Imaginary This

I have to stop with the long posts. They're killing me. I log onto my own blog and I'm like, "Ugh, it's too much work to mouse through all of this." I can only imagine what a reader would think. Good thing this blog's only visitor is me....

Today is awful. Kevin worked, but he was supposed to be off. After learning that he was going to work I decided I'd wake up when I wanted, go to the gym and spend the day dallying with the dog out in the sunshine.

This is what happened instead: I woke up just as Kevin was leaving for work. There is nothing more depressing than watching your spouse's back, with whom you had hoped to spend the day, disappear through the front door. Then I went onto the computer. And then I stayed there. For eight hours. I went from blog to blog and most of them were about weight loss surgery. Actually that's been happening a lot. I get on to the computer to check my e-mail and then spend two hours reading about protein shakes and hair loss and incision scars and googling the bariatric surgeon in my area, over and over again.

I even sent Kevin a sad, manipulative e-mail about how I hadn't eaten and wouldn't, until he came home. (I had eaten, but I was peckish when I wrote that e-mail). And I really was toying with the idea of not eating and letting him come home to a depressed, pajama-ed, starving and low blood sugar-crazy wife who demanded he soothe her with junk food.

But something stopped me. I ate a sandwich and some wasabi black beans and a peach and then I removed the chipped toenail polish that has been causing me to feel self-conscious and then I puttered while my food digested. And then I decided to break up my pity party pour mois and do something really jarring, really meaningful.

So I put my old tae bo dvd in and made my way through it. Last summer, when I started all of this health and fitnessing I did it a couple of times and it kicked my ass. I think I made it through 15 minutes a couple of times (read 1, maybe 2x) and after I was exhausted and my legs hurt for days. Once, I actually completed the whole thing with Kevin. But that was a year ago and I haven't been as consistent with my working out. So how would I do now?

I did okay. I had to get back to butterfly-ing during some of the cardio kicking sequences (I could usually handle the slow-mo version for the reps of kicking, but once we double-timed it I was like, nuh-uh Billy!). I made it through and it was difficult, but I'm not wrecked and ready to fall over. In fact, I could probably get on a bike for an hour if I wanted to. Though I'm sure I would be more tired if I could actually follow the moves. Maybe all this cockiness is due to the fact that I was mostly flapping around and then falling down with laughter during my favourite part, when Billy says, "Imaginary this, you gotta kick higher!" But still. I did it. I kicked higher-ish.

And it was just what I needed to purge the crazy right out of me.

Imaginary that?

Shame on Me Redux

Well, first let’s get down to shiny brass tacks: I am out of control around food. I just can’t seem to stop turning to it to ease my sense of general sense of discomfort. It’s like I have an itch under my skin, starting around 5:00 pm each day for the last week, and the only way to scratch it is with food. Large quantities of food.

I haven’t binged like this in a long time.

But if I were honest and prone to peeling away self-subterfuge I would probably say that’s not true, I might even recognize a pattern. I might shake my head and admit that the bingeing is increasing, slowly over a period of months, increasing in frequency and quantity, and as long as the progression is slow, I guess I feel comfortable sighing and saying in a voice of bewilderment, “I haven’t binged like this in a long time.”

But this week, this week takes the cake. A big cake, with icing and layers and pretty piping on the sides. This week I started bingeing to the point where I wake up stuffed from the night before, hung over from the vast quantities devoured.

Yesterday I went to work and I had stomach cramps from all the food I’d eaten the night before. It’s been a long time since I binged to the point of gastro-intestinal upset. This is bad. This is getting back to old, dangerous habits.

There was a time when I would intentionally-by-accident check out and eat a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. Within two hours of a double date with Ben and Jerry, I was usually flushed and bent double, cursing myself for eating dairy when I know I have lactose intolerance. Severe lactose intolerance. Sometimes I would spend hours in the bathroom, shitting my brains out, in horrible pain, only to crawl into bed at two am so weak that my muscles shook.

But it’s been well over a year since I did anything that drastic. That self-destructive. But this week has seen me creeping towards binges of that magnitude. On Sunday night I ate a third of a cherry pie (what’s with me and cherries?), half of a container of 7 layer dip and half a bag of Tostitos to accompany said dip, and, an oyster sandwich (don’t ask). On Monday night I ate the rest of the chips and dip and another third of the pie- after I’d already eaten my dinner. And right now I want desperately to wander into the kitchen, throw the lid off of the cherry pie and eat the rest. That binge-y little kid inside me is whispering, “You have a fresh pot of coffee, what goes better with coffee than pie!” And I am seriously considering it….

But first, first, I should tell you a few things about me. About why this is so hard, about why I am willing to blow 30+ lbs lost for cherry pie and fresh coffee, but mostly for cherry pie.

I lost that 30 + lbs last August/September. Since then I have been trying in typical OCPD fashion to re-create every detail of those two months, with the (crazy) hope that if I do everything exactly as I did it then, I will restart my weight loss. But from October onwards, no matter how much I tried, how much I fiddled with my food, it didn’t work. I just stayed at my plateau. And when I tried to increase my exercise I ended up eating more because I was hungry like a mother fucker.

And now it’s July 24th. So close to August. I am secretly convinced that if I can recreate every detail from last August and September I will finally unlock the magical secret known as weight loss again and lose another 30+ lbs. Because, and this is key, it happened last August/September and those were the only two elements I have not been able to incorporate in my twelve month expedition of re-creation. (That and having two good friends at work who provided me with wonderful support, but they’ve moved on and even my OCPD brain has accepted they are not reproducible elements).

