tri update: regrets part 1

I have to get some regrets off my chest, apologize, and move on right now.  I've got to do this so I can let go, get up again, and scurry on my merry way. 

First of all, I regret that my last blog post was 2 months ago.  I've not felt like talking much about training, I just felt like doing it and feeling it.  I've not felt like talking much about Weight Watchers, I've been falling off and fall back onto plan for a while and subsequently I weight exactly the same as I did 8 weeks ago.  I'm still down a total of 25 pounds, but that's not saying much.  I've not felt like talking much about my personal life, but I think it's time to open up a bit about it.  Apology made, now let's talk. 

Triathalong training has flown by.  Literally.  It just went WHOOSHHHHHH!  Then, it was gone. 

I can start by saying my brick experiences have been such a hard thing for me to accomplish, and they are far more rewarding than I could have ever imagined.  If you don't know, a brick workout is any workout where you combine two or more disciplines, such as a bike ride and a run or a swim and a bike ride. I did about 8 bricks over the course of 8 weeks, even doing two in one weekend!  Of those 8 brick workouts, 3 of them were done with my amazing friend, Amanda. 

Let me pause here and say I have amazing friends and family, Amanda being one of them.  Each of my friends and family has supported me through all of this, asking me how I was doing or simply taking a moment to say (or send me a text message) how proud of me they are.  Words and tears simply cannot explain how amazing this makes me feel, and I have to pause and say thank you to all of you. 

So back to bricks, we rode several times between 10 and 12 miles and then followed up with runs that were usually between 2 and 3 miles.  I.  Was.  Exhausted.  Thank the good Lord above that Amanda is a pretty awesome runner and an even better teacher and running coach.  She taught me to relax my shoulders, find good music, set attainable goals, and stop balling up my fists.  Those teeny tiny lessons have expanded running from something that I loathed into something that I tolerated, and more recently even something that I enjoyed completing. 

There, I said it.  I enjoy finishing a run.  I don't consider myself a runner in any sense of the word, but finishing up 2.5 miles during a sunrise with P!NK blasting in my ear buds has become a bit cathartic for me, and it's helped ease my anxiety a whole helluva lot lately. 

That being said, I regret not doing more brick workouts. 

I also have one more moment I regret.  About 8 weeks ago, I went down to ride with Amanda near Tom's Farm in Corona.  It was my first time riding there, and she warned me about a couple of hills.  I think I let myself get caught up in the warning and on the second to the last hill, I gave up, hopped off my bike and walked it.  Two words come to my mind as I type this: chicken and sh*t.  I regret hopping off my bike.  To this day I'm mad about it, but luckily I was mad enough that two weeks later I sent her a text message that said "I want a re-match with that hill." 

Needless to say, I did not walk my bike up the hill.  I huffed and I puffed and I blew that hill down, well, not really but you get the picture.  I wasn't speedy, I wasn't graceful, and I certainly wasn't lady like about it.  I said bad words, and even Amanda said I could call her names if I wanted to, as long as I was up at the top of the hill when I did it.  That is a moment I do not regret.  I'm grateful for that ride, and the 2.5 mile run that we did afterwards.  In that moment, I felt like I might actually be ready to do a triathalon. 

Before I sign off after this rambling story, I need to tell you that if you're reading this, you need to go read my friend Mae's blog.  She's getting an awesome opportunity to head to NYC and do a photo shoot at Weight Watchers because she is the epitome of a "Success Story" and they finally realized how amazing she is. 

Seriously, go read it.  Fall in love with Mae.  Wish you could snuggle with her awesome Boxer, Bowie.  Then thank me later. 

the "F" word

No, not that one!  Get your mind out of the no-no's. 

I'm talking about the word forgiveness.  I struggle with forgiving myself and moving on.  I struggle with it a lot. 

I can forgive just about anyone in my life for any harm or hurt that they've caused me, but I simply can not forgive myself for a single thing.  I think this is a very hard post for me to write, because it is an admission of a large problem in my life.  I am harder on myself than anyone else is. 

I have been this way forever.  As long as I can remember, I have always been extremely hard on myself.  In elementary school, I received a "B" on a test and I actually began crying and hyperventilating.  I had such a problem breathing that they actually had to call my mother to come take me to the doctor, where I was given medicine to calm me down.  I was sedated for getting a "B." 

