
Despite my horror of locker rooms (and more about that in a later post -- I have A LOT to say about the scarring nature of middle school gym class), thank goodness summer is here. The big plan is to walk to the local outdoor pool (7/10ths of a mile from our house) every day that the weather permits. I am counting on the walking to help raise my level of everyday exercise and to exhaust my chickadees enough that they will welcome bedtime and sleep all night. I also plan to take a power water walking class and to do my scheduled deep water walking. I hope I survive the summer without growing webbed feet.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Starting Strong?
So, I celebrated starting this blog yesterday by having some cake and half a fun size box of Dots afer dinner!!! Makes so much sense, doesn't it?
My college roommate told me that, during her Rome semester, on the class spring break trip to Greece, the history professor asked another student to read the entire "Catalogue of the Ships" from the Illiad in Greek as the 100 strong class stood listening in the lashing rain. I thought at the time that this sounded deadly dull, and so, despite the catalogue which follows, I promise that I don't plan to use this blog as a food tracker -- I actually pay Weight Watchers to provide that function for me -- but it is illustrative of the problem that I present myself with nearly every day. (Remember those contradictions I'm supposed to working through?).
So, yesterday, I had a bowl of raisin bran for breakfast (WW= 6 points with fat free milk), a lovely salad from Chick-fil-A for lunch (WW = 5 points) and half a fat free frozen yogurt from Costco (4 points). Dinner was broccoli (0 points) and 2 small servings of reduced fat King Ranch Casserole (7ish points (4 points per serving).
So at the end of the day, I had some points to use -- but it would have been better to use them on something nutritious, rather than something sweet. Truth be told, I only ate the cake because it was there -- it was my own baking, but I didn't have any vanilla when I made it, so it had a double dose of almond extract, and you could tell. It had lived in the freezer for a month or two, where it had been forgotten. Then I made the mistake of cleaning out the freezer, finding the cake, and refusing to throw it away. EVEN KNOWING that I am the only one who would eat it. So, I set myself up. I sabotaged myself -- something I do frequently.
I must ask the question, then, why? Do I want to be thin? Or do I want the cake? Well, of course, I want both. And that's the problem. I could go into a long screed about the ways I have and do sabotage myself, but I'll spare us all today and save that for a time when I don't have a five year old singing Jingle Bells at the top of her lungs (despite the fact that it's 95 humid degrees o ut there!)
But, I'll do better today, I promise And my lovely babysitter is coming back next week, so I'll be able to go deep water running on schedule. Thank goodness -- I need the break from the chickadees (my two little birds, 5 and 2). I'm also trying to use my deep water running time as an occasion to pray the Rosary. It's practically the only time in my day that isn't in imminent danger of being interrupted by someone needing something, and if I wait until night time, I tend to fall asleep before I hit the third Mystery. So, it's good all around.
My college roommate told me that, during her Rome semester, on the class spring break trip to Greece, the history professor asked another student to read the entire "Catalogue of the Ships" from the Illiad in Greek as the 100 strong class stood listening in the lashing rain. I thought at the time that this sounded deadly dull, and so, despite the catalogue which follows, I promise that I don't plan to use this blog as a food tracker -- I actually pay Weight Watchers to provide that function for me -- but it is illustrative of the problem that I present myself with nearly every day. (Remember those contradictions I'm supposed to working through?).
So, yesterday, I had a bowl of raisin bran for breakfast (WW= 6 points with fat free milk), a lovely salad from Chick-fil-A for lunch (WW = 5 points) and half a fat free frozen yogurt from Costco (4 points). Dinner was broccoli (0 points) and 2 small servings of reduced fat King Ranch Casserole (7ish points (4 points per serving).
So at the end of the day, I had some points to use -- but it would have been better to use them on something nutritious, rather than something sweet. Truth be told, I only ate the cake because it was there -- it was my own baking, but I didn't have any vanilla when I made it, so it had a double dose of almond extract, and you could tell. It had lived in the freezer for a month or two, where it had been forgotten. Then I made the mistake of cleaning out the freezer, finding the cake, and refusing to throw it away. EVEN KNOWING that I am the only one who would eat it. So, I set myself up. I sabotaged myself -- something I do frequently.
I must ask the question, then, why? Do I want to be thin? Or do I want the cake? Well, of course, I want both. And that's the problem. I could go into a long screed about the ways I have and do sabotage myself, but I'll spare us all today and save that for a time when I don't have a five year old singing Jingle Bells at the top of her lungs (despite the fact that it's 95 humid degrees o ut there!)
