The One About the Number

Do you have a number in your head?  You know, the one that is hanging over you?  The one that can potentially keep you up at night or the one that you ignore and push down with a myriad of coping mechanisms?  The one that you feel like if you reach it will just about kill you?  Mentally and physically? What is it?  Come on, you can tell me.  You know I am going to tell you.  Is it an age? Weight?  Cholesterol or Blood Pressure? Run time? Clothing Size? Number of times you have yelled at your child, spouse, employees, etc? Number of cuts?  Number of trips to the bathroom after binging? A credit limit on a credit card?  What hangs over your head like a bounty?
For me, it's the number on the scale.  And it's the big 200.  Many years ago it was a clothing size.  I distinctly remember shopping for some summer clothes because none of my size 14 shorts fit me.  So I went looking for some bigger clothes in a regular store.  I was devastated as I slunk my way out of those stores and headed to Lane Bryant.  I cried the whole time and didn't even think about what I was buying.  It didn't matter that I was in the smallest size in the store, what mattered was that I was even in the fat lady store.  I just grabbed three pair of shorts and went home and ate.  I think that might have been one of the first times in my life when I took the weight loss thing seriously.  I did lose weight that summer and I did throw away those shorts.  Vowing that I would never have to go back to Lane Bryant again.  That was my number, size 18.  Until now.  On Wednesday of this week I hit the number.  My scale said 200.6.  This number is quite an awful number for me.  First of all, I have never had a two handle on my weight.  Second of all, this was the number that separated me from my mother's battle with weight.  As long as I stayed in the "onderlands" I was not like her.  I didn't have to share any of my struggles with her and I couldn't compare myself to her.  She was morbidly obese, not me.  She was in the fat lady stores, not me.  She couldn't give me her hand me down clothes because I was too skinny for them.  The 200's put me in her league.  Hell, they put me in the one ton league.  Oh My God that SUCKS!!!!!!!!!!
I took a good hard look at myself recently, both in a picture and in the mirror - clothed and unclothed.  While some may say that this was masochistic and unnecessary, I felt that it was completely deserved.  I really needed to look at myself because I have been avoiding it forever.  I recently ran the Little Rock Arkansas Marathon at my highest weight.  I could not believe the pictures.  I also didn't want Honey Bunny to post any of his pictures.  I fought through that because he genuinely was proud of me.  The thing about this particular marathon is it is known for it's gigantic medal.  And I do mean gigantic.  HUGE.  But in my mind, it wasn't big enough to cover my gut.
Right now, in my life, I feel physically awkward.  I feel fat in the face.  My knees hurt and my clothes are tight.  My thighs are rubbing together and my stomach feels totally bloated.  So what happened the day that I hit the number?  Well you might think that I would juice fast and run to the gym.  Did I?  Of course not.  But I didn't binge eat either.  I actually, believe it or not, sat with it.  Now little honey bunny is on spring break this week and we did not go anywhere but I do not have the ability this particular week to run to the sauna and sweat it out.  This is probably a really good thing because I just would have panicked and tried to work the initial three pounds off, settling in at 197 and thinking that I could just sit here and maintain.  And wait.  Wait to hit the number again.
What I realized this week is that is what I do.  I wait to hit the number.  I worry and worry and worry and make the 197 o.k.  I think to myself, when I do hit the number, that is when I get serious because that is a serious number.  Like 197 isn't serious?  Shit, I need to get out of the 190's in a bad way.  I really need to be in the 140's.  So I spent the last year of my life worrying about the number.  Instead of figuring out a way to get out of the 190's, I worried my way into the 200 club.  What is so ironic about the whole load of crap is that I probably spent 90% of my time thinking about how to get myself out of the 190's.  I know I spent money on it.  Juice cleanses, blenders, weight watchers, body buggs, diet books, marathons, training plans, trainers, veggies, organic things, online clubs, special vitamins.  What did it get me?  One ton of anxiety and tears.

So what happens now?  What would you do if you hit your number? Would you turn your life around?  Could you?  Do you know how?  I can tell you that the answer is no.  Not until you have figured out what got you to that number in the first place.  The first thing I have done and you should do is to go back.  Look back over the last year of your life and figure out what happened.  I can guarantee you that it is not just one lightning bolt moment that things changed but most likely a series of events that lead you to some bad habits.  You cannot moved forward and change your course until you know how you got on the course you are on.  As Honey Bunny likes to say - get after it.  Oh, if it were only that easy.

