Honesty.
Not so much fun.
Especially when it has to do with me. And my weight. And my discipline. Or the lack thereof.
Last year I lost thirty pounds, which was a wonderful and rewarding thing to do.
And for about fifteen minutes during that period of time, I actually dropped down to a size ten, from a size fourteen! Which was also wonderful and rewarding.
Unfortunately, my "ten-ness" was severely compromised by the arrival of Christmas. It's hard to maintain any consistent smallness when Christmas concoctions and fabulous fudge start showing up regularly in the vicinity of one's person.
So I went pretty quickly back up to a size twelve which I was really okay with. I'd rather be a size twelve and be happy than struggle and starve and be miserable trying to be a size ten.
And I've done really well maintaining that weight for almost a whole year, an accomplishment which I am quite proud of.
However, a few weeks ago I started getting just a wee bit lackadaisical about going to the gym because, as I whined to myself, going to the gym just wasn't fun. (Pitiful, I know.)
And then we traveled out of town to Nag's Head and Manteo and and I ate a lot of yummy beach food while we were there.
From the beach, I left almost immediately for Wisconsin to be at my Dad's side as he passed away and to attend his funeral. And I ate a lot of yummy "family gathering" food while I was there.
And then we flew home and we were in three airports and I ate a lot of yummy airport food while I was there.
And then? Well, then I got home and a fabulous, famous food group called Comfort Carbs and Calories started calling my name. And so I've been heating a lot of yummy comfort foods while I've been here.
And you've probably already guessed the rest of the story.
The rest of the story is that a few pounds have come back for a visit. In fact, earlier this week I was getting dressed and I thought, "Wow! These pants have really shrunk in the dryer."
Except of course, the pants hadn't shrunk. The problem was that I had shrunk earlier in the year and then unfortunately neglected to do any unshrinking.
And so yesterday I somberly headed out to Goodwill to purchase a couple pair of slightly roomier carpi's to get me through this temporary unshrunken state.
Not so fun.
Something else that wasn't so fun was going to the gym on Tuesday for the first time in a month.
I sat down on that little torture machine which is supposed to work the inner and outer thighs. (Not that my inner and outer thighs need any work, mind you.) I did one little 'ol rep and stopped dead in my tracks. I looked at the weights to make sure they were set at the lowest weight possible.
They were.
Then I looked to see if anyone had hung an additional weight on the machine, which people do sometimes do when they need a "half way" setting between two weight choices.
They hadn't.
I sat there and pondered some unhappy ponderments.
A month ago, I could do fifteen reps at that low weight and now I could barely do five?
Not a good thing.
I also made a heroic attempt to do my pre-treadmill stretches which was really pretty funny, in a nonfunny sort of way. The stretches I used to do fairly easily in the past were now throwing me into great contortions of flinging and flailing. There was not one part of my body that was willing to bend, flex, or stretch, no matter how nicely I asked.
After I had spent a mere five minutes on the treadmill, going at a pace that very closely resembled the torpidity of a turtle, I felt like I was going to fall over, pass out, and/or have a nonfit fitness fit, right there in front of everybody.
And the day following my pitiful, mini non-workout? I felt woefully weak and wobbly all over, as if I had just complete the world's most difficult Triathlon after having climbed Mt. Everest.
And yet as hard as it is to work out at the gym, I do know that staying home and eating Little Debbie's is obviously not a solution. (Although I think that somewhere in a more perfect world, it really SHOULD be a solution.)
I told Steve how discouraging it was and he said to look at it another way. He said, "At least you know that when you exercise it makes a difference, because you can tell such a big difference when you don't!"
Which is true. But I still don't feel terribly encouraged.
I just mainly feel terrible.
I'm still dealing with Dad's death, still bursting into tears for no reason whatsoever, still longing for my pj's, still hankering after creamy, comforting carbs and yet STILL trying desperately to get a grip on stuff so that poor choices don't completely short circuit whatever good health I have remaining. With major inflexibility issues, muscle weakness, and lung disease, I really do need to stay as fit as I possibly can.
Of course, in addition to those aforementioned challenges, I have a huge life change coming up that will affect where I live, what friends I have, what friends Sarah will have, what house I will live in, my husband's ministry and career, our finances, and just about anything else you can imagine. (Not to mention the wonderful challenge of homeschooling my lovely daughter.)
Obviously, there's been a lot on my plate recently. Um. Both figuratively and literally.
So that's my confession for the day. I've lost muscle tone. I've lost strength. I've lost flexibility.
However, if we want to instead focus on what I have found, then I will tell you that I have found six pounds. Yup! I just turned around and there they were!
If any of you reading this morose missive today should have any words of wisdom, or encouragement, or cheer--or even a recipe for a low cal item of comfort-- I would be most grateful.
Not so much fun.
Especially when it has to do with me. And my weight. And my discipline. Or the lack thereof.