The pressure!

I can’t do it. I have tried. Every couple of weeks I step on the scale and it’s 266 at the low end, 268 at the high. (Though right now it’s hovering at 271). And then I stamp my foot and goddamnit I’m gonna do something about this. So I get a book from the library, You on a Diet, Fitness for Women. Or I revisit the South Beach Diet. Start the food diary again. Or I buy a fucking bike. Or I re-dedicate myself to the gym and eating at 10 am to keep my blood sugar low. And I try. I really fucking try to do everything right. On schedule, on time, just like last year. And no matter what I do, it gets fucked up. Because quite frankly, it is boring to eat bland salad in the winter what with the cardboard tomatoes and the flavourless cucumbers. And the cooking and the chopping and dicing and the clean up and the Tupperware back and forth to work and all the thinking and planning and doing that it takes…. It makes me exhausted and so I come home and I just say yes, yes, yes when Kevin asks if I’d rather just order pizza than make chicken breast. Again. And so I stay at 266-268, size 22.

And now August looms and the pressure is incredible. Irresistible. If only I could love cottage cheese again. And enjoy those stupid cheese sticks and stick to portion sizes and order salad, not fries. If I could do all of that and more, I could lose 30 + lbs this August/September.

But it’s not just that.

There is always something else. And this week has been tougher than most. And here’s why.

There is a new guy at work (he got the job I competed for but I don’t hold a grudge). He’s okay, a bit of a Cliff (I’ll explain one day, I’m sure), but okay. We work in public relations so he’s a writer, like I’m a writer. And so he googled me using my real name to see some of my articles.

I haven’t googled myself in a while because I haven’t published anything in a long while. And so I didn’t know that the first thing to pop up isn’t an article written by me, it’s an article about me.

So on his third day, new guy pops into my cubicle and says, “I need to talk to you.”

I’m all, “Okay, shoot!”

He sits down in the chair for guests (I mention this only because it’s a major status symbol where I work to have a cubicle big enough to have guests, and a chair designated for those guests is an even bigger status symbol. And, because I am uncomfortable talking about what happens next and I’m stalling…) New guy leans in and whispers, “I googled you to find some articles you'd written.”

Right away I put on my happy, breezy face and wonder what monstrosity of mine he could be referring to. All of the articles on the net by me, (last time I’d checked) had been amongst my earliest. “Oh God,” I said, “I can only imagine what kind of crap is up there. It’s always the shittiest stuff I wrote that lingers the longest.”

New guy says, “Well I just want you to know, I may say some things sometimes and I’m just kidding around. I would never mean anything by it. I’m not a violent person. But I could take something too far, in a joke. Without knowing… If I ever say anything that offends you, let me know. I don't want you to feel scared at all.” He looks serious and sad. He’s trying to convey that he’s a caring person. And my stomach drops.

What the fuck did he read about me? What’s on there?

I wave my hand dismissively, “I don’t know which article you mean…. But I worked with eating disorders for years and in that world, in the non-profit world, your life is an open book. Nothing to be ashamed of. So….” I smile. But inside, inside I am fretting, I am anxious. I am very upset. What article is he talking about and why did he feel the need to come and tell me he read something private, personal about me, and wants to reassure me? I add, “You get used to sharing pieces of your own life in that world because it makes it easier for students, clients—the people you’re working to help-- to relate to you. So they know that you know. So I’m used to it.”

Except, I’m not used to it at my corporate job. And I was creeped out.

New guy left my cube and I resisted the urge to google myself for about 20 seconds. When I did, I found the article he was talking about. It was the first to appear.

It was about a fundraising event I put together a couple of years ago for a women’s assault centre. In the article I talk about the sexual and physical abuse I lived through as a kid (which motivated me to get involved in women’s health issues) and incidentally the article also touched on my relationship with my mother (who did nothing when I told her about the abuse).

It was written a couple of years ago. So I didn’t remember much. I talked a lot back then. To a lot of people. I was in the healing phase where you tell your story, almost compulsively, you put it out there so you don’t have to own it so much anymore, so it’s not a secret, your dark secret.

I tried to read the article, but I felt queasy. I didn’t make it very far. In the second paragraph there’s a quote from me. “They basically used me as a human punching bag.” And I had to stop. I didn’t want to read and remember the rest of the article. The article he read. As he sat across from me. I didn’t want to read the rest of the article he was so horrified by/disgusted about/uncomfortable with that he felt the need to come into my cubicle and tell me he wasn’t a threat to my safety or wellbeing. I didn’t want to know what he knew. I had put that article, that time, behind me. Especially in this new, corporate world where efficiency and professionalism (or the appearance of it at least) are treasured above all else. Everything else. Where you have no past, not even a present, beyond the work you put out. You are a machine, not a person. Certainly not a person who was molested as a little girl, not once, but twice and who’s mother was so cowed by life, by the sheer weight of being a mother, that she did nothing, could do nothing to help you and sometimes even socialized with one of your abusers, her brother. I felt so tawdry and exposed. And so I have been eating, eating and eating all this week. Like I’m trying to rebuild a layer of the wall I had dismantled last August/September. To build up my reserves and shore up the fortification of me. To blot out that moment when I googled myself and saw what he saw and realized that the new guy knew my deepest, most personal details. And I had put it out there. And it wasn’t fair. I put it out there when I needed it out there, a long time ago, for people who would understand. And it’s still floating in the ether. Worse, it’s still floating around in my veins. Always there, inducing shame- injecting shame into everything. Even though I had years of counselling. Years of journaling. Years of talking about it, working with other women who have lived through it, raising funds so other women could access the help I got- I spent years in it- the shame is still here, like a scarlett letter. My shameful secret. And that shame eats away at me in a million different ways, at a million different times, but the source of the shame is always the same.