The One About Courage

I have been thinking a lot about courage lately.  The big kind and the little kind.  Examples for the little kind would be eating strawberries and honey dew melon for breakfast instead of waffles and bacon.  Yesterday when little honey bunny had the stomach flu and made it to the toilet instead of the floor.  Going to the gym at 7:00 AM on Sunday to run sprints instead of sleeping in.  Big kind to me is calling the doctor to make an appointment for a mammogram when you haven't gone in years.  Running a marathon.  Training for a marathon.  Getting back on Facebook after a year of being off of it due to some rather awkward estrangements with friends or family.  Not only putting on 80's music but telling the world you have it on your Pandora.  Seriously, some may joke but I swear that takes courage.

Think about that...how many times a day do we all feel bad about ourselves and feel a little ashamed about our little "indulgences" if you will.  When I sit down to write or think or plan, I like to do the following - make a pot of tea, clean my kitchen, fold my blankets and fluff the pillows on my sofa and clean up my writing area.  Then I like to light a candle (metaphorical to me - lights a flame of creativity and opens the pathway to my thinking brain), drink some of the tea, face my laptop so that I can look outside (no matter the weather) and I put on some 80's music.  There is something extremely therapeutic to me when I hear Spandeau Ballet or Culture Club or A-Ha.  It takes me back to a time when I remember feeling good about myself yet a little insecure. When I was a teenager struggling to become an adult. You know that time - before you were say, jaded.  When the world was wide open and ripe with possibility.  When I thought that I would either move to New York and become a Broadway star and live in Greenwich Village, or the other way and thrive in Hollywood and live in the canyons and be one of those freaky cool actresses.  Or even better, I would sing.  And act.  And probably dance.  And then I would write about it.

I look at Facebook posts, ones which I make also and see sometimes personal attacks on what you say.  As if you are the dumbest person in the world.  Then I see sometimes people just wanting to show you how smart they are with their rhetoric.  Really?  I can't decide if Facebook is evil or genius.  I admit I use it everyday for my business and as a stay at home Mom and coach that works from home - I like to keep in touch with certain people.  The one thing that I see everyday on Facebook though is courage.  And cowardice.  I see people post things about their religion, their politics, their weight loss, their running, their job situations, their marriages, their children, their eating habits and other such very personal things.  Then I see some people attacked for these things.  It is no wonder many people don't put themselves out there.  I figure that if I am friends with you - and I don't mean facebook friends but a real friend then I would find those things that make you who are kind of endearing and quirky and sweet.  Maybe not but at the very least I would really like to think that I would applaud you for having the courage to be who you are.  That's what I want.  So as I finish this post, I am currently listening to Bryan Adams's song "Heaven".  And I am singing along because I know all the words. 

The One About The Biggest Loser Drama

I LOVE watching The Biggest Loser.  I have watched this show since the very beginning.  Even Honey Bunny and now little honey bunny will watch this with me.  Honey Bunny, who doesn't like much TV and especially hates reality TV, he will tell you that reality TV is what is wrong with the world these days, will get into this show.  I have loved Jillian Micheals and I have really, really loved Bob Harper.  I even like most of the other trainers that they bring on but what I love about Bob and Jillian was always their intolerance of the game aspect and their relentless pursuit of why people got to the show in the first place.  And of course, I love the ass kicking.  I even tolerated the marathon running because I really felt that they should never put these people in that situation without proper training and support.

However, lately, this show is all about the drama.  The contestants argue constantly.  They are back stabbing, petty, immature, calculating and most of all, not dealing with their issues.  And I HATE the fact that either the producers think this is good TV or even worse, the BL fan club has written in their love for this type of television.  Either way, it is enough to make me stop watching.  The preview is tempting us to wait and tune in for the next smack down, not the next record breaking weigh in or the next emotional and heart wrenching story of how they got so fat in the first place.

