clickmom

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.