weight just a minute!

Yah, my weights up. Way up!

Is it that obvious?

I can’t seem to make myself post about what’s been going on for the past two weeks in that department!

[I'll catch ya on the way down.]

[I seriously popped 95% fat-free popcorn last night and then grated a ton of sharp cheddar on top of it. I've never done that in my entire life! This morning my teeth are all fuzzy and thick and disgusting. I have gas and yes, I had to actually move the little metal thing on the scale over to the next groove.]

uuugggghhhhh! Here we go again!

sleep

The Life of an Overeating, Under-sleeping, Under-active, Middle aged,
Health-seeking Woman with a Need to Blog

I fall asleep almost every night on the couch. Depending on when I arouse, usually nine or ten o’clock, I make my way into the bedroom trying very hard to not wake myself all the way up. Or else I’ll lay in bed unable to fall back asleep.

It used to drive me nuts when my mom and dad fell asleep in their recliner chairs watching Lawrence Welk or Perry Mason. Later they watched Hawaii Five-Oh and Jeopardy. They laid there with crooked necks and mouths hanging wide open, a little line of drool just dropping off the bottom lip. I’d think, “Why don’t you just go to bed for Pete’s sake! You do this every single night. It can’t possibly be doing you any good. Go to bed and get some quality sleep.”

Now it’s me. I’ve grown into my parents! I pile up the couch pillows and get all comfy to watch NCIS reruns, fully intending to watch all the way through. But pretty quickly I hear a snort and startle myself back into awareness. I rewind NCIS to where I must have dozed off and get all comfy again, only to wake myself up fifteen or so minutes later. Some nights I go through this same scene three or four times before I decide I’m too tired to watch TV. On my way to bed I glance at the clock and mentally calculate how many hours I have til it’s time to get up for work. Let’s see, 10 to 4 a.m. is six hours. Crap. I should have gone to bed sooner!

It takes me a while to get the temperature right. I sleep with one foot out. I like to slide my foot around until I find a cool place. And I get up in the middle of the night to open the window, even though I can hear every single car and semi that passes by. The sand hill cranes and geese are really noisy right now too. We live across a dirt road from a river and a little pond where birds of all migratory practices seem to stop over on their way to various destinations, spring and fall.

I usually have to use the bathroom twice a night. I try not to wake up fully. The dogs bark several times through the night and Jack wants out as well. I’m pretty sure I don’t get many REM’s.

About two or three a.m. I start noticing the digital. I think, OK, I still have an hour or an hour and a half. Try, try to relax and fall asleep. Then I start blogging in my head! I have all sorts of long conversations about what I could possibly post. It is not restful! It is not sane. It is not practical. It is not healthy.

Researchers found that people who sleep two to four hours a night are 73% more likely to be obese than those who get seven to nine hours. Those who get five hours of sleep a night are 50% more likely to be obese than normal sleepers. Those who sleep six hours are 23% more likely to be obese.

And the researchers reported those who get 10 or more hours are 11 % less likely to be obese!

In a way, the latest findings seem counterintuitive because most people think that sleeping too much contributes to making people fat, but they found the opposite is true.

They believe that sleep-deprived people eat more because they are hungrier, they’re awake longer and may be temped by foods everywhere they go. They often consume far more calories than they burn in the extra hours they’re awake.

If I could just go to sleep at 7 p.m. every night this week in my own bed I can get off these last couple pounds! I could be in the group of people who get ten hours of sleep and are 11% less likely to be obese!

No better still, I will wire my mouth shut, and do sit ups while I watch NCIS. Then I’ll be actively burning calories, it will keep me awake so I can get through the show in the usual 22 minutes and not three hours of rewinding and starting it over. And I’ll get to bed by 8 or 8:30 so I can sleep a healthy eight hours before getting up at 4:30.

Sounds like a plan.

s.i.g.h.

me and the plastic

There’s been controversy raging for a long time as to whether or not addiction to food, alcohol, drugs or gambling is really a disease. Dr. Laura has long been an advocate of not calling “bad habits” and “bad choices” diseases. She lays out her arguments for her position, and while she doesn’t say it’s an easy choice, she believes that choice is the deciding factor on the road to recovery.

[I remember her once using the analogy that you wouldn't walk right up to a police officer and punch him in the nose, right? So you have access to self control. You would choose to not punch an officer of the law. So you can choose to not binge on any given substance or action. I often think of that example a few minutes after I have eaten something I didn't need or want.]

OK then.

I don’t feel like I have a disease! What a cop [I just saw this clever use of pun, given the previous paragraph] out that would be. But I do feel I have addictive behavior and an addictive personality. I guess. I think.

