Not bad for a fat girl


And Now This…

Well hello. Long time, no see.

My apologies.

I could give you a list of excuses, but let’s just not do that, ok?

Frankly, I haven’t had the writing mojo lately. I haven’t had much mojo at all lately, if I’m really honest. My house is a mess, my body is worse, and my get up and go got up and went. And then I went to the doctor.

You see, I’ve had a difficult year. Nothing bad has happened. Not. One. Thing.

My son is fine, my sweetheart is fine, even the dog is fine. Thank goodness.

My work was rewarding, my class was one of the finest I’ve ever taught, and I enjoyed the way our team organized our teaching this year. Even our new administrator surpassed my expectations, so all the work boxes were checked.

So, what then?

What’s been holding me back? Zapping my energy and motivation?

I’m not sure, but I think that having my son go off to college was a little harder for me than I anticipated. Silly, really. He was in the next suburb. The one where I work. I saw him about once a week. And there were nice things about having an adult only home, like no dirty socks in the family room, and no dirty dishes all over the house. But in truth, I didn’t adjust very well.

If I’m totally honest, I think I was a little depressed, and since old habits are hard to break, I went back to my favorite method of self-medicating, food. So. Much. Food. And not the good kind, either, At least not usually.

And then, somehow, I managed to miss my bloodwork. And I missed it again. And again. Until the doctor’s office refused to authorize my medication and I had to go in. I did. And it wasn’t good.

My healthcare provider (who happens to be a PA, and a damn good one) called our appointment my “Come to Jesus” meeting, and he laid it on the line for me. Damn. So now, again, I have to start over. Have to. No choice. No excuses. Sad or lonely or whatever, too bad. I have to get this done.

I don’t want to weigh what I weigh.

I don’t want to become an insulin dependent diabetic.

I don’t want to have to buy two airline seats.

I don’t want to have low back pain from just walking around.

I don’t want to have to pay a premium for clothes that fit and look nice.

I don’t want to take so many pills a day.

I don’t want to huff and puff when I exert myself.

I don’t want to hold back my sweetheart or my son.

I don’t want to be embarrassed to be in family pictures.

I don’t want my mother to worry about me.

I don’t want to shorten my life.

I don’t want to be stared at.

I don’t want to feel less than.

I don’t want to feel incapable.

So yes, I HAVE to. So I will. Again.

It’s time. Time to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get going. I have some positive steps already in place and more planned. Writing more is one of them. Accountability, baby. So if you’ll indulge me (and so many of you have, over and over), here we go again.

I know I’m not alone. I know we all have challenges we face, and things that we ought to do, but find difficult. I hope you’ll join me in trying to refocus on what’s important, so we can all improve our quality of life, for ourselves, and for our loved ones.



When an All Time High Feels Like an All Time Low

Yesterday I had the pleasure of visiting my doctor for my quarterly check-in. We get together regularly (honestly, it’s more like three times a year) to look over my latest labs and talk about all the lifestyle changes I need to make. It’s super fun.

Yesterday was a particularly fun visit. I just knew it would be, after all, I’d been under the weather for weeks on end, leaving me feeling lethargic and lazy. Exercise? Phooey. Fruits and veggies? Screw ’em. Even taking my daily medication got to be a chore that I started to ignore on a fairly regular basis.2073005_Broken-Piggy-Bank-Savings-Business-700

Not good.

SO not good.

The first sign of trouble was at the scale.

The digital readout displayed a number I had never before seen on a scale with my own eyes. Oh crap. Apparently the combination of zero exercise and seemingly unlimited amounts of sweets does not go unnoticed by that contraption. Go figure.

Then there was the blood pressure.


Yeah, I guess the medication does work best if you actually get it out of the bottle and into your body. It works even better if you don’t sabotage it at every turn.

Now mind you I still hadn’t seen the doctor, this was just the prep. The good news is that my doctor rocks. He is kind, compassionate, has a sense of humor, and isn’t all judgy (yes, I know the proper word is judgmental, but I like this one better). Still, he is my doctor and it’s his unenviable task to tell me what a horrible job I’m doing taking care of this one and only body that I have.

He did it nicely. He did it with numbers. The numbers on the scale, the numbers from the blood pressure cuff, the numbers from the labs. Yes, folks, some of my numbers have actually set new personal records (not ones I was aiming for, by the way).

So here we are again, only this time I’m starting from even further away from “healthy” than I’ve ever been. I don’t want to do this. I want to eat, drink, and be merry. I don’t want to think about vitamins and blood pressure and steps taken and reducing risks of heart disease and diabetes and cancer and blah, blah, blah whatever else. I don’t want any of that burden, but for better or for worse, it’s mine.

