clickmom

still home being sick-weight loss update on the bottom

OMG people, I can not believe how sick I am! The good news right this second is that my eyes can actually focua on and read the screen as I type this. First time screen has been in focus since last Saturday!

Here's how worse illness in 5 years (since the pneumonia where I ended up hospitalized) went down. Last week I had a post nasal drip, then a sore throat, and then some seriously swollen glands. I wondered why I felt so weak and tired on Saturday. But on Sunday I woke up feeling really off. My soy-berry detox diet smoothie made me nauseous. I ran to the grocery store to buy lunch and dinner supplies and needed a sweatshirt to go out the door. t was 78 degrees.

I made it home, took my temp, 101.3 and took to my bed. I didn't even unpack all the groceries. Eventually the fever went up to 102 and then I got to have the click family routine fight with the husband that goes like this.

Husband : You must take something to reduce the fever
Me: The fever is what destroys what is making me sick! I don't want to take a fever reducer!

Repeat over and over again until someone who is not lying in bed with a fever gets so frustrated that he throws a pillow and storms out of the room and then I end up taking the fever reducer anyway because my fever goes up to 103.5 and my swollen neck glands hurt so much I wanted to make that pain stop. Then I sweat buckets for the next three hours because that is what the fever reducer does to me when the fever is being reduced. And then I lie about taking more fever reducer before I go to sleep because I would rather huddle under the blankets and shiver all night then sweat buckets all night.

But Monday my fever ran around 101.5 which was completely tolerable. I still slept off and on (mostly on) all day long. My neck glands were killing me. Pretty much, with the exception of my whole foods outing I end up sleeping for about 60 hours from Saturday night to Tuesday morning.

Are you still with me here? Dang, I almost put myself to sleep. So readers digest: Sweaty crazy fever dreams with large horned bucks, wild cats, bull mastifs, pugs, and long never ending winding trails, wake up just a teensy fever still nauseous neck pain 9.6 on the 1 to 10 scale. Call good doc. Tell his machine he has to see me. He calls back and tels me to go in a ten. The husband drives me over and the good tells him that fever reducer is OPTIONAL! And that here is a benefit to not taking fever reducer since fever is how an immune system destroys an invader. Ah. Sweet Sweet Victory.

Doc declares I will likely be myself in another day or two, thinks what I have is viral, but swabs my throat for a couple of tests anyway, and I don't have strep and won't know what the other swab finds for a couple of days. In th ecar on the way home I realize I don't feel as bad as I did when I woke up and stop at WF for refried beans and avocado. I already have the corn tortillas, lettuce and salsa at home. My favorite detox lunch) But when I get home I need to lie down and I crash for 2 solid hours. When I wake up I eat the bean soft taco thingy (or three) and that is the first thing that I have had (except for a couple of pieces of fruit) since that berry smoothie Sunday AM.

Now everyone knows that getting sick and not eating for two days is kind of cheating when you have told the internet that you are going to do a weekly weigh in, but I was heading in this successful direction anyway so here is the weigh in after 1 week of detox including 2 days of illness....... ta daa..... ELEVEN POUNDS. Do you know what that means people? Yes it means I must be seriously dehydrated, I recognize that, but still, 11! I can't believe it. But I am happy to see it! Or not see it anymore! Goodbye to you.

Hhhhhello

Okay, here comes the post about the detox.

Are you still with me? Wow, I am impressed by your dedication.

When I went to good doc last fall and told him how crappy I felt and he started running tests he also recommended that I read Ultra-Metabolism by Mark Hyman MD. Good doc said that it was the diet that he lived by. Which pretty impressed me since good doc is a fit and trim older than me guy and also judging by the photo on his shelf in his office his wife is quite the fox. I'd like to be a fox too. So I bought the book. And it sat there gathering dust on my shelf for a few months. But I had mentioned it to Bubbles. And in February when it was my birthday and the book was good and dusty on my shelf Bubbles, who did not know that I had already bought the book, only remembered that good doc had recommended the book to me, gave me another copy of the book. Wow, I was totally guilt ridden. So I started to read the book that Bubbles gave me and gave the dusty one away.

And I told myself that I was going to read all the background and then understand the reasoning behind the diet and then do the diet. Which was a great idea. Add then I read the book painfully slow. But the first 200 or so pages is all about why we end up fat and all the imbalances and toxic causes of a slowed metabolism and I pretty much read the book and shouted "OMG that is SO ME!" all the way through. Because now that I have had every single bodily fluid and bio hazardous waste of mine examined and I know how many alarming issues I am harboring I can confidently say that I am chemically messed up. And this program claims it can turn my metabolism around. And clean me up and restore my health, and polish the scrapes out of my bumper, ...oh wait, that was my dream last night.

Pretty much the diet part of the book is the same old Mediterranean Diet that every one is all worked up about these days. But the two week detox before the rest of the diet is where I am now. Today is day 4 for me. The one huge draw back I am finding is that every meal and the two snacks a day all require some serious in the kitchen time. I don't normally do kitchen time for lunch and snacks. (Because why cook when I can simply unwrap?) And also, waiting a whole hour to cook some brown rice for breakfast is pushing it for my somewhat crazed morning routine. But I am doing it. And that is what counts. And truthfully, there isn't a drastic difference yet (so impatient grasshopper) except that I am less bloated (not sure anyone else can tell). I have no energy at all but who knows if that is stress related (1 more day to finish cleaning out grandma's apartment) or health related. I should be having a nice yeast die off right about now. That could make me feel poorly. Also, if all those heavy metals are on their way out that could drag me down too. Or I could have my own personal stressful life and then get rear ended by some Mario Andretti who thinks he can drive 50 MPH in a parking lot and ..... never mind. You get the idea.

But the upside of this diet is that the weight is melting off already. I am sure much of it is water weight (hence the less bloated feeling) since yesterday, on day 3, I dashed off to the bathroom about every 45 minutes. I hope all that pee contained arsenic! The food is palatable though (with the exception of the banana soy smoothie that made me nauseous for a good hour and a half this morning-never eating that again!) and the kids are even eating and enjoying some of the dinner dishes. Some of the dinners are vegetarian and I have to make an additional meat for the boys because around here if no animal has been sacrificed then it doesn't actually count as a real meal. Maybe a snack. And they want their meals real at meal time.

And as far as appetite is concerned I have none. It's nothing short of a miracle. Or maybe the stench of my own breath. I think that the reason I have no appetite is that everything except breakfast is heavy on garlic, onions and herbs and right about now I am smelling like a garlic flavored gum chewing middle eastern restaurant cook after a long night's work. How's that for foxy?! Hhhhhhhey Hhhhhandsoooohhmme. I am hoping that after a week I can hop on the scale and see Biggest Loser type results, (with less than 4 hours a day in the gym) and if the first 4 days are an indication of things to come, then I am going to be very happy next Tuesday! As far as I am concerned, water counts. And if trim (FOXY) has to equal stinky then let it be so. Bring on the garlic. I figure I will get used to it.

So that is my exciting detox news. I will have the second set of follow up blood tests in June, so hopefully something good will be the result.

banner

One of the many many reasons I love Bubbles is that she is on top of all the latest exercise techniques. She never shows up for a training session without a new idea (way to torture me) or news of some relevant ground breaking research on some of my food and health issues.

Recently I have begun interval training. Bubbles tried to get me into it a year ago, but I was reluctant. It was so hard! But I am doing it now, and the results were almost immediate. My stamina and endurance are incredibly improved.

Last week Bubbles let me know that one of my weight workouts each week was going to change. She told me that we I was going to lift some super heavy weights (wasn't I doing that already?!?!) and do less reps. We chose Mondays for this new heavier (wah wah), more difficult workout since on Mondays I am less likely to do an exhausting cardio before hand and be less tired for the owrkout. Today was my first try out with the new technique.

When I first started to work out with Bubbles last year I soon self-observed that I did quite a bit of whining when she announced what I would be doing. I would do the exercise anyway, but I realized pretty soon that my whining could be a bit of a drag for Bubbles to hear every week. So I stopped whining. And now when Bubbles informs me that I am going to do more reps of something or heavier reps of something or some new move that seems like something only a very strong person (which I have become but am not always confident of being) should be attempting I make a self-deprecating joke or remark on Bubbles over confidence in me. She is probably getting tired of hearing that from me too. But I tell myself that at least I'm not whining.

Today when Bubbles kept sliding all of the weight plugs into weights heavier and heavier than the ones I have become comfortable with I took the challenge and grunted (so masculine) and groaned (very embarrassing) and lifted every single increased weight for the full 12 reps. Next time Bubbles is going to raise the weights again. And next time I am going to try my hardest. This better be good for me.