Me. The shame is on me.

Back on the wagon

Yipeee! I didn’t think I’d do it, but I did. I ended up exercising at the gym 4 x this week, and took 1 pilates class for about an hour a pop.

I got Kevin’s help to wake up early. I’ve never tried working out first thing in the morning before because waking up early usually causes me to want to punch people and I’m pretty sure my gym has a no punch policy. At least I hope it does.

But after I dragged myself out of bed (aided by the promise of imminent percolations of my coffeemaker) I really liked feeling like I was one of the only few awake in the world.

True to my word, I didn’t work myself like a demon possessed to make up for all that missed time, I actually took it pretty easy. On the efforting scale of 1-10 I’d say I stayed in the 5-7 category, to ease my way back in. And I liked it so much I think I will stay there for as long as I want. There’s really no need to flagellate myself with exercise as punishment.

And I swear, I am not just kidding myself here, but my muscle tone is returning pretty quickly. I thought all hope was lost, that all the work I’d done on my arms was as good as gone and that I wouldn’t see the outlines of muscles again until September. But, I already see some definition between the bicep and tricep. That was a huge relief. I guess I thought it would be like starting at 315 pounds again and the more I thought about going back to where my fitness level started, the less I felt like doing that again.

The end of the leash

On Thursday I was walking Runkie on Gorge. I was wearing cute Bermuda shorts from LB and a top from Pennington’s MXM line. {Normally, their tops are too long or too short. When they’re too long (tunic style) it looks like I’m wearing a cape to hide my stomach rolls. When they’re too short (because they’re cheap shit and they shrink like nothing I have ever seen before except Old Navy) they squeeze across my stomach and hit at the just the right height to show off the unavoidable flaring out of loose fabric at my crotch- not quite a camel toe, more like it’s slouchy cousin.} I had on my cute and super comfy aerosoles. And my hair was sassy. I felt hot.

And then the old guy with the stick started waving and smiling at us. I’m not sure if he’s homeless or just weird. He does have a shopping cart filled with things, but he also has the air of someone who is looked after a little bit…. Hard to say. He has waved at us before. Runkie doesn’t like him because he taps his metal stick on the ground a lot, so I generally avoid him. But I was feeling generous so I stopped for a minute to spend some quality time with the peeps in my hood.

I don’t know, maybe it’s because of my mother, or society in general, but I am hardwired to be uber polite. So when he started speaking rapidly in Mandarin or Cantonese I just kept smiling politely and murmured, “I’m sorry I don’t… I’m sorry I don’t speak Chinese….” I figured he just had to say what he had to say and it would only take a second or two and he’s homeless (maybe) and he’s harmless (maybe) and what does it matter if I stand there for a couple of seconds and listen to him talk in Chinese, anyway?

But he didn’t stop. And he got more agitated. And rather than walking away and thinking “Whatevah” I progressed to full on I don’t understand you gesticulation. And then he started to point to his thighs, indicating bigness. And then to his stomach, indicating bigness. And then to my thighs and my stomach, indicating bigness. He said something about my feet or my shoes (not sure which). And I got so flustered I stood there for the longest two minutes of my life while he pointed at his thighs and then my thighs, his stomach and then my stomach, and inexplicably, my feet.

And as he did so, he seemed crazier and crazier and for some bizarre reason, as much as I wanted to go, I was rooted there because this voice in my head kept sing-songing, “Is he saying I’m fat! Oh my god he thinks I’m fat! Oh my god! I must look so horrible, so fat, he feels the need to stop me in the street and tell me I’m fat... in Chinese!”

Finally, sense kicked in and I snapped to attention and realized I was standing there letting him insult me (I think, maybe he was just trying to tell me I look like a white version of Beyonce with my juicy thighs and that my shoes are really cute). I gave Runkie the lets get the hell out of here snap of the leash and the dog was off like a shot; though not before pausing to look at me like I was an idiot for stopping in the first place.

It’s really scary when your dog has better people sense than you do.

Glad Tidings

This blog has been a wee bit depressing of late.

First there was my job related angst. Then I blathered on about my rebellion against exercising and the guilt trip I was on because I couldn't/wouldn't get myself to the gym. I even managed to dig up some shame and talk about eating.

And now I am going to reverse the trend.

First up is the almost 1 year holiday of losing 40+ lbs. Granted I haven't lost anymore weight since October, but, I haven't gained any of the weight I started losing last July, either. Well, I was down to 263 and am now back at 268- but those heady days at 263 were few and far between anyway. With hindsight, I can now see that I hit a pleteau in October/November- and that all I really needed to do was to take a break without guilt. (Of course that makes it sound so easy, when really, it wasn't and I did take a break, but the guilt part just kind of happened). So if I cut out all of my "shoulds" and really look at the past year I lost 40 lbs and maintained that loss. Period. That's an accomplishment.

Second, I got back into counselling. I realized I was slipping into depression (or rather had slipped into depression) and that I needed an objective third party to help me out.