It makes it hard for me to pull for the winners if I don't know their story.  I want to know what makes a person eat themselves to 300+ pounds.  What happened to them that makes them literally give up on themselves?  I like to watch this because I think the majority of the world's obesity is not from something so dramatic and major but from the easy stuff.  Like boredom and laziness and lack of good food and from low self esteem and from anxiety.  It is these things that I fight.  Why eat a salad when that takes so much time and I can just pick up a sandwich that is hot and satisfying and yummy and I can eat out with my friends?  But when the show is about who said what and how they said it, I just want to tune it out.  I have enough drama in my life.  It also royally pisses me off that these people are spending their time fighting and being stupid instead of taking every opportunity that they have been given to learn more and do more.  If they would just all shut up and do their job, the only thing they would have to worry about is getting on the scale and losing some major lb's.  But no, what we are seeing is the rancor and fighting amongst the troops.  I would like to believe that these people are in some serious need of help but I think that Bob just needs to come my way and help me because I am ready, willing and able to take the ass kicking.  Those fools just need some serious help from Dr. Phil.

Perhaps the host, Allison Sweeney, called in a favor and had the producer or director of her other show, the soap opera move over to Biggest Loser.

I need more triumph, not temper tantrums!!!!!

The One About the Dog with a Bone

I had to have a heart to heart with Honey Bunny this weekend.  It wasn't pretty.  It was almost intervention level.  Not him - for me.  I was kind of driving him crazy and he needed to tell me that.  Have you ever had to be in a position where you have to tell the person you love most that you are making them crazy?  It's not pleasant but I must say that it opened up a different level of intimacy that we had been missing lately.  Just the fact that Honey Bunny was brave enough to tell me to shut the hell up about something and that I was woman enough to take it - even thanking him for the help and support, was really great for us.  And, as it turns out, hold onto your thighs for this one, he was right.  Once again, I was using my usual level of anxiety and skills at worrying about something to avoid doing something else.  Deflecting?  Is that the right mental health term?  I don't know, but Honey Bunny's term is "You are rolling this around in your head like a dog with a bone and you need to cut it out!"  Works for me.
So the issue which was my bone was of a very personal nature with a friend so I won't go into it but what I will go into was what I was ignoring.  I was ignoring my marathon training (running a marathon in six weeks), and I was also ignoring the fact that I had a cracked tooth and didn't want to go to the dentist.  Turns out that I needed a root canal so that coupled with my extreme dental phobia, caused me to top my anxiety with some extreme freaking out.  I also had committed with some friends to Weight Watchers and instead of getting excited about that - I was bumming out that my relationship with food was about to turn into a tomato soup and jello problem because my tooth was sore.  I also was having a very stressful problem at work and it was literally bringing me to my knees with worry and anger.  So there you have it.  Oh and did I mention that I quit drinking for awhile? I really needed to detox my liver from our Key West trip so I thought it would be helpful if I stopped drinking between now and my marathon.
So after the heart to heart, I decided that I needed to pull myself together a little bit.  So I went to the dentist and it only mildly sucked - not as bad as I thought but I still haven't had the full procedure - just a mild draining and shaving of the nerve endings (barf) and I should have the rest of it done this week.  But at least I am prepared for the pain and have the requisite number of Advil, ice packs backed up with some narcotics to get me through.  I went to Weight Watchers with my friends and although my tooth situation has delayed my progress, I am not giving up and I found the meeting surprisingly awesome and my friends did too and they seem motivated.  I also went for a run.  Finally.  Honey Bunny's advice to me as a husband and a marathoner and also a coach was that I needed to build some running consistency back into my schedule and I needed to do it immediately.  So I did.  I have run two days this week, not long but hard and I did it.  I struggled mildly to get out the door this morning but I managed to make it happen.  And the sun was out today - first time in days.  So I stretched my legs, got some vitamin D, released some Dopamine and overall, embraced the rest of my day.
Rolling things around can be good and useful.  To think about a problem and dissect it and prioritize it and to come up with a solution is good and productive.  But, this process should take place on a run.  It should happen when you can clear your mind and get those good vibes and hormones going.  It should not happen when you have the kids running around and the phone ringing and the TV on and a little honey bunny who was just marching around the house with the "That was easy" button hitting his knee at regular and highly annoying intervals.  Even with my ipod on, a run is where I get it done.
Is the message here that I should not have such high maintenance friends?  Is the message that I should not let things bother me so much?  Is the message I need medication?  I hope not the latter because I have been on medication for such things before and I must say - didn't really like the side effects.  Which is how I started running.  When I first started running, I was dealing with fertility issues.  When I started running marathons, not only did I realize that I was never going to have another baby - even by extreme measures, but that I was a 39 year old in full on menopause,  I made the decision to get through it by running.  Not by medication.  I stand by my decision to this day.  My first marathon saved my life.  It saved me from a life of depression and it probably saved my marriage.  I worked out so many things on those runs.  It started as a way for me to run away from my pain but what happened was that I ran through my pain.  I came out on the other side victorious.  Not that some days aren't hard and that I still have my moments of missing my never to be second child and that I still feel too young to not be menstruating but I am good.  Even with the hot flashes.