As far as tonight goes, I already took a mineral salt bath and might (limp) go back downstairs for some pain killers, not cause I am a wimp or anything, ahem, just as a preventative measure. Cause cough cough, it's not like I'm sore or anything. cough cough. All I know is that all this extra muscle better contribute to some kind of revved up metabolism. Cause I joke about this but, I fear that one day I will shed the excess weight only to discover that underneath I have unknowingly turned myself into The Incredible Hulk.

two fer one

Part one:
Lil sis said to me this morning "sometimes you have to be the jerk to get results" and just have a looky at what ended up in my inbox today:

Clickmom,
As promised, I went through records at my country home and I have the following: Soc. Sec. Card, Medicare Card, Passports 1977 and 1987, Drivers license exp 2/3/93, certificate of marriage registration, certificate of executrix for grandpa.

Remember, it was your dad and not I, who applied for Medicaid in NY. Apparently NY accepted copies and did not require originals of these papers.

I'll call with this list, but thought you might want a written list.

Scumcle

P.S. I also have some NY apartment management apartment security papers at my country home.

Nice try there, scumcle, trying to blame the loss of grandma's records on my dad. But the passport is what I needed (proof of citizenship) and you have that. Hopefully you'll give it up.

unrelated Part two:

Dear Universe,

When the good wonderful doctor said he wanted to redo the part of my blood test that said I was deficient in all trace minerals because it couldn't possibly be right and he suspected an error at the lab I said sure, go ahead. Well, it seems like giving up dairy (laaaatteeeeee!) as fun as it was (cheeeeeese!) didn't do anything to help the trace mineral situation. So much for my severe dairy allergy causing absorbtion issues.

I didn't know that the good doc was also redoing the heavy metals part of the test. I'd cut and paste the results for you if I knew how, but since you are the universe I am sure you already know that I am now testing in the toxic range for Aluminum, Arsenic, Cadmium, and Mercury.

Universe.... Why?

Or should I throw my hands up over my head and ask "What?" Or maybe "WHAT??" Am I somehow self producing these heavy metals? It just does not seem possible to be that toxic. Also, how am I standing here if I am that toxic? How am I not in a hospital bed covered in sores and babbling nonsense and bald and blind and deformed? Huh? How can I appear normal and be so off balance? Maybe I only think I am normal. Wait, I saw pictures yesterday. They were normal, large but in a normal kind of way. Normally large. Wait.... I must be tougher than I realize. Wait..... No wonder my memory is shot. If this heavy metal thing is true it's amazing I can even think. At least I think I am thinking. Maybe I am already crazy and all this daily posting is just a hallucination brought on by the toxic levels of everything I seem to be carting around. Hello? Knock knock! Are you there? More importantly, am I here?

Universe, Can I get a break please? Or at least some medicinal marijuana? I mean if I am not going to think straight, I might at least as well laugh about it, right?

And make it soon.

I am fairly certain I am teetering on the edge here.

Thanks for listening,
Clickmom

send asphalt

Is it me or does everyone now think that every blogger out there with a Bogher Ad Network ad looks like Jennifer Weiner? (At least I think it was Jennifer, honestly, if her first name would have made me snicker in second grade like her last name did I would have remembered it better). For a while I thought all the bloggers were Asian women with lots of black bangles on their raised arms. If you guys think the same thing then I am wondering how effective those blogger ads must be because I can tell you what the chicks looked like but I can't tell you what they wanted me to buy. Also, to the people who make the hyper moving ads, if I can't change the size of my screen to eliminate your annoying moving ad then I will not read the website. That can't be good for business either. I am just saying.

One sure sign that spring has arrived in the garden state has nothing to do with all the green bulb leaves poking up from the ground, or the cardinals and the robins I have spotted flying through on their way back from somewhere, or even the warmer than recent temperatures. Nope, the real sign that spring is finally here are the axle bending pot holes on all of our local roads. Seriously, since this is a yearly occurrence and not some kind of an omen like everything else is, then it must be a signal. And what I suspect is that if you were say, on the moon looking down and admiring the garden state, just the opposite of me being in the garden state looking up admiring the moon, and the sun was at the right angle you could see all the pot holes (craters) and they might spell out something, not S.O.S., but maybe SEND ASPHALT or ROAD CREWS NEEDED HERE with a big arrow pointing right to my neighborhood.

I am a bit disappointed that I never got back to the great outdoors to do some more partially frozen photography this winter. I know it was grandma being in the hospital or rehab since February 17th. This has been a looooong 5 weeks. On Friday when I saw her last she walked the entire length of the rehab. She is actually in better shape than she was when she went into the hospital, because back then she was in so much pain from the bone infection that she couldn't even stand up straight. But keeping in mind that she went to the hospital because she fell and the lying SOB head nurse said she couldn't move one of her legs, then I want grandma to be as fall proof as she can be for her age before going back to the OFH. So I figure another week of therapy won't do her any harm. Tomorrow I am going to chat with the social worker at the rehab about bringing grandma back to the OFH. Also, I'd like to see if they can send a physical therapist to the OFH for a while. I know grandma will hate that, but it can only help in the long run. I can't believe we made it out of this one intact. Well, minus a little toe, but essentially the same grandma and me only a bit more stressed for the experience of it.

Tomorrow will be 4 weeks absolutely dairy free and some freaky things are going on with me. The two most annoying are this incredible swelling of my belly and a pain in my lower back. The pain in my back is like no other lower back pain I have ever felt, so I am wondering if it is my kidneys complaining about the yeast die off that I suspect I am going through. I was in much pain this morning and felt a little better after downing four or so glasses of water. Interesting enough, I pretty much had to run (slowly limp) to the bathroom after each glass of water, which leads me to believe that the water is not taking the long way out and instead running right through me with out doing much kidney cleansing. I'll have to call both the actual MD and my snake oil dispensing voo doo chiro tomorrow. Also, I have been seriously jonesing for and indulging in the sugar lately but tomorrow I am going cold turkey on that too. I am pretty sure I have eaten last trace of anything I can eat in the house (with the exception of the bagged sugar for baking which I have been known on occasion to eat by the spoonful- and YES this is embarrassing to admit) , so it shouldn't be all that hard as long as I can stay determined and focused. My big topic for the therapist this week is going to be the amount of internal whining I do and why I just can't suck it up and get on with my gluten/dairy/sugar/corn/tomato free life. I mean, I know there are worse things than needing to eat carefully.

I'm skipping the weekly winners again this week because once again inspration was hard to come by. I thought I might do something creative at that egg hunt but it was a bad atmosphere, and I barely shot my assignment let alone anything creative or extra. I took some crappy stuff on the iphone, but nothing really worth publishing, so I am skipping.

Now I am off to practice guitar before bed. If I do it for too long my fingers still hurt. And I am saving the content of my practice for it's very own post, but to be truthful with you, even I am starting to embarrass myself with the lightness of my light music taste. I figure it's just another day or two before I partake in liver spots and bifocals.

lotioning

The other day in the locker room at the posh club I happened to (stare right at in a possibly creepy kid of way) noticed a lady applying lotion after her shower. This lady applied lotion to every single skin cell not considered a mucous membrane on her entire body. And I thought "Hmm, I only apply lotion to the areas of skin that are typically not covered my very matronly bathing suits. Maybe I have missed something (yet again) in the "How to be a girl" handbook." So I went home and investigated the need for moisturizer on my tushy.

To be honest with you folks, my bottom did not appear (no snake skin like on my legs) and did not feel (yup, it was already nice and soft despite the lack of body lotion) to need any additional hydration, but after my shower the next morning I went ahead and lotioned it right up just to see what I have been missing out on all these years of creaming neglect. Well, to say that I was less than impressed is an understatement. Maybe it is because all my creams are serious heavy duty kind of creams, or maybe it is because I am some kind of freak who doesn't like yanking my granny panties up over a moist/tacky/lotioned up butt all morning, but what ever the reason, after that experiment I figured I was done with creaming my bottom for ever.

Then I happened to buy (don't hate me!) an O magazine. Usually if I am going to read something that far below my reading level it is going to have some really good celebrity gossip in it (and pictures of those scandalous celebs too!), but O lured me in with a promise of higher energy (4 hidden causes of fatigue) and I tossed it up there right on top of my kale (leafy greens=fountain of youth) and brought it home. Well, according to someone who was interviewed for O magazine, there is such a thing as LOTION THERAPY and in lotion therapy you have to lotion up every inch of yourself every day so that your previously fat self can reconnect with the newly trimmer self you have become. And I thought "Oh No! Now I will be psychologically fat forever!" But I thought it was interesting in a sponsored by vaseline intensive care kind of way. I'm still not lotioning my butt again.