Third, I started to budget my money more carefully. There have been ups and downs aplenty. But I have been putting about $200.00 bucks a month into savings/investments accounts for about a year. So that's really good!

Fourth, I am gradually getting over the need to not work out. And I am also clear headed enough to see that doing it to lose weight isn't enough of a motivation to go three times, let alone five times a week. I am also clear headed enough to admit that I like exercise, I like the comfort in it, the sense of accomplishment and the overall feeling of wellbeing it produces. But, when I turn the focus to weight loss I just start to not care, I start to resent the commitment and the time and the effort and the whole kitandkaboodle. But if I do it for another reason, it brings back the joy and excitement and freshness of exercise. I just need to shut out the Boot KKKamp instuctors in my head and do it for reasons that would really burn them up like:

1. It helps me sleep really soundly
2. It helps me feel strong and capable
3. It helps me feel centred and on track- like I have a schedule and it's worth sticking to (I guess I like being highly regimented....)
4. It helps me feel long and loose
5. It helps me get out all my shitty feelings
6. It helps me try new things
7. It helps me feel pretty
8. It helps me feel like I'm part of the world- not just living in my head
9. It helps me feel safe- I can take care of myself
10. It helps me feel better physically- my feet feel better, my neck and shoulders feel soooo much better.

Solution Oriented

I think I may have a solution to my puzzling exercise conundrum, or at the very least I've decided to completely ignore the boot kkkampers....

I will wake up 5 days a week and get to the gym. 3x a week strength training. 2 times a week core and cardio. Pilates on Wednesday in the evening and walks or bike rides whenever.

Of course I figured this out last weekend and have yet to get myself up early enough to do it.

But I will turn off that negative voice in my head, the one that's saying I'm not a morning person and exercising at 6 am is doomed to fail, and I will just try.

I will try to try.

Shame on Me

I feel ashamed when I eat.

Even after years of counseling for binge eating.

The shame isn't just when I binge. It's every time I eat. It doens't matter if it's a hard boiled egg or a bag of cookies. The only difference is the amount of shame I feel.

I don’t remember a time when I didn’t feel that way, and it wasn’t until the shame lessemed that I even realized it was always there.

And the shame isn't just limited to eating. A year ago I was driving to work, late. And I was trying to think of an acceptable cover story, something that would be ironclad but also mundane. I kept berating myself for letting it get so late, (10 minutes) and remembering all the times I'd ever been late to anything. But it's not as if I come in late all the time. In fact, I'm pretty punctual. So I pulled up to a light and wondered, what if I didn't lie, what if I just told them the truth or a version of the truth? Shame welled up at the thought of saying I was late because I had to re-wrap my foot correctly because of my plantar fascititis.

My cheeks even flamed red at the thought of admitting I had a physical problem (weakness) and took time to attend to it (selfishness).

I got pissed off.

Why does my life and all my stuff have to be a secret? Kevin is very secretive and he feels so much shame at having needs and wants and desires. And I always get on him for it, but really, I'm no better. I'm worse. Why did it feel like sharing my problem was like stripping open my soul for judgement and criticism?

And that's how I feel around food. I don't like to be the only one eating. I don't like to eat portions that would fill me. I'm ashamed to be so venal and so raw. I'm ashamed at how much food plays a role in my life but when I hear other people they sound as obsessed as me- only happily so. So why should I always feel so ashamed? Why should my appetite be a secret?

Attack of the Boot KKKamp Instructors

I know what I should do. I should start from scratch. 30 minutes, 3x a week would probably be the best middle ground solution to my problem.

Finnito.

But the Boot KKKamp Instructors that live in my head are totally up in arms at the very thought.

All my life I'd been listening to the boot KKKamp Instructor as if it were a perfectly rational part of my psyche. That aspect of my personality is basically my mother, living forever in my head, except she managed to get a certificate for personal fitness training and then split into two distinct personalities: The original Drill Serjeant who's like a mean militray Dad and the Drill Sergeant's tag-along who pretends to be my friend by wheedling me into submission, like a mean, manipulative older sister. Together, they make an awesome tag team.

But the Boot KKKAmp Instructors really don't mean to be so mean. They just want me to have what I think I want (to be thin, to have more options, to be admired) but they just go about it in the most all or nothing fashion imaginable. There's no grey here- unless we're talking about a pair of grey sweat pants. And actually, come to think of it the Boot KKKamp Instructors do not approve of grey sweat pants on me, only black. Because, according to them, if I wear grey we run the risk of looking more fat than usual.

The KKKampers are driving me nuts, refusing to budge. I either work out hard or I don't work out at all. The KKKAmpers don't want to look at the deeper issues at hand: my sadness that I've stopped losing weight, my fatigue of battling something, anything- they just want to keep on fighting the good fight and get my ass into the gym and back into a 2 hour 3 time a week routine.

They think this hunger problem is as simple as just refusing to eat more then I need.

But how do I do that if I feel like a gaping maw of never ending hunger ready to swallow a cat whole when I do what they say?

And how do I that when I know it will only lead to bingeing? The KKKampers hate bingeing, but they hate introspection and compromise even more, apparently.I wish I'd just have some amazing revelation and get this over with already. The solution is so tangible but it's lost on me....

Muscle Bound Lady

I was walking back from dinner tonight with my fabulous friend Jenn when I realized, I am slightly out of breath!

Strange...