But, I'll do better today, I promise And my lovely babysitter is coming back next week, so I'll be able to go deep water running on schedule. Thank goodness -- I need the break from the chickadees (my two little birds, 5 and 2). I'm also trying to use my deep water running time as an occasion to pray the Rosary. It's practically the only time in my day that isn't in imminent danger of being interrupted by someone needing something, and if I wait until night time, I tend to fall asleep before I hit the third Mystery. So, it's good all around.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Beginnings
Me:
wreck (\ˈrek\)
something disabled or in a state of ruin or dilapidation; also : a person or animal of broken constitution, health, or spirits
My Project:
rec·la·ma·tion (\ˌre-klə-ˈmā-shən\)
the act or process of reclaiming: as a: reformation, rehabilitation b: restoration to use : recovery
See this picture? THIS is the person I’m trying to reclaim – that beautiful, funny, intense, hopeful young woman. Look at the spark in her eyes. Look at the confidence. She’s happy in her body, though she doesn’t know it. She thinks she looks great – loves her costume, mainly because it consists of a kimono bathrobe she made for herself (she’s very proud because she’s not much of a seamstress) and a bedsheet she took off her bunkbed in the dorm. It’s Carnivale in Rome circa 1986; she’s surrounded by friends and fellow intellectual seekers. She walks miles sightseeing most days, drinks water from drinking water spigots marked SPQR (Senatus Populusque Romanus), “The Senate and People of Rome.” It thrills her to know that she’s drinking water from the same aquifers tapped into by the Romans, from fountains marked with the same acronym used by the Roman Empire on all its public works. She’s happy, carefree, integrated.
That’s who I want to be, although I hope that, twenty-odd years later, I can recognize my good fortune for what it is and can be a little less neurotic about my body and my looks. Back in high school, I always felt inferior to the cheerleaders who were my high school’s (and probably yours) standards of beauty. I had breasts! How embarrassing! I had hips! Even worse! I had an hourglass figure! Oh no! I didn’t recognize that I was at the peak of my phsyical form, with healthy skin, beautiful hair, a nice body, a sharp mind.
Ah – there’s the problem. I was so cerebral then it was frightening. I’m not sure how I got be so divided from my own physicality, but I seemed to strike a pact with my body in seventh grade or so – “I’ll leave you alone if you leave me alone.” I gave my body the fuel it needed to be happy, the minimal exercise it neeeded to be healthy, and then I didn’t want to hear any more from it. For years, this way of working actually worked. I could devote my time and attention to what REALLY mattered – succeeding academically, devoting time to my friends and family, thinking my thinks.
wreck (\ˈrek\)
something disabled or in a state of ruin or dilapidation; also : a person or animal of broken constitution, health, or spirits
My Project:
rec·la·ma·tion (\ˌre-klə-ˈmā-shən\)
the act or process of reclaiming: as a: reformation, rehabilitation b: restoration to use : recovery
See this picture? THIS is the person I’m trying to reclaim – that beautiful, funny, intense, hopeful young woman. Look at the spark in her eyes. Look at the confidence. She’s happy in her body, though she doesn’t know it. She thinks she looks great – loves her costume, mainly because it consists of a kimono bathrobe she made for herself (she’s very proud because she’s not much of a seamstress) and a bedsheet she took off her bunkbed in the dorm. It’s Carnivale in Rome circa 1986; she’s surrounded by friends and fellow intellectual seekers. She walks miles sightseeing most days, drinks water from drinking water spigots marked SPQR (Senatus Populusque Romanus), “The Senate and People of Rome.” It thrills her to know that she’s drinking water from the same aquifers tapped into by the Romans, from fountains marked with the same acronym used by the Roman Empire on all its public works. She’s happy, carefree, integrated.
That’s who I want to be, although I hope that, twenty-odd years later, I can recognize my good fortune for what it is and can be a little less neurotic about my body and my looks. Back in high school, I always felt inferior to the cheerleaders who were my high school’s (and probably yours) standards of beauty. I had breasts! How embarrassing! I had hips! Even worse! I had an hourglass figure! Oh no! I didn’t recognize that I was at the peak of my phsyical form, with healthy skin, beautiful hair, a nice body, a sharp mind.
Ah – there’s the problem. I was so cerebral then it was frightening. I’m not sure how I got be so divided from my own physicality, but I seemed to strike a pact with my body in seventh grade or so – “I’ll leave you alone if you leave me alone.” I gave my body the fuel it needed to be happy, the minimal exercise it neeeded to be healthy, and then I didn’t want to hear any more from it. For years, this way of working actually worked. I could devote my time and attention to what REALLY mattered – succeeding academically, devoting time to my friends and family, thinking my thinks.
And then it stopped working.
My metabolism slowed down. I aged. I had children and became a stay at home mom. And here I am today. Now that I have become so overweight that I could stand to lose the equivalent of one of those tenth grade cheerleaders I so envied, I’m starting this blog as a way to be more accountable to myself. If anyone reads this, it will be bonus motivation because, even more than I don’t like to fail, I don’t like to be SEEN to fail. Ironic, isn’t it, since I have written my failure to stay healthy all over my body. But these are some of the contradictions I’ll be working through.
Welcome to Wrecklamation.
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