In the mean time all 4 of those hidden causes require a trip to the doctor and some tests to diagnose but the one I am seriously thinking just might be a cause for me is the thyroid one. In a surprise move which shocked even myself, yesterday , instead of basking in the new coolness that is my folks aren't here to run the electric fireplace 13 hours a day, I turned the thermostat up. And worse, I didn't notice it had gotten a bit um... hot in the house. Then the husband came home and nearly fainted before he managed to strip down into his boxers and an undershirt. And I had admit that I have not been the usual hot potato I have been most of my life. Also, all this exercise I have been doing is paying off in more muscle tone, but the scales have not budged despite the fact that I have been off sugar since the week before Thanksgiving.

So, me and my naturally smooth butt will be heading off to the doctors soon. I think a nice round of tests is in order.

this and that

I'm thinking of starting a new category here. I'm going to call it "Is it just me or..??" Like this: Is it just me or are people going absolutely crazy on the highways lately. What is with all the passing on the right? Do cops not catch you speeding if you are on the right? Do you get there faster if you pass on the right? Can we call a truce on the passing on the right? It is really getting on my nerves.

Today a lady hopped onto the eliptical machine right to the one I was exercising on. The first thing I noticed was her carefully sculpted teased crown of hair all up in a pony tail. She must really hate the natural shape of her head to tease up the top of her head before tying on a pony tail and going to the gym. Now I wonder if maybe she isn't deformed on the top of her head. Maybe she has a big crater head she is trying to hide. Also, there was much makeup in use on the hair teased eliptical lady at the gym today. And perfume. So, the lady with the crater head, the bad skin and the B.O. (I assume) hopped onto the machine next to mine and if you think I can tell you any more about what she looked like you are wrong. I imagine if I saw her coming out of the shower it would be quite the frightful sight. But I couldn't stick around, her perfume was making me ill.

I had an interesting chat with Bubbles about my weight today. I have decided that I eat like someone who should be 30 pounds over weight. Not 30 x 4 pounds over weight. I am going to have my thyroid tested. The symptoms fit. And as Bubbles so cheerfully reminded me, I am over 40! Woo Hoo!

You won't believe this tid-bit folks. My parents went home. They went home Friday and I didn't mention it because I am still processing it. They have made more medically sound decisions in their lives. Hopefully mom won't go into kidney failure while down there. It's a possibility. Mostly I am angry. Every one pretended like this would be a good thing because I would get a break. Now my worry has just been multiplied by about 17 (hundred). It is nice to fall asleep without the downstairs tv shaking my windows though. I still have not been alone in the house, but I never give up hope. There is always tomorrow!

Grandma won't do anything any more. She wants to die. I have been calling the one surgeon who might be able to do this out dated procedure that might not even work, but can not get through to him. Seems he doesn't spend much time in the office. Grandma has taken to throwing her pills at the nurses. They are used to that but my eyebrows are raised. Very interesting. She says she wants to die. I don't blame her.

This corner of the garden state is buried under a layer of ice. Evan wanted to slide around on a patch of ice this afternoon. I told him it wasn't a good idea, I did not approve, it wasn't safe and not to come crying to me if he got hurt. He got hurt. He cried for 4 1/2 hours right up until the moment I put him to bed. Men.

Tomorrow is Josh's school "holiday" (Christmas) concert. I might have to medicate not to die from his unadulterated enthusiasm and overall adorableness. He wanted to wear a black turtle neck for some reason. I'll take photos.

NaBigFatty

I went to spin class today. Pretty much as soon I started to spin my legs my thighs began whining. And whimpering. I said "Quiet you two! Just move those pedals! And no complaining when I have to stand!" But the thighs are stubborn, oh yes they are, and whine and complain they did for the whole entire 1 hour spin class. I tried to talk it out with them. I said "Guys, what is the deal? You have no energy.... like ever. Why is it that you are not recovering between torture exercises?" But they didn't answer me, only kept on with the pitiful kind of heart wrenching mind blowing whining. In order to block out their cries of agony, I set the mind to work, I said "Mind, what is going on here? They are so unhappy, always lazy, never wanting to get the job done. They weren't like this back in September. They were roaring to go back then and I didn't even use them all summer!" And then the mind briefly considered that I had given the legs the summer off, kind of, and that maybe they needed inordinate amounts of rest, and then the mind remembered something critical, back in September we were still sugar free from the summer of good eating. And the mind reminded me that the legs never want to play after a thorough sugar binge and I realized that there are so many food issues that I need to reconcile. Like my enjoyment of physical activity and how difficult it is to be active when I am not eating well.

Also, there were full body bathing suit photos taken of me during this past vacation (one of my kids apparently has a death wish) and they really blew my mind. I can not believe (well, I can but I don't want to) that my physical self is the same person as my mental self. To me I look like I am a complete psychological mess. Maybe this is my own personal issue, perhaps I am a weightist, but if my big fat self struck up a conversation with my physical self, say on line at the check out counter or something, my mental self would burst out crying imagining the psychic pain my physical self must be in in order to eat herself into this condition.

NaBloMyMind

I can never get in the groove and settle in, even though I want to, with what Bubbles has to offer because week after week she always comes up with something new to "challenge" me with. y a y . I can not believe how many ways there are to do a frigging sit up. When it came to running I thought that we, Bubbles, me, lefty, righty, top jelly roll, and bottom jelly roll, all had an understanding. And that understanding went like this "Me and my big boobs, and my excess belly poundage want to do something that appears, for all intensive purposes, to be running. We are not concerned with speed, only with appearances. If we appear to be running and we appear to have a decent form (we do not want to look like a waddling wing flapping penguin) and at the end of such "runs" face is satisfactorily red and sweaty then we are good. Our expectations have been met. And not only are we good, but we are so extremely satisfied that we can do this form of molasses type running forever and never ever once ever want anything more out of our weekly running sessions than just the ability to look like we are running no matter how much faster than our run we can actually walk." Desire to run fast-zero, happiness at running at all-infinite.

But then one day towards the end of a good solid slo mo just the way I like it run Bubbles says to me in her insufferably cheerful way "Hey, let's run as fast as we can to the door in the fence over there, ready go!" and I fear I know exactly what she has on her mind. She is planning on trying to make me, lefty, righty, top jelly roll, and bottom jelly roll, all run faster than really really slow! But I go ahead and run to the fence anyway because I just can't admit that I can't do something. Somewhere in the back of my head the panicked screaming begins. And then she does this whole "run just this far as fast as you can" thing one more time on our last lap around the track. And then when we are stretching afterwards I ask her what kind of new torture she is going to subject me to, because I can see right through her very thinly veiled run quick test, and she begins to tell me how amazingly wonderful it is for your body to interval train and how I'll burn more calories during and after and how my heart will benefit and then she had more to say but I just kind of made her voice into white noise because I was busy trying process the fact that I would now be "sprinting" during my weekly turtle runs.

And yesterday I did just that. We get to the track and I in my sad defeated "I am not going to get my slow comfortable way" way asked Bubbles what she had in mind and she told me we were going to run 1/4 of the track as fast as I could and then speed walk the rest of the 3/4 way around and then run the same 1/4 over and over like that. So I did just that- for three miles. Each time around as we approached the garbage can which signaled the end of the sprint section, the garbage can seemed to stretch farther and farther away into the distance, just like a bad dream on tv when your goal is making itself unattainable. At the end of the whole thing I didn't even speed run a mile during the whole sprinting experiment which disappoints me, because I worked so hard to be able to run for three miles, and I just can not see me ever running faster than incredibly slow for any significant distance, at least not at this weight. My plan is to tell Bubbles that running less than a total mile is not acceptable to me and that next time when we meet we'll have to run a third of the track instead of a 1/4 so that at the end even though I covered 3 miles distance I will have run for one of them. I can't believe I am letting her talk me into this.

deal

Still feeling down about regaining all the weight and the scales are still on the way up. I needed some comfort the one no fail way I know how to get it. Through the mouth. I stopped by the bucks today for a warm toasty caffeinated beverage and I ordered my beverage to a never been seen by me before pretty little ray of sunshine behind the counter. When the ray turned around only then did my eyes drop below her sweet and smiling face and OMG the pretty little ray of sunshine was as emaciated as can be. My first thought was "She must be in pain" followed by "How does she stand?" and then a million other thoughts went through my head like "What is missing in her life?" or "How hard that must be for her poor little heart." and then I realized that she and I across the counter from each other must have been such an odd sight. Pretty little thing could likely double her weight, while pretty big thing, me, could easily halve her weight. Then I realized through my stun as I wrapped my meaty paws around my warm and toasty caffeinated beverage that any other anyone in that particular Stepford laden bucks might just be looking at me and asking herself all the exact same questions that I was thinking in my own head about. Which made me feel so connected to the little ray of sunshine and I wanted to reach over the counter, lift all 60 pounds of her up and cradle that little ray of sunshine in my arms and fold her up into my lap and just hold her there until it all stopped hurting us both so much.

off my shoulders

I had a melt down this morning. I guess it was about time.