Especially considering I workout 3x a week.

Like last week, I went to th gym on... oh shit, I only went once. And then it sunk in: I haven't been to the gym on a consistent basis in 3 months.

How did this happen?

Well, looking back, it started with getting the bike. I felt defeated by how much hills slayed me and I couldn't seem to legitimately find time to bike and working out at the gym so I thought I'd bike more. Except somehow I never got around to biking during the week, only on weekends.

And then there was the pilates avoidance. I wisely decided to give myself some time away from pilates because Fiona was bugging me.

And then... I don't know. There were parties and drinks and travel for work and drinks and somehow three whole months have gone by with only a handful of sessions at the gym to show for it.

But as much as it just "got away from me" I also know I was doing it on purpose.

When I was working out really hard, (1.5-almost 2 hours 3x a week in the gym) I stopped seeing results. And those more intense workouts left me ravenous. "Rip someone's head off and eat it" kind of ravenous.

I thought that after a couple of months my body would adjust and the intense would abate. But no, I had having a really hard time feeding myself. I would go from a 2 to an 8 on the hunger scale really rapidly- sometimes within in a half hour. And I felt self-conscious, eating at work, all the time and not losing any weight. At first I told myself it didn't matter because I was gaining muscle-- which would translate to weight loss.

But that never happened.

Instead, I was getting more toned, which was great. But I was also bingeing more because there was less room for error with my intense hunger and my low blood sugar swings. Then I would feel guilty for eating so much. And then I would just shrug my shoulders, say fuck it and have more cheese and crackers.

And now that I'm not working out, knock on wood, I don't feel so out of control around food. In fact, I'm in a really good place. There's no angst. It's so nice.

And here's why 3 months have gone by with no consistent exercise... I'm afraid that if I do get back into a routine I'll slip into long workouts again. And then I'll eat more. And then food will take over again and I'll be miserable and obsessed.

I hate being obsessed with food. It is so exhuasting and I can't turn it off. And the irony is I don't even lose weight when I get like that because I'm seesawing between extremes.

So why does that prolonged, extreme hunger happen? Is it physiological, psychological, a combination?

I think it's both. There is a genuine increase in real physical hunger.... and man is it big! Uncomfortably so. It borders on being extremely "unfeminine" and I think I may have some issues around bulking up. I saw that wild hunger as a precurser to being some muscle bound lady freak.... I just couldn't get satisfied. It was so frustrating. And God forbid I missed my afternoon snack, watch out-bitch alert! And then I'd feel guilty for needing so much food so I'd punish myself the best way I know how, by eating something shitty and fattening so I can hate myself even more and then I'd go to the gym and work out for 2 fucking hours and gnash my teeth because the scale hasn't budged in nine months and I'm really fucking hungry and if I don't eat in 20 minutes I'm going to have a headache that will turn into a migraine and why am I able to leg press more than half the men in this gym? Am I a genetic freak who is meant to be big and muscle bound.

Fuck. Must think about this.

Please don't die

A perfectly rational side of me knows I am being irrational.

I spend time with him every day and he doesn't have anything obviously wrong with him.

But lately, I look at the curve to his spine with alarm. It's been curved, denting slightly out to the right, for as long as we've had Runkie, even as a puppy it was there. But now, I can't help but wonder, is it more pronounced, will it cause him pain? Is it pinching nerves and sending hot shooting pains down his legs? Is he okay?

Does he have poochie sciatica?

I've gone through this before, though. With Shalimar.

One day she jumped on the counter and I realized she was skinny and then I remembered that twelve is actually old for a cat.

I got so worried and so convinced she was sick, being eaten up by cancer, I worked myself into a frenzy and started buying her total crap food so she'd fatten up and enjoy her dotage a little more.

And then, weirdly, the anxiety just went away. (Probably when she woke me up at 4 am by sticking her paw in my mouth and I thought about throwing her out of a window).

Enough about me, let's talk about me

Where to begin? The last while has been hard. My on-the-job depression has been swinging wildly to and fro. Some days I come home and don't even think about my work and then other days, days like today, the whole ugly obsession seeps into my real life and I waste the day feeling sorry for myself. On the plus side I did apply for 2 new jobs which hopefully will result in an escape from the hillside hell-hole.

I had planned to go for a bike ride in the morning, taking care to walk up hills and inclines as per my new edict (will get to that) and then return home refreshed and ready to get shit done. Instead I have lolled around in my pjs all day, refusing to feed myself properly so I went from starvation to an intense stomach cramps because I downed two cups of yogurt despite a known dairy intolerance.

But I just had a revelation that may make it all worth while....

You see, one of the jobs I was supposed to apply for is at the company I currently work for. It's the next step up with the requisite $15,000 (potentially) bump up in pay. Which would be ideal, right, if I actually liked where I work.

On the plus side, this new job has more responsibility, different work, more strategic, more "authority/importance" (because the truth is I am horribly insecure at times and like to feel that my job confers some sort of authority or credibility on me when it really doesn't). In fact, in every way this job is more. More exposure to asshole managers and executive and board. More fun with Ministry staff. More fun with legal! More office politics and back stabbing and more more more of the hillside hellhole. So no wonder I spent the whole day dragging my feet, avoiding actually pulling together a resume and cover letter. Why would I want more of all that?