This behavior continued as I got older.  When I was offered the opportunity to accelerate into a grade higher than I was in, I took it.  My parents didn't make me, I did it by choice.  I went from the fourth grade one year, into the sixth grade the next year. 

In junior high school, I was offered the opportunity to begin taking my high school level math classes, and I took it.  Not only that, I began working as an after school tutor in these math classes.  I was supposed to be in the seventh grade, but I was in the eighth grade, and I was tutoring people in the eleventh grade.  Yah, it was really odd.  I was an odd child. 

I won't get into all of the social ramifications of my decisions, such as being a seventeen year old college freshman in a world of fraternity parties and crazy behavior.  I'll simply tell you that it had some extremely awkward moments, and I survived them. 

Eventually, in college I learned to slow down.  Instead of graduating in four years and being a twenty year old with a college degree, I slowed down.  I worked on campus, I took classes that were fun and had nothing to do with my major, and instead of graduating at twenty one years old, I took an extra quarter of fun classes and graduated at twenty two years old like a normal person. 

Now, I see this behavior slowly start to creep up on me again.  I'm negatively pressuring myself, and I need to stop. 

If I have a bad meal, I feel helpless and anxious.  I do one of two things: I stop eating for the day or I go off the deep end and binge.  Neither of these are healthy behaviors, and it is through tracking everything that I've come to discover that I'm doing this. 

If I have a bad couple of days, I feel myself slipping into a sort of anxious depression.  "What is the scale going to say?"  "Why don't I skip my weigh in this week?"  "What is wrong with me?" 

After a couple of weeks in a plateau, all hell breaks loose in my head and I find myself (figuratively) beating myself up.  I start depriving myself of things because I think that is the reason that I've not been losing weight.  Then after a few days of deprivation, I rebel and I eat way too much. 

Lately, I've been working really hard to forgive myself.  I'm not going make it through this journey if I don't learn how to do it.  I need to allow myself a bad meal, forgive myself and move on.  I need to be alright with the fact that I might have a few days of a "hearty appetite" and simply track it and get over it.  I need to see a plateau for what it is: temporary.

This is what I'm trying to do, this is my daily struggle.  I'm not fighting the scale.  I'm not beating up the food.  I'm not battling exercise.  My own dilemna is within my own head. 

And that, my friends, is what sucks the most. 

math lesson: greater than and less than

My mentality about food is finally changing. 

My attitude towards activity has actually been modified. 

I am becoming more aware of what I need to do in order to get what I want. 

This is how my mind works:

1.  I begin by being presented with a problem. 

Boneless buffalo wings are always a problem. 

2.  I let the problem consume me until eventually I consume it. 

Except that was the old me. 

3.  Before I consume the problem in order to destroy it so that it stops taunting me, I ask myself what is greater than my problem. 

I have come up with several interesting answers. 

If I have activity points for the week, then I make the ultimate decision that The buffalo wings are less than my activity points earned, therefore I can consume them.   

If I do not have any activity points or I know that I am not going to be doing any activity in the near future then my decision sounds more like The buffalo wings are greater than my activity points earned, therefore I am going to have to wait until I get my ass to the gym before I can cosume a buffalo wing. 

If I really am at fork in the road, and I haven't had a buffalo wing in a very long time and I don't think I can get my hands on one for a while after this occassion, then I ask myself a very important question.  Is my desire for that buffalo wing greater than my desire to healthy/skinny/lighter/etc? 

The answer is usually no. 

I want to be healthier. 

I want to weigh less. 

I want to feel better. 

Most of the time, a buffalo wing isn't going to get me to any of those feelings. 

Don't get me wrong, there are moments in my life when that buffalo wing is essential to my survival.  I don't know how or why it happens, but every now and then my "swapportunity" just isn't a viable option and I don't want a grilled chicken breast with hot sauce.  Sometimes, I make myself try every other healthy alternative over several days, until I finally decide that the fat little devil on my shoulder just will not shut up until I give her a damn buffalo wing. 

So I feed the urge, track the points and move on. 

I leave the guilt on the hot sauce soaked napkin.  

I forgive myself. 

I move on.