I have been avoiding talking too much about my mom in public because I don't have the energy to cry in public. It would attract too much attention, and I just don't want to have to talk about this every time I turn around. Then this morning, I was on the phone with mom (who might get out of the hospital today) and mom mentioned that she had not spoken to her best friend (you know the kind they refer to as "aunt" when you are little and it gets you confused you know that you aren't actually related) for a whole week and the friend didn't even know that mom was in the hospital. I volunteered to give the friend a call and fill her in.

Well, the second mom's friend said "Hello" I started to bawl. I could barely even get my name out so she could know who was sobbing on the other end of the line. I managed to choke the story out and got off of the phone. Then, believing I was alone in the house, I broke down and sobbed some kind of primal cry that I didn't even know was in me. I ended up slumped over on the kitchen floor, with the devil dog licking my face, just crying, screaming, yelling my eyes out. Then it occurred to me that it was only 9;30 in the morning and dad was still in bed. But he most likely didn't have his hearing aids in and I wasn't sure how much if any he had already caught. I grabbed some paper towels and muffled my despair into the towels until I stopped. Then I pulled myself back up towards the kitchen counter and finished frying the onions for tonight's dinner, which seemed like such a mundane thing to do. I mean, I ask myself "Do I really need to make dinner when my mom has cancer?" and I wonder how much of what is ordinary I should hold on to and where I should slide.

I thought maybe should sit on the couch and watch some television, but I don't actually like television much, especially during the day and OMG those women on view are gushing over Gloria Estefan and now I am thinking that I do need to keep doing everything I would normally do just so I don't feel like I am required to relax in front of the television. As far as I am concerned day time television might lead to the down fall of western society. Tomorrow I am forcing myself to go back into the gym, and just so I can't bag it at the last second I emailed Bubbles and arranged to meet her there. I wonder if there is anything in me to use at the gym, but I figure at least I can walk on a treadmill or something. If I am moving at least I am not at home eating, which I have been doing a lot of lately. And that is another behavior I just do not understand, just how does it make sense for me to dive into a pint of ice cream when my mom isn't well. I don't feel good after, mom doesn't want to see me explode, and I get nothing from eating the sweets except a stomach ache. So, why do I go back to the sweets every single time? It isn't working for me, I should get that into my head.

And one more day time television thing... FRUITY CHEERIOS????? It's official, it's over, we're all brain dead any moment now.

Also, OJ. I just cannot tell you how disgusted I am to see that killer's face on my television. His poor kids. tsk tsk tsk.

go me

I have been sugar free for two weeks now. Go me. It has been the least difficult detox yet and I attribute that to being in utopia. We are all just so relaxed and zen like here that the whole ordeal was rather non existent. One Sunday night I ate so many roasted marshmallows during a s'mores event that I went to bed feeling pretty sick. The next morning I woke up still feeling poorly and thought to myself that I kust can't go on like that any longer. Since it was a Monday, and everyone knows thstMonday is the universal begin a new diet day, I began my new sugar free eati g as soon as I hauled my ever increasing waist line out of bed. Sadly there has not been amazing weight loss due to thr astounding volume of food I am capable of eating, but I am dealing one step at a time here. For now I am basking in the relief of having the sugar monkey off of my back.

on the wagon again

I wasn't kidding when I said I was gaining weight. Yesterday I squeezed myself into some pants that I just bought last month before we went to the Bahamas. (As in had to lie on the bed to zip them, and then walked around with the always sexy upper belly bulge all day long) Then, later in the day while at home, I was walking around all Al Bundy style cause the pants were so damned small they could stay up with out being totally zipped, and when I sat down the zipper burst. Like, little metal zips went flying out of the zipper fabric. Like I have to get them re-zippered at a taylor now. A month ago, they fit with room. Today- bursting zippers. OMG people, this is surely suicide, except it isn't about being fat it's about stress/I can't cope/I don't want this responsibility/It isn't fair/What am I going to tell the kids kind of eating every waking second, but, I read Time magazine last week, and since I am an apple (versus a pear), and also Bubbles has been cheerily suggesting I do this this, I know it works from past experience, and I burst my freaking brand new pants that were three big fat sizes bigger than the pants I wore a year ago, today it is all about "Hello Atkins type, low glycemic, no carb, no fun diet!" Woo Hoo.

Just don't ask me what I ate last night in preparation for all the deprivation.

fat again

I have been meaning to post about my weight for the longest time, but first it was so hard to admit that I had gained 20 of the 50 lost pounds back, and then it was 25 and then 30 and then 40 and now I have officially gained 43 of the lost 50 pounds back. (I was going to write 42, but decided to be honest) I realize that there has been a combination of stress and pity eating going on here with me for the past year. Suddenly, last spring, I was feeling all sorry for myself that I couldn't eat wheat, and then last summer rye started to give me the nasty symptoms, then I had the mysterious headache and nausea all summer and fall (and who, I would like to know, besides me can gain 2 pounds a week for months solid when constantly nauseous?) then school started and I had to pretend that having a mere hour and a half a day between dropping off kids and picking up kids wasn't going to do me in, and then I was recognizably sick with that intestinal thing and had to do all those tests for a month before finding out what it was and I found out that there were even more foods I couldn't eat like tea, tomatoes, strawberries and corn (and a dozen or so others that are less worth mentioning) and all the pity eating I was doing took itself to even higher heights. Cause ice cream wasn't on that list of taboo foods! Then, as if I needed more stress, someone had to do something about grandma and I decided to step in and be the responsible party. I knew taking care of grandma was going to be a lot of work, but what I hadn't planned on was how the resentment of of mommy dearest and the scum-cle was going to claw at me. And now, at the end of it all, I stand here, almost as heavy as I was when I turned 40 (and thought I could possibly die any minute from all the extra weight) and I can't see any let up in the amount of stress in my life coming, since grandma isn't going anywhere, mom and dad might both be sick with cancer, our even because home in utopia won't be finished being rebuilt by this summer, and right now every time I look in the mirror I want to be able to slap some sense (as in sensible eating) into myself.

All this good for nothingness in addition to the internet not being the same place of comfort and sharing it used to be for me. After last January's linking disaster (which I am not linking to, you can call it post-linking-stress disorder) I just haven't felt the friendliness and sense of community I thought was here. And I gotta tell you that probably the ugliest part of the whole incident, even uglier to me than the angry folks on that other web site telling me to perform sexual acts upon them, was when three of the internet's big time bloggers, all of whom I had been reading and commenting to, and feeling some connection with, for a couple of years, all decided to hop onto my site at the same time and comment. Normally I would have fallen on the floor from the excitement of seeing Melissa, Mrs. Kennedy and Alice (no links!!) all commenting on my blog, but to me it felt like some movie scene in which the cool-girl cheerleaders corner the clueless girl who dared to dream she could fit in and cruelly smashed/dashed her dreams. I had been cyber-bullied when I thought I was (or could be) one of them (as in:popular bog writers) and it felt horrible. Not that cool was what I was going for, what I wanted (and still do want) is some recognition as a writer. I enjoy writing so much. After the incident I thought about not blogging, I felt like everything I wrote for a while I had to force a bit, but then I reminded myself that the blog isn't for anyone I don't know, it's for my own enjoyment and maybe one day for my kids to get a glimpse of who I was and what I valued (you guys! I valued you, my children, more than anything!) and made the decision to keep at it, with very careful and limited linking. Also, I don't comment on other blogs nearly as much as I used to (and certainly not on those three), and that used to be fun for me. sigh. Is this why I haven't posted about my weight? Have I not posted because the internet turned on me? Not likely. I can't even fool myself into thinking it is, because really, why I haven't said anything is because I am disappointed in myself and also embarrassed. But I did imagine that there was some unconditional internet love fest that wasn't really there.