I don’t know.

Maybe I’m just some moron who uses food for too many things. I know I use it as a reward, as a celebration, but as a punishment and a coping strategy as well. I use it to manipulate and sabotage myself. I’m not happy about saying these things. I’d rather just use food for nourishment. And as along as I’m typing about druthers, I’d like to be able to feel when I’m actually physically hungry and I’d like to feel when I need to stop eating, too.

That would be perfect!

Two days in a row I have eaten healthy during the daytime and put in my retainer in the late afternoon. I can actually feel myself moving towards food. I look around on the cabinet [chocolate cake!!!] on the fridge [chips !!!] I open the fridge like I’m shopping for something. Look around, open drawers. Open cupboards. I see lots of things I don’t really want and I know aren’t the answer to good health, but then I grab something and just start eating it. I recognize that it isn’t even the answer to what I’m wanting. I’m wanting arms around me, or little voices saying, “Love you!’ or safety and security. I’m looking for warmth and comfort and acceptance and adoration and respect and peace and belonging and achievement. Yah, any of those would do the trick!

And food doesn’t give me any of that. I know that!

Food gives me heartburn, gas, fat, pimples, wrinkles, and mood swings. Food makes me belch. Food makes me think of food! Food makes me blog about food!

So for right now, the answer, again, is this little piece of plastic that I put in my mouth. I wish I were stronger and more committed to myself at this very moment. I would love that, but until then, sucking plastic and talking like this: Show would jew like stue wash a moofie with me? [So would you like to watch a movie with me?] is what it takes.

TODAY: I’ve eaten so dang healthy — even at the school cafeteria I passed on the nuggets. [I sometimes pretend it's a portion of protein but I actually realize it's a portion of deep fried fake food.] And when I got off work I had a whole avocado [now there's some healthy fat!] and an orange. I think I’ll scramble some eggs and have an egg/salsa thing all wrapped up in a spinach wrap. And that should be it for the day.

Not feeling satisfied, so I know there are some other things going on, but with Mr. Plastic I’m going to get through the night!

I’m so going to be 143 in the morning!

not actually sayin’

2 slices great harvest bread
4 cheese sticks
1 entire package of white cheese rice cakes
2 frozen coconut bars
2 frozen pomegranate bars
1 entire 86% cacoa bar [4 servings]

I’m not saying I actually ate that yesterday afternoon and evening. I just wanted to look at it in black and white. I want to walk around it and look it up and down and really think about how many calories, how many grams of fat and sugars, how many hours of processing must have gone in to the manufacturing of it all. I want to look at it objectively and see it for what it is. I want to analyze it and perhaps be able to walk away from the whole thing a little smarter.

One thing I notice right off is there isn’t an evening meal there. There is no planning and no setting the table and no nice dinnerware. There isn’t a glass of ice water and a napkin or a prayer.

The other thing coming to mind is it looks lonely or maybe angry or frustrated. Or maybe that’s some personification going on in my own mind.

I notice, as well, that everything, save the pomegranate bars are kind of beige, tan, colorless. Oh, and the cacao. [Seriously, that's how they spell it on the package.]

This evening I have my retainer in. I’m making better choices and I’m feeling like I can get through the hours. I’m being productive and responsible and active. I’ve got projects and chores going on all around me. I’m seeing things more clearly for what they are and I’m acting like an adult. I’m more proactive with my feelings, my attitude, my energy level, my stewardships and my obligations to my self.

Yah, I’m not saying I have anything to do with that list. Maybe it’s a shopping list, who knows. Maybe it is a list of what not to eat.

My list today looks a whole lot better!

i cry alone

I’m so transparent. I hate it. Sometimes I feel like I’m in a total virtual body scan and everyone I talk to can see right through me. I don’t like that feeling. I hate feeling vulnerable. Often a person will ask me a point blank question and I’ll say no when the answer is really yes. Or vice-versa. And I can feel my face turning red or I begin to sweat. Or my eyes water.

I try hard to be cordial, polite, friendly to most people, and professionally courteous to those I work with. I try to make the best of relationships I have at work, in Church and in our neighborhood.

But when it comes to getting close or personal or confiding in others, I steer clear. In fact when things get too intruding, I feel myself pulling back. I recede. I change the subject or change friends.

The friendships and relationships I have are pretty superficial. I am comfortable with superficial. Mostly. My friend Becky and I talk every single day at work. We text each other and call once in a while. But I have a hard time telling her really personal things. And yet she probably knows me better than most people, based solely on the number of years we’ve worked together and had lunch together for the past 12 years. I know I could call her for anything. And I hope she knows the same. But I still hold back.