The One About The Honey Badger

I love January.  The possibility of new things.  Of resolutions.  Of starting over.  Of doing things differently. A whole year awaits you and what you can accomplish in those 365 days.  Or in 2012's case, 366 days.  I started this year with a bang.  A big bang.  I did a Ragnar Relay.  12 of us crazies ran from Miami to Key West.  It. Was. Awesome.  One of the best things I have ever done, not because it was hard (which it was) or challenging (which it was) but because it was the most fun I have ever had related to a running event.  Ever.  Bar None.  Hands Down.  Frickin' Incredible!!!!

So with that, I return from paradise totally stoked and tan and then, what do I do?  Think about how I want to do things differently.  My resolutions begin mid January - how odd is that?  When everyone else is either furiously working on their resolutions (i.e. can't get a parking spot at the gym) or they have already given up and want you to join them on their descent back into whatever it is, I am just giving thought to what it is I want to do.  Well I can tell you about my resolution.  Because Ragnar was a bubble. We were in a bubble for 32 hours in two vans.  Then I was in an awesome bubble in Key West where we ate and snorkeled and swam and drank and ate and drank some more.  Then I came home.  And Honey Bunny went back to work (sad for him) and little honey bunny went to school (also sad for him) and the house was quiet and empty (yeah for me).  So I slept and did laundry and cleaned out my smelly fridge and realized that I had a marathon to train for (March) and a business to run and my life to get back in order.
I had to run a crazy leg in downtown Miami.  I mean scary crazy.  It was 9:30 at night and I had 9 miles to go.  I passed a giant (dead thank God) rat, a boy on a bike that tried to run me over, two pit bulls, a couple of chickens, and then I had to go on a deliverance type road where the vans could not follow me.  This road had craters filled with some odd fluid that I don't think was water because it had not rained in Miami in a few weeks, the canal was on my right and I don't know what the hell was on my left.  At one point a guy ran by me and asked me did I see the giant bloody mattress back there.  So I turned up my music (because I don't like to hear it coming) and was relieved that I had taken enough Imodium to prevent me from shitting myself to death and kept running.  True honey badger moment.  I went into that house of bees.  Then when I got off of that road I came out at a maximum security prison.  O.K.  So I kept going again.  Then finally in the midst of fog descending, I saw my team at the exchange.  That run addressed almost every phobia I have ever had about running.  And I did it.
So that is my resolution.  Be the honey badger.  Because why the hell not?  Cross fit?  Sure.  Weight Watchers? Why the hell not.  Chicago Marathon?  Signing up.  No Worries. Turning Vegan? Hell Yeah! Try something new.  Go on an adventure.  Be scared but trust yourself.
For years,  I have allowed other people to make me second guess myself.  To feel bad or insecure or embarrassed, or odd for doing things that I am doing.  I know that I have written about this before.  But I realize now more than ever that it is almost always about them.  It is not about you and if you let other people make you feel bad about things that are important to you then it is really just a problem that they have with themselves.  Will they judge me?  Will they like me?  Will they still be my friend?  Who the hell gives a shit?  Honey Badger don't!!!!

So if you are out there and you have something that sounds fun or hard or odd or even crazy, you should call me.  If you need a friend or a running coach or some help with your crazy goals, you should call me or at the very least, embrace your own inner honey badger.  Don't get me wrong now, I actually cried on that deliverance road.  For like a nano second, I couldn't believe that I had gotten my ass into this situation.  I was tired, scared, hungry and unsure of whether or not I would ever see my family again.  But I did.  Some things I try don't turn out so well.  Some people don't like me.  Some people don't agree with my politics, my running philosophy, my passion for really good margaritas, my ever evolving attempt and becoming a full on vegan and telling everyone I know about animal suffering.  Don't care this year.  In 2012, I figure that there will be plenty of houses of bees.  So I'm going in.