But, back to food, here is the very stupid thing that I can't get my mind around. I can't seem to wrap my mind around what a little amount of food people actually need to maintain a healthy weight. I weigh as much as two people because I eat enough for three people. Really, I do, I know that I do. Seriously, there is nothing wrong with my metabolism. I eat like I'm never going to see food again. And I do that every day. I'm great fun at parties, I never hold back. This past week two drug store magazines had articles on people who lost a ton of weight. They all did it the old fashioned way through diet and exercise. Both magazines had little boxes with what these weight problem conquering people ate each day and they ate hardly anything. They ate in an entire day what I manage to snack on between my three generous meals. And I notice my friends eating too. They leave things over on their plates. That is foreign to me. And they don't eat ice cream every day. And if they do, they aren't eating the whole pint. So, in this overwhelming time here, where I could literally eat 24/7, and I am pretty sure I would do it in lieu if actually literally really falling apart, I am trying to grasp and internalize the reality of my relationship with food and see my eating for what it really is, which is pretty much a crutch for every emotion I am capable of feeling. Happy? Eat! Anxious? Eat! Angry? Eat! Stressed? Eat some more! and the same goes for everything else. Since I am not going to have the smooth sailing summer I was anticipating to get myself together during then I am going to have to do it while everything is falling apart around me. Really, I don't feel like I have a choice. I have to deal with this issue. I have to deal with it now. I am tired of this issue infringing on the rest of my life.

Here I am, 50 pounds down, 43 pounds up, in the physically strongest shape of my life. I can run 3 miles, bike as far as I want, pump iron, and do endless sit ups, and yet, I am close to my heaviest weight ever. I can't pretend that being as strong as I am is going to protect me from all the obesity related diseases forever. Eventually it is going to catch up with me, and I'd like to put the weight behind me before that happens. I want to be healthy. I don't want to be sick. I have got to find a way to cope with what ever comes my way without reaching for the fridge. And if anyone is reading or not, I am going to try to work these things out in writing, because keeping quiet didn't do anything for me, so this time I am going to try being honest even if I am not having a good day.

lame and fat

Can't really type too much because yesterday I went and sprained my wrist. I managed this accomplishment while using the virtually harmless cable propelled weight lifting machinery. I am coining the phrase "spazthlete" and the definition is me.

I did spend time with Bubbles on the treadmill today. It was depressing. I kept looking at her legs in the mirror and my legs in the mirror. (I can't see anything else due to the tv screens mounted on each treadmill.) The running didn't go well, so I don't want to talk about it.

Then the mail came and there were lots of catalogs. There was this one, which I can buy socks or gym bags from, but none of the clothes, shoes, bras, or underwear fit me and then there was this one, which I am going to need very soon if I don't stop bingeing.

I am not going to bed happy.

3 confessions in 12 laps

I wondered if perhaps Bubbles was trying to kill me today. In fairness to Bubbles, and all the Bubbleses of the world, I asked her to make me do what it is she is making me do, and that thing she is making me do is run. Thursday is make clickmom run day. Last spring I had this fantasy about running (instead of walking) the last 5K leg of the triathlon. Then over the summer, I got myself all psyched to do what I needed to do to work my way up to running it and didn't have what I thought was the enthusiasm to run, which actually turned out to be the early signs of the intestinal condition that side lined me for two months this fall, except I thought it was all in my head and didn't realize it was physical. So, I just resigned myself to walking. And I walked, most of it. I did run for two little tries, and my final time was faster than 4 mph, in the end I was satisfied.

So, I one day I tell Bubbles that I dream of being able to run and she suggests we work together towards a goal, say a 5K in the spring, and she prints up a little schedule for me, and we start meeting at the track and walking with little bits of runs thrown in. It's all good, well pretty good, in the back of my mind I have to block out a lot of negative self talk that suggests that a person of my size might 1. look completely foolish running 2. break her ankles/knees/hips running and 3. have a heart attack running. Also, Bubbles has about 8 ounces of fat on her and all 8 are tucked flatteringly into her sports bra, so next to her I feel even more like a Michelin Man than I would next to someone with more of a typical American sized body.

Today it was too cold for the track (for me, maybe not for someone way tougher than me, but it was for me) so we met at the posh club, where I mounted the dreaded treadmill. Folks, this is where I make my first dumb confession for this post. I fear the treadmill. Truthfully, more than the treadmill itself, I fear falling off of the treadmill. Which, if you knew me would be a distinct possibility. I am the friend who can manage to fall while standing completely still, not only that but I can also manage to break my wrist while falling when standing completely still, so me on a fast moving conveyer belt might not be your best bet if you are the one who does not want to drive a broken me to the emergency room. However, if you were my orthopedist, you would probably encourage me to spend lots of time on the treadmill.

Once in the vicinity of the treadmills, I realize I am being stared down by Bubbles. I get on the treadmill she gets on the treadmill next to mine and we commence walking. We use the lap program which I request so as not to confuse me when we get back to the track after the melt down, which hopefully happens soon. We walk a couple of laps to warm up and then instead of running half a lap (1/8 mile) like I was doing at the track, Bubbles says, let's run the whole lap. I look at her like she is crazy, suggest she tie one of the 100 pound posh club anorexics to her back just to even the score, then I force a stiff upper lip and commence running. And you know what? I did it! More than once! All together I ran around the track 3 times for a grand total of 3/4 mile of running. Not all at once mind you , I did it in four separate tries. On the first try I did a whole lap. On the second try I had to stop running and walk because (here comes embarrassing confession number two) Bubbles was trying so hard to cheer me on and remind me of things like "breathing" that I was completely distracted from the mathematical patterns I need to think about when I am doing something that is painful and in this case takes concentration (cause I didn't want to fall off!) like running or trying to ignore the dentists drill. I explained to her that I couldn't do the math I needed to do when she was talking. Since I had told her once before about my need for equations, I felt justified in shushing her and letting her know that I require silence when exerting myself on a treadmill. Bubbles tried to be quiet, really she did. Her next strategy involved huffing to remind me to breathe. (Confession number three coming right up) It gives me the willies to hear other people breathing. Not just breathing, but more the panting kind of breathing. To me it is the equivalent of a close talker. If I can hear you breathing then you need to back away from me. I silenced her by putting my pointer finger to my lips and she did the only thing she could do , she increased her own speed on her own treadmill until she was running at a challenging pace for herself. It was about a mile and a half per hour faster than my pace, but hey, I WAS STILL RUNNING! All together I did 12 laps, and I sweating like a glass of iced water in the desert. When I went into the locker room to use the potty, I saw that my face did not have the nice healthy red glow I usually have after a good spin class. I was purple. Running, even in my own special slow and timid turtle like way, had whooped me. I can't wait until next Thursday.

spinning

In my effort to regain my previous level of strength and cardio-vascular health, I realized that I had neglected the dreaded spin class. I had the excuse of Josh's swim class during one of the classes I had attended previously and now I have Bubbles (the trainer) during the other. Oh well. Right? Wrong. I knew that I had to re-enter the wonderful world of spin eventually, (I mean those 11 miles on next years triathlon aren't going to get any shorter!) so when Bubbles told me that the posh club was adding another spin class on Saturday mornings and that she would be the teacher, I decided it was fate. Naturally the class is held at the ungodly hour of 7AM. Normally at 7 in the morning I am trying to use my psychic powers to float myself over to the bathroom so I can start the day. This morning was different, I had the alarm set for 6 and when it went off I jumped out of bed, located the sound which entered my dreams with the subtlety of bullet hail from a gatling gun. (The fastest automatic weapon there is, thank you Evan for that helpful tidbit of gun trivia) Then I limped into the bathroom and sat on the can and tried to psychically will myself into my gym clothes. Needless to say, I need assistance in the psychic department or maybe even a more realistic morning plan.

I made it to the class, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, and dropped my stuff onto my favorite bike. I left the rest of my stuff in the locker room and when I returned to the spin room a very sweet woman I know from around the schools was sitting on the bike besides mine. I was happy since she seemed unlikely to have B.O., be a profuse sweater, or be a distracting grunter. Hey, you have to choose your spin mates carefully! I don't want to be in anyone's scent or spray zone, and I definitely don't want to hear them making sex noises while I pretend to climb a hill.

The lady I know from around and I remarked to each other, and to Bubbles who was busy setting up her bike, how many men were in the class with us. We were both used to the SAHM crowd during the day in the middle of the week and had never seen so many hairy legs all lined up in the spin room before. Well, just as Bubbles was going to start the hairiest of the legs spoke up and said to Bubbles "There are so many men in here because last week they were all talking about how HOT you are."

Bubbles froze.

Bubbles remained frozen.

Nobody moved.

Bubbles forced a smile.

Bubbles started up class.