Well, because I'm a masochist, really. I have low self-esteem and I never know when to walk away. I don't like confrontation and have a mixed history of standing up for myself (I've done it but unlike all of the self-help books that promise once you do it regularly you'll have a better life my experience has been that all I ever do is stand up for myself and suffer various forms of passive aggressive revenge anyway). Most of all, I have an incredibly long history of being in unbearable situations for years on end so the hillside hellhole, while anxiety producing, does have a faintly cozy feel to it. And I get to feel like a victim/martyr: "Christ am I the only person around here with some goddamn integrity!" Which is great, cuz if I'm gonna get treated like shit the least that could happen is that I get to feel morally superior to the asshole- while being an asshole myself. (I complain about gossip and back stabbing- ha! I've made more than a few bitchy comments myself, lemme tell ya). Staying there lets me continue to play to all my worst attributes. My need for acceptance and approval (bigger paycheck, more fancy title, respect from staff under me {bah, I'm so pathetic}, shitty corporate culture, other people who are insecure and passive aggressive) and it's just a big stew of all my fucked up parts, mixing with other people's fucked up parts and it's getting worse. But it has the potential to be better.

But I'm starting to think the problem is all me. (Though taking all the blame is a classic tactic of my low self-esteem mindset, I appear to be extremely forthcoming about my faults, to a fault, and then admit the cliched sentiment that I'm my own worst enemy, [Which is true} and then present the tidy assumption that perhaps I am creating all of it). But it's not all me. The Hillside Hellhole employs other emotionally damaged people like me and the problem is how I react to stress, how I was programmed and continue to program myself around confrontation. How I can be justifiably spitting fucking mad and then get on the phone and sweetly handle the situation and even take the blame from the other person for their fuck-up that has majorly inconvenienced me. Even though I am really spitting mad! I will literally talk to them on the phone in a way that is as if I am apologizing to them for what they did to me!!!!!!

Why do I do that? Why do I suck up other people's shame, other people's mistakes so they don't have to feel the burden of being ashamed, which is what I assume, they would feel, if I blasted them for pissing me off in the first place. It's like I perform an act of penance for the thought of being upfront with them. And the scary thing is, I almost wrote "being mean to them" as if being up front and being mean were one in the same. They're not. Telling a co-worker they have screwed up, royally, and inconvenienced me in a respectful way isn't being mean. Or is it. Is it my job to even tell them they fucked up? I don't think it is, actually. I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of it. But the me who's been bullied, who's had salt rubbed in the wound thought for a moment that I did have the right. But if not that, then what? Because they did screw up and they did cost me four hours of work. Do I get on the phone and sound tense and angry? Do I say, nicely, I spent hours trying to track this down and the least you could have done was returned my phone calls (my assumption was that they didn't call because they were purposefully avoiding me, but, more upsetting was the thought that they didn't call because I was below notice, as in, who cares if we screwed up and pissed her off, she'll mop it up, she's a nobody anyway. In reality they may not have called because they were scrambling amongst themselves that would fix this situation and were worried I would blow up at them?). What I did do was send a polite but brief e-mail, "the link is now up. In future you need to give me a months notice at minimum before you proceed with any projects related to web development." But that e-mail was so limp wristed it made me sick. Some part of me really wanted to say "ML made me feel like shit for something I didn't even do wrong and cced in 8 other people and humiliated me-- WHILE I WAS ON VACATION AND THUS DEFENSELESS!!! So now I'm going to take your legitimate and actual big screw up and rub it in and make you look like SHIT in front of the entire company. How do you like that mother fuckers, feel my fucking pain!!!!!!" But while I've probably given the impression that I'm incredibly self-centred and utterly lacking in integrity, I did clue in really fast and realized that was my shit and it was only a secret, guilty indulgence that lasted for .3 seconds before I felt vaguely uncomfortable with how sleazy it was. My point though is that my e-mail seemed a little too blase, my imaginary e-mail a little too crazy, so what would the happy medium have been, I wonder? (Though my manger gave me kudos for handling it professionally and respectfully, then again he is frequently attacked for not having balls...)

All of this to say that I always feel as if I am being dis-respected and I don't know how not to be. Maybe I'm not being dis-respected and it's all in my head. Maybe I'm blowing this one situation out of proportion because of the whole ML ccing in 8 people to diss me when I was completely innocent and I know that I will never have the opportunity to deal with that directly- office politics being what they are.

Plus I was taught to catastrophize. So it's my natural mode.

Health and Wellness Update

I did get Runkles the basket. It is super-fab and a picture is forthcoming. He fucking loves it.

I haven't been working out much-- see above. Plus, bike riding brought with it a number of new physical problems I was not ready for, including new and different forms of pain in new locations. My arm and shoulder hurt on my right side- bearable, but puzzling. After a couple of 14-15 K rides my knees literally felt like they were about to blow out. My feet started having extreme pain again, which affected my walking ability and oh, did I mention the scary, intense pain in my knees?

The knee pain began after I did a really hilly section of the goose headed towards thetis lake. I had been increasing the length and intensity of my rides and boom! It just happened. I'm used to some pain with working out and frankly I am quite good now at knowing how to distinguish pain. There's the oh-my-god-it-hurts-so-badly-it's-actually-going-to-turn-into-pleasure-any-second-kind-of-pain. There's the if-I-keep-doing-this-I'll-reactivate-an old-injury pain. The -I'll-be-sorry-tomorrow-but-look-at-me-go-right-now pain. And the no-pain-no-gain-take-an advil-baby pain. I know my limits. I know I can push until my shoulders are burning but the next day they'll actually feel better because all that lactic acid is unkinking my shoulder muscles. This knee pain was the pre-cursor to temporary disability/knee surgery pain. It just didn't feel right.