Last year I lost thirty pounds, which was a wonderful and rewarding thing to do.
And for about fifteen minutes during that period of time, I actually dropped down to a size ten, from a size fourteen! Which was also wonderful and rewarding.
Unfortunately, my "ten-ness" was severely compromised by the arrival of Christmas. It's hard to maintain any consistent smallness when Christmas concoctions and fabulous fudge start showing up regularly in the vicinity of one's person.
So I went pretty quickly back up to a size twelve which I was really okay with. I'd rather be a size twelve and be happy than struggle and starve and be miserable trying to be a size ten.
And I've done really well maintaining that weight for almost a whole year, an accomplishment which I am quite proud of.
However, a few weeks ago I started getting just a wee bit lackadaisical about going to the gym because, as I whined to myself, going to the gym just wasn't fun. (Pitiful, I know.)
And then we traveled out of town to Nag's Head and Manteo and and I ate a lot of yummy beach food while we were there.
From the beach, I left almost immediately for Wisconsin to be at my Dad's side as he passed away and to attend his funeral. And I ate a lot of yummy "family gathering" food while I was there.
And then we flew home and we were in three airports and I ate a lot of yummy airport food while I was there.
And then? Well, then I got home and a fabulous, famous food group called Comfort Carbs and Calories started calling my name. And so I've been heating a lot of yummy comfort foods while I've been here.
And you've probably already guessed the rest of the story.
The rest of the story is that a few pounds have come back for a visit. In fact, earlier this week I was getting dressed and I thought, "Wow! These pants have really shrunk in the dryer."
Except of course, the pants hadn't shrunk. The problem was that I had shrunk earlier in the year and then unfortunately neglected to do any unshrinking.
And so yesterday I somberly headed out to Goodwill to purchase a couple pair of slightly roomier carpi's to get me through this temporary unshrunken state.
Not so fun.
Something else that wasn't so fun was going to the gym on Tuesday for the first time in a month.
I sat down on that little torture machine which is supposed to work the inner and outer thighs. (Not that my inner and outer thighs need any work, mind you.) I did one little 'ol rep and stopped dead in my tracks. I looked at the weights to make sure they were set at the lowest weight possible.
They were.
Then I looked to see if anyone had hung an additional weight on the machine, which people do sometimes do when they need a "half way" setting between two weight choices.
They hadn't.
I sat there and pondered some unhappy ponderments.
A month ago, I could do fifteen reps at that low weight and now I could barely do five?
Not a good thing.
I also made a heroic attempt to do my pre-treadmill stretches which was really pretty funny, in a nonfunny sort of way. The stretches I used to do fairly easily in the past were now throwing me into great contortions of flinging and flailing. There was not one part of my body that was willing to bend, flex, or stretch, no matter how nicely I asked.
After I had spent a mere five minutes on the treadmill, going at a pace that very closely resembled the torpidity of a turtle, I felt like I was going to fall over, pass out, and/or have a nonfit fitness fit, right there in front of everybody.
And the day following my pitiful, mini non-workout? I felt woefully weak and wobbly all over, as if I had just complete the world's most difficult Triathlon after having climbed Mt. Everest.
And yet as hard as it is to work out at the gym, I do know that staying home and eating Little Debbie's is obviously not a solution. (Although I think that somewhere in a more perfect world, it really SHOULD be a solution.)
I told Steve how discouraging it was and he said to look at it another way. He said, "At least you know that when you exercise it makes a difference, because you can tell such a big difference when you don't!"
Which is true. But I still don't feel terribly encouraged.
I just mainly feel terrible.
I'm still dealing with Dad's death, still bursting into tears for no reason whatsoever, still longing for my pj's, still hankering after creamy, comforting carbs and yet STILL trying desperately to get a grip on stuff so that poor choices don't completely short circuit whatever good health I have remaining. With major inflexibility issues, muscle weakness, and lung disease, I really do need to stay as fit as I possibly can.
Of course, in addition to those aforementioned challenges, I have a huge life change coming up that will affect where I live, what friends I have, what friends Sarah will have, what house I will live in, my husband's ministry and career, our finances, and just about anything else you can imagine. (Not to mention the wonderful challenge of homeschooling my lovely daughter.)
Obviously, there's been a lot on my plate recently. Um. Both figuratively and literally.
So that's my confession for the day. I've lost muscle tone. I've lost strength. I've lost flexibility.
However, if we want to instead focus on what I have found, then I will tell you that I have found six pounds. Yup! I just turned around and there they were!
If any of you reading this morose missive today should have any words of wisdom, or encouragement, or cheer--or even a recipe for a low cal item of comfort-- I would be most grateful.
In the meantime, I shall take my torpid, turtle-esque self away and engage in some sort of terrific, torpid, turtle-esque activity. (Do turtles eat Little Debbie cakes?)
Posts