And she gave us a great class. Well, the other people thought it was a great class, I mostly thought "How the hell do her legs move that fast? I can't believe what that guy said. She looks like the road runner! Did he really say HOT? Could he have said HARD? I can't even see her legs! That man has to be stopped, he can't say things like that. My legs hurt. What a pig that guy is. Her legs are an actual circle of blur! Look at those legs. She is animated! I am going say something to that man. I wonder if Bubbles still has circulation in those legs." Yeah, remember me? I am the turtle of the human race, slow but steady, and Bubbles was from some other speedy hare tribe that my tribe of turtles did not ever breed with, and the reason for that is simple it is because we - couldn't - catch - them. Now I fear I might have to stop making excuses and find my way back to one of the other slower paced spin classes.

So, anyway, after the class, I moseyed over to the guy and I said "You owe Bubbles an apology. You didn't say she was tough, or great, or could run circles around you, you said she was hot and if you worked with her right now she would be filing a sexual harassment suit against you." And the guy said "You're right." I was so shocked I just turned and tip toed out of the room and I don't know if he did apologize to her or not.

hi ho hi ho it's to the gym the whole neighborhood goes...

I have taken the exercise part of my New Year's resolution seriously, but unfortunately not the eating well part. My legs are so tired I think they might fall off, and I am now on the verge of obsessing about becoming too muscular, but still the ice cream calls to me. My plan for future self control while depriving the young ones goes something like "All ice creamin my house must contain cookie or brownie fragments so Mommy won't eat it" I know, it seems lame to the rest of the world, but it is either that or "No ice cream in the house" and I am just not that cruel.

One frustrating aspect of being a gym goer is the first 6 weeks of the year. Seriously, the resolutioners are there full force, they are taking the good machines, or worse, pretending they know what they are doing while actually doing non-exercises on the equipment I want to use, and also, the obsessors are out full force too. This week alone I have seen not one but two different women on the exercise bike while simultaneously doing some upper body work with dumb bells. Uh, hello? Dumb bells on the bike? Where are the exercise cops when you need them.

On a more positive note I saw a guy wearing head to toe hiking gear (hat too) including a loaded back pack while climbing stairs on one of the old fashioned stair machines that is a mini down escalator that you have to climb up. After spotting mountain dude I shot Bubbles a look and she explained to me that the guy was preparing for a real hike that way. Awesome!

On a less positive note here, I went to the Y this morning, and after a frustrating futile attempt (due to all the resolutioners) at snagging a treadmill, decided to approach my old nemesis the arc trainer. Fifteen minutes into arc training I looked down at the floor between my wildly swinging legs and spotted a mouse poo. Horrified I began glancing into the unwashed recesses of the fitness room, and people, let's just say the Y has a mouse problem. Fearing for the safety of my lungs, having only completed half of my 40 minute goal, and having read Boops' entry about mice and the freaking hantavirus, I had to make a move. I was stirring up the air directly above the possible source of plague and I wasn't feeling good about it. I saw an (as in "a singular") empty treadmill, but soon discovered it was the one whose belt is so loose that it actually buckles upwards. Knowing that my tired feet wouldn't jump the belt hurdle every time it came around I opted instead for the stationary bike. I am so not into the idea of being the patron who falls off the treadmill. I found a bike, chose a program, set myself up and spent the next 20 minutes wishing all the resolutioners would go home, and trying to figure out how I am going to fit all the exercise I think I should do into my schedule, you know, long term, as in realistically. I ended up doing 40 minutes of something today, but it wasn't walk/running and now I am all bummed.

Also, I am so tired that I completely forgot what the whole point of this post was supposed to be. Hmmm.

I am just going to limp (feet/legs=not happy) off to bed now, and hope that I can skip the weird dreams tonight.

back on the horse, saddle sores and all

I made the decision to get back into some kind of physical fitness program and I have. This week, I re-entered the world of the gym in a big way. Right now my upper body is so sore that I am unable to unhook my own bra. Good thing I have an enthusiastic helper handy.

On Tuesday, when the hell of the vacation with Jackie was about to be over (I was a mere hour from seeing Dr. Good), I was at the Y for Josh's sports and games class. I hopped onto the arc trainer for 22 minutes, Jackie and all, and that was tough. Man, that arc trainer is a beast! On Wednesday I met with the new trainer, who is a woman for a change. I think I am going to like her, not because she is a woman but because she is willing to tell me what to do every day for exercise and right now I need someone bossy like that. Also, she is a very clean eater, and she is nudging me towards healthier eating too. I need that kind of nudging in my life. I am trying to decide on a blog name for her and need something that portrays her utter perkiness and cheerleader chipper attitude. Hmmm... Maybe Bubbles after Bubbles of Powerpuff Girl fame. The name fits more than the personality profile of the actual Bubbles does, but I can't see calling her Blossom. So , Bubbles it is.

I met with Bubbles on Wednesday and I was determined to have a good workout and I most definitely did not want to admit that in the over two months of total inactivity I had lost any strength. I may have (okay, the truth is I totally showed off like a man) pushed myself a bit, cause , ooow, the soreness factor. While Bubbles didn't make me kill my quads, they are merely tender sore, which is nice since I do live in a home with stairs and do find myself having to run up and down those stairs way more than any organized person would, the inner thighs, triceps and pecs though, Ooow, more.

On Thursday I managed to squeeze in a trip to the posh gym for 30 minutes of eliptical, and then today, since I must have been having some delusions of grandeur or something, (or maybe I was just channeling some kind of Glory attitude, because this would have been a slow day for her) I swam for 30 minutes during Josh's swim class at the Y and later went to the posh gym for 30 minutes of eliptical followed by a close approximation of the workout Bubbles gave me on Wednesday.

God lord, I can not tell you how tired I am. Have I mentioned the steam roller that passed over me today?

I am not used to this people, although I have to say, it is great to be back. Now I have to focus on the bad diet I have managed to work my back into. Why must I be so black and white about everything? I have to get off all the junk AGAIN, but I'll do it. I am trying to channel all this annoyance at myself into some more positive energy, not an easy thing to do right now. I wish I had someone who could just slap the back of my head before I did stupid things, like eat a pint of ice cream.

I was doing the squats part of Bubbles workout today using a bar with 40 pounds on it, and caught a glimpse of my profile in the mirror. Before I realized it was me I was seeing, I noted some grace hiding under the fat of the women I thought was the other fat chick doing the squats. I need to uncover that girl, she is who I think I am , which is why mirrors and photographs are always so shocking. I am going to find her, I knew her once and it is time for her to come back.

vacation finale

It's the last day of the kids vacation, all three of them have this extraordinary boogery cold and cough, and it is pouring rain out there. It's a good thing we were so busy the first half of the vacation, otherwise, they would have been home bound for the entire 10 days. At this point I am not even 100% sure I am sending Josh back in to school tomorrow, he did have a 10 minute coughing jag upon waking that was something I could have lived with out. Now I know why my freaky mother used to say "I feel your pain."

I am sad, frustrated and down right depressed to tell you that just when I thought Jackie was losing strength she was just hiding in the corner lifting weights. I first noticed some swelling yesterday afternoon and then found myself running full speed to the useless pain killers in the medicine cabinet by the time to order dinner came around. (Uh, I can't cook and paint a mural at the same time) Jackie seized up all evening, during my New Years Eve showing of The Last Kiss, (And by the way, I would have totally kicked Zach Braff to the curb for even thinking of talking to that ho) She made it impossible for me to enjoy the formidably priced champagne that the husband brought home. sigh.

Jackie has become my Glenn Close (in Fatal Attraction.) I had one brief fling with the oral surgeon, it lasted less than an hour, and now Jackie just will not take no for an answer. She is disrupting my life, threatening my marriage (read: no nooky) and even taking my kids for a roller coaster ride (one could say I have been up and down with them the past two weeks). I keep looking around, like she is going to come out of no where wielding a knife (or knitting needle) and threatening my existence. Really I wanted to get tipsy and lucky to ring in the New Year, neither of which seemed in the least appealing while clutching a hot microwaved herbal heat wrap to my throbbing mouth while rocking back and forth crying real tears of defeat and surrender. If I could give up I would, but what can I do? Have my face removed? Who will be my Anne Archer? I'd take the world's longest bath if I thought I could drown the bitch. I wonder if I ask the regular doctor of there is some kind of injection that can paralyze a nerve temporarily. I could botox my face, and then talk like I just left the dentist for 6 months. Imagine what a sight to behold I would be if I couldn't lift my eye brows or move the right side of my mouth? How attractive would that be?