Hence my new hill and inclide edict. I am not allowed under any circumstances, no mater how ashamed I may feel, to ride up a hill or incline. I have to get off and walk. No excuses.

But I also stopped going to pilates. My excuse was that I had to travel a lot for work and I wanted more time to be outside. The reality was two-fold. I wasn't feeding myself during the day so I'd come home famished and EAT and then be full and physically uncomfortable, plus I would still have the lingering hunger headache with the attendant neck/shoulder pain. Trying to do pilates like that sucks. My body just doesn't cooperate. I know because I've done it plenty of times. So that's a legitimate reason not to go. Right. Yes. But, why exactly was I letting myself get so hungry that I arrived home with the beginnings of a migraine, low blood sugar and secretly knowing I would almost have to binge because my body was so out of whack every Tuesday night, over and over and over? One crazy day where I barely get a chance to feed myself I can see, but every Tuesday? What was I avoiding?

I was avoiding Fiona and her sizest commentary (they're piffling remarks but they get under my skin because there's a part of me that agrees). Mix that in with the upsetting sensation that occurs when I'm that connected to my body and viola, that class becomes an emotional watershed.

For example, the first couple of classes I came home and cried, for no reason at all. It was like my body had taken over and was crying for me. That's how intense it can be. So I was playing games with myself to avoid looking at ----- oh my god, here it comes again------ how it is I can stay in an uncomfortable situation for so long and keep coming back for seconds. Though in the case of pilates I think it's essential that I keep going and tune out Fiona's nonsense commentary.

And in the case of pilates I think I just need to feel all those feelings in my body and stop stuffing them down with food beforehand. I wasn't able/willing to do that with working being what it was for the last couple of months, my knees hurt, so I just stopped. No gym, hardly any bike. No pilates.

Fuck me, I hate how it's all so related.

An ironic aside, I put on a little bit of weight with the time off from the gym and the vacation but this week everyone in my office started noticing that I'd lost weight and people started to comment (well, 3 people). But the thing is, I lost weight months ago and have been 35-45 pounds lighter for over six months and haven't lost anything since then. Totally weird. At first I denied it but then I just didn't care either way. Let them think what they want.

Today

Last night I completed about 17.5 k's on our stationary bike. Kev was asleep and I had nothing better to do since it was raining and dreary and too late to ask anyone if they wanted to hang around.

It was one of those nights where eveything came together nicely. The room was lit softly and all my music on my Ipod was really good, the bike felt comfy and the legs weren't too far away and I didn't have any weird kinks in my knees or tight hamstrings or a reason to watch the clock. By the end I was singing out loud to my favorite songs and I was totally blissed out and relaxed. I stretched for a half hour in the semi-darkness, the cats rubbing thier long sleek bodies against me in welcome and then when I was done and ready to let go of the experience, Kev woke up and was ready to hang out.

This morning when I got up we took Runk down to run like the wind and I thought I would be too tired to do much else then scoot around the parking lot with him. But I took off for a while expecting to do quickie route. Instead I took the route I took on Friday and then instead of heading home took the Saanich route to Quadra Street and back home. So another 8k's or so.

I'm finally starting to feel a little more secure but it takes a good 20 minutes or so to feel comfortable. I still can't make turns (unless I have a whole parking lot to make them which is really more swooping than turning). And I don't like stopping at cross-walks for cars because I have to push off before I can pedal, like Fred Flintstone, and nothing feels quite as lame as scooting across a crosswalk on one foot while cars sit idling, staring at you. And I still can't stick my arm out to signal a turn. But I can get up hills/inclines a little easier and I'm starting to get back that familairity of being on a bike that I had as a kid, that second nature feeling.

I'd like to get some bike shorts from Junonia and still haven't been able to order the Runkster's basket because they only ship to the US. I could send them to my sister but she has a minimum three month time lag for any postal commitments... Guess I have no choice though.

Gelling

I had Friday off so I got up, lazed around for a while and then headed off to Thetis Lake by way of the goose. I knew I wouldn't have the energy to go the whole way because I planned on going to the gym afterwards. It was raining softly so the cool water felt nice on my face.

I don't have water proof clothing so I got pretty soaked, but I liked the sensation.

After my ride I cycled over to the gym and did a pretty big workout. My legs were like jelly afterwards. It was just one of those days where I didn't want to stop. I felt strong and capable and surprised with myself, everything felt so easy and natural, I didn't have to fight anything so it made it more enjoyable for me. Today, my calves are aching and actually that's pretty great because no matter what I do, it's hard to get them to feel sore or to see a difference. I have very thick legs, no delineation from the ankle up and I read that if you work your calves and make them more muscular it fools the eye into thinking you have some shape. I've been trying for ages to work my calves and getting nowhere -- who knew the secret was getting on a machine with weights that are too heavy for you!

I was thinking yesterday that the title for this blog, big girl on a bike, really doesn't do it justice and that once you get a good bike, there really is no difference between a larger person on a bike and a thinner one.

When I let Kevin test ride my bike he's just as stiff and uncomfortable on it as I am/was. I thought my unease would be because of the size of my body and it wasn't. Anyone who hasn't ridden in a long time will feel out of sorts and kind of frustrated.