[Sometimes when I feel us getting too close, I subconsciously sabotage our friendship so I won't get hurt. Does that make any sense at all? I know it doesn't but I know I do it.]

I’m very close to my two daughters, Tracy and Mikelle, but I have a hard time telling either one of them extremely personal things. I have five sisters and I cannot tell any of them anything that is deep inside me — my fears, my regrets, the things that hurt me most. I would die if they knew some things about me.

Why?

I’ve always felt if anyone really knew me — really knew who I am or what I’m about, they would walk away. If I were to expose my biggest flaws and my greatest sins and my real feelings, they would be so repulsed they’d not want to know me.

Most of me knows this is ridiculous. Most of me knows these are old tapes playing. Most of me knows these are fears and nightmares from childhood. Most of me realizes that these are irrational and self-defeating thoughts. Much of me knows I’m not ever going to take the chance of finding that out for sure.

I won’t expose myself to that kind of scrutiny and judgement. I will go to my grave knowing things I will never share.

I had a visiting teaching partner I really connected with for several years. We shared a lot. I told her things I haven’t told anyone else. I loved being with her. I loved that we understood each other and trusted and leaned on each other. And I’ve had to let go of that friendship because it got too peronal. I was uncomfortable with her knowing ugly things about me. I was embarrassed and full of shame.

I miss her.

The other day Mikelle asked me if I had any friends. She said, who are you closest to? And it hurt. Oh, I made something up to satisfy her curiosity, but it hurt to acknowledge to myself I don’t want to have a really close friend.

I see others go shopping with each other, or going to lunch. I have two sisters who go on wonderful trips with each other. I see my daughters with so many friends, really close friends. I know people who paint their nails together. I know people who have sleepovers. Seriously, sleepovers?

But I hold that part back. I stuff all those feelings. I cry alone.

And I paste on a smile and make the best of it. So the next time you see me, I’ll be happy, probably funny. I’ll deny I ever thought these thoughts. I’ll say it was just a thing I was going through that particular day.

It was nothing. It meant nothing.

annoying

I think the most annoying thing I’m going through right now is forgetting. I always knew it would become a problem when I was older. But I thought older older! But come to think of it, I remember my mother complaining about her memory [or lack of it] starting when she was around fifty. I distinctly remember the day she turned. We were going up through the underpass in Evanston and I said in all of my seventeen-year-old wisdom, “Wow, you’re half a century.”

She would laugh about forgetting where she left her glasses, or the car keys or a book she was in the middle of. She would forget her friend’s name or which kid she needed to pick up from which event or practice. [Or she'd forget us all together and we'd have to catch a ride.] She’d laugh and her belly would jiggle and a tear would escape from her right eye. And we’d say, “Oh Mom, don’t worry about it. We love you just the way you are.” She’d call us to remember the family temple day only to find out she had called the week before. Many years later when we’d watch Jeopardy with her we’d laugh because she’d answer every question a split second after the contestants answered correctly. She’d repeat herself several times a day and we’d kindly say, “Yah, I remember you told me that,” and she’d be embarrassed and say “I did? I don’t remember telling you that! [She'd laugh] I guess I forgot.”

I have become my very own mother.

When I started becoming forgetful she would always try to make it easier for me. She would say sweet things like, “You know how a computer gets full. Well you are the same way. You are so smart your brain is full and over flowing. Sometimes it’s hard to find space for even one more important thing. Don’t worry. You’ll de-frag and find room for it soon enough.” So sweet. Nothing like what I was saying to myself: “You forgetful moron!”

The thing that drives me nuts the most is when I think I have forgotten something and it turns out that I really haven’t. Say I need to change the paper towel roll in the girls commons restroom. I head in there with my screw driver [because the closure broke and I'm too cheap to replace a perfectly good paper towel dispenser when it has year's of good left in it . . . when I can just put in a nice long screw!] and unscrew the whole contraption only to find out [and aha! remember] I did that about an hour ago! Or I run downstairs to fluff up the whites in the dryer and when I go to get them ten minutes later I open the door and realize I already folded that batch and put them away yesterday.

I hate when I get in the car and head somewhere only to find out that I have forgotten where I’m going. One day I thought, OK, I’ll just keep driving and I’m sure I’ll remember somewhere along the way. After driving for about five minutes and not remembering, I went back to the high school and back to work. A few minutes later I remembered I needed to get my scraper out of the car and that’s why I went out there in the first place.