I never make New Year's resolutions, but this year I am going to make two. As if I weren't typical enough, the first resolution is to undertake what ever exercise program the new trainer I am testing out at the posh club says I should. She is planning on setting me up with a whole schedule, and I am determined to stick with it. She has never had a weight problem (except for baby weight that she immediately shed after birth-I don't count easily lost pregnancy weight as legitimate, no matter how hard your skinny ass is trying to sympathize with me) but knows what to do to avoid a weight problem. She claims to have two fat sisters and fat potential herself. I don't see that in her, but am willing to do what she says anyway.

I wanted to run in the triathlon last year, and I didn't, but now I want to run in it even more. Every time I see a woman running down the street I seethe with jealousy and want to be able to do what she can do. If I run instead of mostly walk this year, I'll cut 10 more minutes off of my time, and then my time would be completely awesome. I might have to get this trainer to work with me several times a week to start out, but I can do that. This is going to be the winter I get stronger than ever.

The other one of my run of the mill resolutions is going back on a diet, except, Dr. Phil said I have to be specific, so the diet I am going to do is going to follow is the FAA diet. I can recite it in my sleep, now I just have to follow it when I am awake. One big difference is that this time I am going to actually measure my food. I even have plans to buy a food scale until I get the feel for normal portions. It is low carb, high protein, and has worked for me in the past. I might even consider attending the FAA meetings. The stupid thing that turned me off to the meetings was one woman who said the same thing every week. Every single week without exception ever she said "I had a terrible week, I wasn't gonna come, but now I am glad I am here." and I waited for this woman to have a good week, or even a fair week, or any week that wasn't terrible, but it never happened even once, and I wanted to slap her in the face. I guess I am just not programmed to think that way. Maybe she moved.

The kids go back to school tomorrow, and no one is less happy about it than I am. The last thing I want to do tomorrow is wake up early to prepare their food and drag their whining butts out of bed. Bah.

blue

I am sitting around feeling pretty annoyed with myself tonight. I have gained back a lot of the weight I lost. Last June, I began the whole binge eating cycle again and now I have out grown all the new clothes I exercised and dieted so hard to be small enough to fit into last winter. Lately I have been barely squeezing into the two pairs of jeans I comfortably wore all last spring. They are so tight that I have to lie down to zip in the morning before they stretch out, and they look like skinny jeans, except you kind of have to be skinny to wear skinny jeans, and also hopefully less than 20ish, and not a fat middle aged housewife from the suburbs. My jeans are tight all the way down to the knees. It isn't working for me. Also, when the bottom jelly roll is squeezed so tight there is a movement of mass upwards, causing my top jelly roll to spill out over the waistband of the too tight jeans, it isn't pretty. And all my new not tent like shirts are not the shirts one would wear for masking the belly bulge. It was all to much to take, so today I dragged myself to the store and bought some black jeans in a size up and also some black belly masking sweaters. I'll be doing a Wayne Newton imitation every day for a while. I wish black clothes could make me invisible.

I did finally make it back to the gym on Tuesday and Wednesday, and I thought I'd be proud to tell you that I climbed onto the arc trainer and got my heart rate up to the numbers where the physical trainer said I should get it, but then today the chiro told me that it was too high for me and I would be in an "anaerobic" state and I should take it down a notch to an aerobic (fat burning) state. Frustrating. I don't know what to think. I mean, hey, if I am going to exercise I want to do it right. Now I have no idea what right is. I went back to pilates on Wednesday, except my regular instructor got someone else for my time slot in the two months I wasn't there so I had to work with a new instructor. I think I might like the new instructor even better than the old one, she had me working harder and didn't make me watch her demonstrate the moves as much. I am happy to say that I didn't lose all my pilates gains in the last two months of inactivity. I was nervous about that.

Part of me looks at this long journey back to health I have a head of me and wants to crawl into a hole and disappear. Part of me wants to jump up this second and take control of my life, and yet another part of me wants to just keep on pretending that everything is status quo and keep procrastinating forever, like I have already been doing for so long, and assure myself I'll do it in the New Year, or later, or Monday, or after what ever is around the next corner. Today I feel overwhelmed and I feel like giving up.

soothing thoughts on diet and triathlons

What I did this week to prepare for the triathlon:

Monday: treadmill for 1.5 miles, pilates (pilates doesn't count, but I can touch my toes for the first time in a long while woo hoo!)
Tuesday: 4 mile high speed walk with the devil dog
Wednesday: 3 miles on the treadmill, pilates

What I haven't done this week to prepare for the triathlon:

Swim
Bike
Run

Do we see a pattern here? Yes we do. A pattern that says over the winter I got very comfortable doing laps in the swampy Y pool and I really love the 15 mile loop around the real swamp I ride at home. Tomorrow I am going to swim and bike. I have made a promise to myself. I did have a break through in swimming. I figured out how to breathe better. I did swim just a little today, but Josh was with me and well, you can guess how impossible that would be.

Actually, on Tuesday, as I was walking along, I was talking to myself, and I realized a few things. I realized that whenever I say "I can lose XX pounds by XX day." I never do. So, I started to think about it and I realized that in order to keep myself eating well and motivated I need to focus on the present day and not even think about the future. It's all a very 12 step, one day at a time attitude. And this day by day attitude is what has kept me successful every other time I took control of my eating, and I think it can help me regain control now. As I gazed at everything I couldn't eat yesterday, I just told myself "Not today." Today I did the same thing todayand it just didn't seem so overwhelming. "Not today" seems so much more doable than "Never again".

Another thing that occurred to me during this walk was that last summer when I was doing so well, and food was barely an issue, I did little things to make myself feel good. Like using moisturizer on my legs and arms after a shower. Then I realized that this little tender gesture comes in and out of my life. When I am moisturizing I am in control. When I am dry and flaky I am spinning in the wrong direction. When I got out of the shower this afternoon-you know what comes next- I moisturized.

And about the running: It ain't going to happen. I thought that it would be so nice to run and be faster and not have to walk like the out of shape participants, but truthfully, I don't think I can run while this heavy. I think my ankles and knees are just waiting to self-destruct and I can't let that happen before the tri. I will just walk, my skinny babe Kitten is walking and that makes me feel better. I will concentrate on taking fast long strides instead of running. OK, maybe I'll run for a minute or two here and there during the tri, just for giggles, but I won't be running the whole thing. I'm good with that.

Like last year, I am doing the tri just to cross that finish line. I'm not trying to beat anyone or even myself. I know I am healthier and stronger than I was a year ago, and if I am faster, that is nice, but not necessary.

bad tires, good jeans, new diet

I went to a spin class this morning and had every intention of doing that and then running on the treadmil to fufill my couch to 5k training. I had to stop doing the spin class though because I have this weird sharp pain in the back of my ankle that I first noticed last Monday while attempting to run a little, and only notice while running and now spinning. (I didn't notice it on my bike yesterday because I don't stand on my bike like I do in spin class) I did 30 minutes of spin and then some of what I could remember from pilates mat class up at the island. It wasn't the same without the instructors soothing voice and hypnotic counting. I did do a fair amount though, at least I kept on sweating so I knew some part of me was still working.

That was my less than stellar workout for the day. Tomorrow I will go to pilates in the AM and then to see my grandma for the day. In the evening I'll go to my regular chiropractor. Hopefuly he will tell me the ankle is nothing serious. Then I'll come home and jump on the treadmil in our house. Did I mention that I managed to blow out a tire on the trip back here from the island? So if I want to go for a ride I'll have to stop at the bike store first. I don't need this!! I was hoping that my legs and my equipment would hold together long enough to get me through the triathlon. I feel like once things start falling apart it could all become a slippery slope. I am very worried.

On a more positive note, I went to the mall with one of my babes to get a gift for B, who is turning 40 this week. Happy Birthday B!! What a special birthday it is. Whew- after all that B went through this past year with all 3 surgeries. What a trooper, let me tell you people, if you ever get sick, get some tips from B, that woman can handle herself. We got B a little something, and then I stopped by a store to see if I could get something new to wear to B's party. The pants are size 14 (women's). Now, I know companies are making sizes bigger because we American's want to wear a smaller number no matter what we weigh, but, um, come on! I wore a size 14 when I weighed 50 pounds less than I do today, before I had kids. If I ever get my weight down that low again I might just wear a size 2!! HAHAHAHA. I can't wait. Well, I have to admit that these size 14's are very much the form fitting pants, so I will be using the knowledge that I will have to not only wear them but keep them closed at the waist for an entire evening on Friday, to motivate me into closing the door on this month long candy binge, during which I didn't gain as much weight as I feared (okay, time for honesty- I gained 10 pounds) but more clearly I gained than enough.

Goodbye carbs (again) (and hopefully belly fat). I am making an effort to be honest here no matter how I do. I haven't eaten a thing since trying on the painted on jeans. Tomorrow- hello protein, hello veggies.

triathlon countdown-getting real. Whoopy.