Oh boo hoo, poor little old me. I know, get over it. I got myself into this fix, so I have to get out of it. Besides, I don’t actually have diabetes or heart disease or cancer (my poor Dad, of blessed memory, had to contend with all three of those). What I do have is another whack in the face with the giant two by four of reality. The reality of the situation is that I’m doing myself a grave disservice by ignoring my health (pun intended, sorry). I need to snap out of it and take care of myself the way I deserve. So, on we go to attempt number 8,413, or, as I like to call it, time to crawl out of the gutter and climb onto the victors’ podium.



I Feel Like a Failure

After four successful challenges, which I’m still completing each week, I’ve hit upon the one that broke me. Exercise. UGH. I just don’t LIKE it. I’m too BUSY. I can’t possibly do it ALONE. Does it even really MATTER? Do I HAVE to?

In a nutshell:mistake-oops1

1. Too bad.

2. No I’m not.

3. Yes I can.

4. Yes it does.

5. Yes I do.


This statement is only partially true. I don’t like the idea of having to exercise, but once I get going I actually don’t mind it all that much. There are lots of types of exercise that this body isn’t built for, but I don’t have to do those. I have a bellydance DVD that I enjoy (although it’s murder on the shoulders, but I modify) and I can certainly take a walk in the park. I also have gorgeous pink boxing gloves that are gathering dust. Just putting those on makes me want to get up and move (and maybe jab at something too, just saying). And when the weather gets warmer, I’ll be in the water walking my laps, my favorite exercise of all. So no, I’m not going to be doing burpees or running marathons, but I don’t have to. I just have to move.


As if I’m the only person in the world with a full-time job and a family. I could be exercising now, but I’m sitting comfortably on my well cushioned backside instead. I live directly across the street from a lovely park. As in walk to the end of the driveway, look both ways, and cross. It’s RIGHT THERE! A walk around it is about a mile. People walk it all the time. I see them from my house. As far as I can tell the only difference between me and them is that they actually took the time to get to the park, and most of them probably don’t live directly across from it. I can walk after school. I can walk all weekend. No, I’m not like my wonderful colleagues who wake during the dead of night to exercise, but there are certainly enough waking hours for me to find at least twenty minutes to spare. My brain knows this, but my lazy body is in denial.


This one is really a double lie. First of all, yes, I can. Even if it’s too cold out or too scary out or too anything out, I have a treadmill. It’s in the house. It’s plugged in. It works. I know how to operate it. It doesn’t take two people to get on a treadmill and walk. In fact that would be a problem. It’s hard enough to walk on it with the dog. It’s actually her treadmill and sometimes she wants to join in when I’m on it. I let her once, but I was so concerned with our safety that I didn’t stay on for long. Now we take turns. Although in reality, she gets about ten turns for each one I take.

Now here’s the other part of that lie. I don’t have to do it alone. My son walks the dog every day that he’s here. I can go with them if I choose. Even if he’s not here, my sweetheart will always drop everything to go for a walk with me. He’s also ready, willing, and able to field my jabs and kicks if I happen to want to get on my pink gloves and go all pugilistic on him. I bet he would even go to a gym with me, if I asked him to. The mere thought sends a chill down my spine.


Well of course it matters. I know that the more sedentary I am the more weight I will continue to carry around, negatively impacting my quality of life. When I move I feel good. I feel powerful and in control, not to mention that I lose weight. When I lose weight, I don’t huff and puff as much, and I feel more comfortable in my own skin, not to mention all the good things that happen inside my body. My doctor confirms these for me with my regular visits. I take medication that requires regular bloodwork, and it’s quite obvious from the results that the effort I put into my body is directly affecting how efficiently my body works. I really want it to work for a long time, so I need to put in the effort. I know this. Now I have to live it.


I suppose the answer to this one has to do with the type of life I want to life and how long I want to live it. If I want to keep being sedentary I guess I don’t have to exercise. I could just keep sitting on the couch and allowing time and age to take their toll on me. I can imagine a scenario where it gets more and more difficult to do anything, so I would do less and less. All those minor annoyances of being fat would compound and eventually I would have some really serious health problems. I’m not excited about that prospect. The opposite scenario, the one where I get my butt in gear and get moving, seems far more attractive. In that scenario I have fun being active and do all sorts of neat things. There have been times in my life where I felt great, and moving was a part of it. I’ve never been a real athlete, but just putting in SOME effort makes me feel good. Why is this truth so difficult for me to remember?


I’m done beating myself up over this “failed” challenge. After all, I did put in one good day of exercise, and that was more than any of the days in the previous week. I’m not giving up. I’m not quitting. I’m going to try again. And again and again and again if that’s what it takes. I have to. I want to live a long and healthy life, and what I’m doing now isn’t working, so here I go again.