I especially hate doing stuff like this when someone else is around. Most of my work day is choreographed to be by myself. Sure there are students and secretaries, teachers, and aids all over the place but I don’t have to interact with them if I choose. Or if I do, it can be on a completely superficial bases. I can go about my day cleaning up, getting ready for assemblies, getting the mail and freight, setting up for lunch, etc, with a minimum of actual deep conversation. Oh I have conversations but I don’t have to divulge [and most co-workers don't notice] that I just forgot what the heck I was in the middle of doing.

To get by I make lists. I make up a little song with things in alphabetical [of course] order: mop bucket, rags, toilet paper, window spray. Or I’ll use mnemonics. Or acronyms. I do sudoku puzzles every single day to exercise my cerebral muscles.

I don’t remember why I started this post, but I do realize I’m at the end of it.

So, I’m heading to the sudoku book.

Let’s see now. Breakfast, exercise, shower, vitamins.

all there is

Goodness! I’ve neglected my posting. I’ve neglected my health and wellness. I’ve neglected myself for a few days.

But have I ever worked! Seems I’m logging about 60 hours a week lately with my regular job, scoring for middle and high school games, and driving an afternoon school bus occasionally; and that’s not counting laundry, dishes, cleaning, and studying. I’ve also worked on our taxes for several hours. I did finish Stephen’s and got those e-filed!

I need to figure a way to get ‘me’ back in the picture.

I’ve been reactive, not active. And it has shown up in my attitude, my emotions, my eating, my weight and my energy level.

Tuesday I hurried home between work and a freshman game I needed to score and made banana bread ‘for hubby’ [that's what I told myself!] who is laid up after his knee replacement surgery on the 4th. I’ve always added walnuts to this near-famous recipe and this time I threw in a half cup of mini chocolate chips in one loaf. But he said he didn’t care for those flavors together so. . . I ate the entire loaf, myself, over a period of three days. Oh havok!

Not the kind of singleminded commitment I want to focus on. So I couldn’t very well post when I was feeling crappy about myself and my eating choices!

Oh, I’ve thought about what I would write if I were, indeed, posting. Had whole conversations in my head about it. But just never took the time to sit down and gather my thoughts and write something encouraging, something I’ve learned about myself, something I could say to keep you on track. Because I was feeling guilt. I was feeling like a hypocrite.

I somehow did have the commitment to get in four good days of exercise and weighed every day; and other than the banana bread, I ate fairly healthy. I bought raw pumpkin seeds this weekend, as well as coconut oil and chocolate whey powder, so I’m looking forward to incorporating those in my eating plan. I think about my health every day, but can see I’m not as focused as I used to be when I was really losing weight and struggling toward my goal of 141 pounds.

But, now, I’m missing something in the equation. I’m missing the thrill of seeing those pounds and inches melt away. I’m missing the compliments [which in turn tend to encourage better and healthy self-care] and I’m missing the thrill of reaching a weekly goal.

Let’s face it. Maintaining a goal is pretty boring compared with actually seeing results and hearing all the oohs and ahs and how did you do it, and way to go’s!

Is this why we tend to gain back our weight? Is this why we lose interest and focus and commitment and drive and stamina and energy and determination? Is this where I’m at?

Is this all there is?

I’m wanting more.

run, jane, run

See the candy bar.

See the ketchup.

See me putting ketchup on the candy bar.

See the candy bar in the garbage.

143 yesterday morning. 142 this morning. Ugh.

**

Today. Sunday.

Eat healthy.

Exercise.

Pray. My last recourse. Maybe God will help me turn this around. It’s I’m way out of control the last few days. :[

[OK. There's my honesty for the day ... since it's Sunday.] [Very painful to fess up.]

MLK-UGH

Short term memory. Heck, ANY memory would be nice.

I’ve known it was going to be a holiday all month. Scott and I talked about it a couple of times on our way to Ogden on Saturday. But, somehow, I forgot. I went to bed around 9:00 last night and set the alarm for 4:15. This morning I hurried and got up, took a shower, and when drying off, glanced at the calendar in the bathroom. Monday, January 18, Martin Luther King Day.

OK. Change of plans.

sorry

I’m venting. I know. I’m still venting.

No need to lash out.

I need to work a little more on my p.r.o.c.e.s.s.i.n.g

Alrighty then. [Big smile.] I weight 141.5. I’m cleaning my bedroom. I’m exercising in my room with my new 7 and 8-pound weights. Having Bruce’s cereal and mangos for breakfast. Heading to Park City or Ogden with Scott and Andie. And I’m going to have a great day!

[This whole thing has turned out to be way too personal, way to revealing and way too uncomfortable for me lately.]