Feeling pathetic today.

According to the Danskin website there are 55 days left until race day.

That's one day less than 8 weeks.

Yup, 7 weeks, 6 days left, and I just don't feel what I felt last year.

Thrill of the challenge? Nope. Passion for training? Nope. Desire for change? Fear? Nope.

Maybe it is my hormones talking here, because I am in the throws of a nasty PMS (Don't look at me! Don't touch me! Why are you smiling???), or maybe it is my crappy eating for THE LAST MONTH, yes, the last month. I got on that boat in Alaska, took one look at all the baskets of candy and threw in the towel. I haven't been able to get back in the saddle for more than a couple of days straight. Shame on me, I only tell you how I am doing when I am doing great. When I am a mess, I just leave that part out. Yup, folks, clickmom is a dietary mess. It's binge, binge, binge here. I am afraid to know how much I have gained over the past month, and am sure the news is bad, very bad. I do not have a scale up here at the island, so I can't say for sure, but all my new crisp shorts are folded nicely in the drawer while the two pair of cheap stretchy elastic all cotton Old Navy comfy shorts- they see action every day. Evan said my legs are getting fat, which is weird, cause I would have pegged chins and stomach first, but well, I asked him so I guess I can't argue with the answer.

Another triathlon related happening that is zapping my enthusiasm is that Peanut has rallied a huge chunk of our town into doing this tri, and there are so many folks doing it that it doesn't feel special and private and all about our babes anymore. It was such a nice cozy group thing last year and now it is all organized- stepford wife -type A personality- over zealots- thing. I dunno. I guess I just liked the small private component of it. sigh. bah hum bug.

One thing I really really wanted to do this time around was to run instead of walk the triathlon. I am reading this book, which I so wish I had last year before my first triathlon, and the author (How much do I love anyone who would seemingly title a book after me?) recommended a web site. I am going to do this program which should get me at least able to run close to the entire 5k distance (if my legs/knees/ankles hold out) in 7 weeks and 6 days. I am starting tomorrow. I tried to do some running a couple of times, but I don't know what I am doing and without the guidelines I just give up. I need a program, not just a goal. I am wondering if running on a treadmil at the gym counts as much as running outside. I prefer the anonymity of the gym workout. But, I think I'll just do it outside because that is where the tri is. I wish I could be invisible when running. Today my massive bosom was stared at by a young driver. The PMS kicked in and I got runners rage over it. Couldn't do anything though, in the game of car vs me, car wins so I just plodded onwards.

My new training schedule for the rest of the summer is going to look like this:

Mon, Wed & Fri: Running followed by pilates. (Technically the pilates is obviously not necessary for a triathlon, but i really want to be able to do sit ups with grace and style)
Tues & Thursdays: Swimming and biking.
Sat: choice. Sunday- relax.

Today I ran/walked and did pilates, but my head wasn't into it and I was lazy. I only stayed on the treadmil for 1 1/2 miles, and was lazy in Pilates class. Like I said: attitude in need of adjustment.

Eventually I'll have to start fooling around with the bricking (doing two sports back to back to simulate the actual triathlon) but for right now, I just need to up the training output. The tough bricking is going from the bike to the run. It is a whole different set of leg muscles in use and it feels so wierd to switch. Maybe I'll even do another fake tri here in mid August. The one I did last year was so exciting. I need to boost my enthusiasm some how. I wonder if I can get a babe to do it with me. Hmmm...

I can't decide if I should straight swim or use the paddles, which make it harder, that is good for building muscle, but the paddles move me faster too, so I can do the entire length in less time. I think as a compromise I'll use the paddles, but swim farther so that I am swimming for the amount of time I'll be swimming for during the triathlon. Then I will hopefully have plenty of energy left after the swim at the triathlon.

I promised the kids a campfire and some s'mores tonight, so I guess I'll drag my fat butt down to the fire pit and get things
started. inhale. exhale.

South Beach day 16-or day 2 phase two

Well, Jen (Thank you Jen!) noticed that I kind of overlooked yesterday being Weigh Day. Yeah, I did that on purpose because well, see there was a bag of cashews on the counter all week, and suddenly the fridge was filled with cheese that SOMEBODY had to eat, and then I had that frustrating dinner, and I found my old emotional standby ice cream in the freezer, and well, my total weight loss for week two was, um, 0. Bringing my total weight loss for all 14 days of South Beach hell... still consistant at 5 maybe 6 pounds. The good news is that I see clearly the err of my ways and am now acutely aware of all the high fat snacking I seem to manage and well, I am still eating everything on the diet (And if you should try this diet I advise you to skip the turkey meatloaf on day 2 of phase two. Ick.) well everything on the diet and a little more. Somehow though, I can lose inches without losing a pound, and the jeans I rediscovered last week have a bit more room in them today than they did last week. Weird Huh? I even washed them between wearings so it isn't that they are all stretched out. Must be all the exercise, but eventually, I know the poundage has to go. My pilates instructor guessed that I had lost 20 pounds since I started with her and I had to tell her that I hadn't lost a thing. Weird again.

Eating fruit was wonderful, even better than the ice cream. I just have to get in the right frame of mind again and follow the diet to the letter. I know if I did I would be successful.

South Beach Day 12

Enthusiasm=0

Fish for dinner.

i . can't . do . it.

Want fruit.

Any fruit.

All fruit.

~sob~, 2 more days.

South Beach Day 10

I could go broke buying steak for the family on this diet.

There is one thing that is getting to me today, it is the aspara-pee. I can handle the asparagus, but the aspara-pee is too much, especially when I have to wake up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom because this diet makes it impossible to retain water. One whiff of that odiferous liquid and I am up. Not a good thing at 3AM.

Also, I have cheated. The earth did not come screeching to a halt, but I feel guilty. Don't laugh when I tell what I have cheated on. First I bought some sugarless gum, this is serious, I could be a 2 or three packer a day, a value pack that is. Once I get started on the stuff I just can't stop. Now I have to go cold turkey on the gum tomorrow. Yesterday I had a couple of handfuls of raw cashews. Not yum, which is why I probably didn't eat the whole bag. Today I had some -gasp- string cheese. And not the 1 ounce portion they let you have for a snack, I had some serious string cheese. I also absent mindedly picked a huckle berry off the huckle berry tree and popped it into my mouth. I know, I know I am going to hell, fat hell, where I will stay forever. Tomorrow I am going on the straight and narrow. Tomorrow I am following by the letter, I will, I know I can.

South Beach Day 7

I felt really crappy last night, I went to bed early with thermal underwear on and woke up an hour later with freezing toes, and an hour after that with freezing toes again. I wondered why I was so cold and hoped I wasn't going to wake up with a fever.

I wanted to go bike riding with a couple of babes this morning and left the house with every intention to do so. I wasn't awake enough to evaluate how I felt before I actually left the house. I even got to our meeting spot early and rode for a couple of miles to warm up for our ride, since I find that after a couple of miles it all gets warmer and easier for me. It was not meant to be. I still felt crappy, and once on the road I was lagging far behind them, and didn't have the energy to give myself a little push. (If only the spin teacher could be stitting on my shoulder shouting at me I am sure I could go much faster) So, after a couple of miles with them, I quit and u-turned for home. I was glad they had each other, I was getting hung up on slowing them down, and I was freaking out because our usual route is being paved and I am really bad at trying new things, especially when I wasn't feeling well and beginning to obsess about hills that I am not familiar with blah blah blah, I only biked 6 miles instead of 15.

I entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast and today's breakfast was a freaking frittatta. Give me a break, I am making breakfast for 5 picky eaters with assorted food allergies, there is no way I am making a freaking frittatta just for myself. So I took care of everyone else, used the frittatta ingredients and made scrambled eggs with them. Jeez, do those diet people want me to live in the kitchen or what? I mean it is day 7, which I am quite sure is a Sunday in 99% of dieters households since every one knows the diet starts on Monday, so we should all spend half the weekend preparing extra torturous laborious meals for ourselves? I don't think so.

Now I feel guilty cause when one of my babes said she told her husband she couldn't take all the chopping and food preparation to prepare this diet's food for him, I suggested that maybe she didn't like cooking. Now I am ready to stab the author. Who has all these fresh herbs lying around the kitchen? And sundried tomaatoes? And vegetables, if I ate all these vegetables to begin with I never could have gotten so fat, cause there isn't room for anything else.

After breakfast I grabbed the kids and headed to the city to visit my grandma. We had the usual visit, out to lunch and a quicky in the playground, and came home. I could barely keep my eyes open on the way home and had to do things like slap my own cheeks and make my left leg tap out th