I think we all remember what it was like to be on a bike, water skis, skate boards, etc when we were kids and then to try them again as adults is, for most people anyway, shocking. Your body no longer knows what to do and really doesn't have that core strength to do it anymore.

So when Kev got on the bike, his shoulders were ramrod straight, his posture was rigid and he head a death grip on the handlebars --- just like me, and he's average weight and at a slightly above average fitness level for his age. And when I told my friends about my new bike all of them felt the same way as I did and totally understood my fear of riding on a road because I just didn't feel comfortable enough yet.

So what I'm saying is, while this is called Big Girl on a Bike it might as well be called New to a Bike because once you find that good bike that supports your weight, it doesn't matter how big you are. Everyone is going to have a different thresh hold for their first few rides. Maybe you're out of shape and can only go around a parking lot for 5 minutes before you're ready to collapse (and let's be real here, I bet a lot of your fatigue also comes from the anxiety of just being on a bike again and all that self-talk in your head - I know that was true for me), or maybe you're pretty fit and can go for an hour. It doesn't matter, each of us will be building up our strength and endurance to go longer and more importantly, ride better.

Which brings me to the whole idea of biking to work. Not gonna happen. I live on one of the worst routes for getting from my house to my job and there just isn't any way around it except over Finlayson or Bay Street. Both have major issues though. Finlayson is a fucking hilly beast (I didn't know hilly from hilly until I moved here from the east coast), and Bay st has whole sections without bike lanes, is still hilly, (though not as bad) and would add an extra 1/2 hour to my route. No thanks. It's not totally off the table, I'd like to revisit it eventually, but for now I'm not putting that added pressure on myself. I'm going to be a weekend, after work, fair weather biker.

I had a pilates class on Tuesday and that went excellently. Not stuffing myself with food beforehand makes a pretty big difference. I'm going to have get really firm with myself about getting something to eat at about 3-3:30 at work with protein. Its not good to starve myself and then I come home after picking up the dog and I am ravenous with only a 1/2 hour to digest what I eat, so I end up eating too much and then going to pilates feeling bloated and full and as disconnected from my core as could be. (I also think I was doing that because I was pissed off at some sizeist comments Fiona made and had some ambivalence about going). But then she announced that the class will end at the end of April, she can't afford to teach anymore, and I realized how much that class has helped me overall. As a person and physically. It showed me that I may completely lack coordination, skill, timing and grace but I am dedicated in my own way. I've been going for over a year and I'm really into it.

Once she stops I'll have to take a core class -- I don't think I would like the pilates instruction around town from what she's described, it's just very move along, move along whereas her class is classic pilates and includes side trips into yoga, meditation and rhythmic breathing, which I really enjoy.

I also looked at my schedule and decided I needed to up the ante exercise wise. I've been doing the gym and pilates thing for a while now. And while I have added biking the reality is with time constraints being what they are, I've been taking away time from cardio at the gym to add time for biking which is a form of cardio so I've probably only added another 15- 20 minutes of cardio a week, max. So in the spring I'll need to find a new core class and I should really get myself into a spinning class. I've always been intrigued by them and I think I would like it a lot. Plus, it would make me a stronger biker.

The other thing I've been thinking about is this: last year I lost the bulk of my weight in July, August and even September. About 30 pounds. I think that's because it was so hot and combined with working out and a diminished appetite everything just came together. And I'm curious to see if anything like that will happen again this year? But I'm also worried there will be some pressure on me, that will lead me to rebel. So perhaps what I need to do right here and now is tell myself that encouraging more exercise is okay, but lets please leave off the food engineering. I don't want to go on a diet and I don't want to mess around with food this year. I get weird. It's too much. Lets just try to enjoy the fruits and veggies, get outside as much as possible and call it a freaking day!! No pressure to lose weight. At all.

Moving Along

I've ridden a couple of times since I last posted.

It's getting easier, though during the week when I'm working out and riding the bike I find it hard, especially in my arms and wrists. My butt is no longer sore and I feel more at ease.

But now that I am more comfortable on a bike, I'm comfortable enough to know I won't be commuting up Finlayson any time soon and that riding in traffic makes me really anxious.

This morning I rode up to the switch bridge and back. It took all of 15 minutes and I found that the first bit, before I hit the switch bridge was really hard, I felt like I was slogging through mud. I was convinced there was something wrong with my bike, because for the life of me I could't get any speed. It was weird. I was pedaling as hard as I could and I was sure I was going too slow. Then I pedaled like a demon up the slope of the bridge. I was determined to stay on my bike the entire time and even if I had to grind my way up, I would. Unfortunately, at the pinnacle of the slope that's exactly what I did, grind my way up. But once on the other side I was proud and I realized that I have been improving with slopes and inclines.

On the ride back I got a couple of good for you smiles. I hate good for you smiles. Luckily at my gym no one ever gives me the good for you look or smile. But for some reason, seeing me on a bike ellicites that response. Good for you - for being fat and trying. It used to mortify me. Because I was so busy pretending I wasn't fat that anyone who cheered me on for trying to be active despite being fat totally burst my bubble. Maybe bike people, (now my people), are just more cheery by nature than gym people and want to make me feel welcome.

Sounds like a good theory.

Fourth Ride

I was in meetings all day at work and was delighted to get home 15 minutes early. Stretched out on the couch with Runkster to have dinner and then went for a 30 minute ride before I went to the gym for an hour.

One thing I've noticed is that the first 20 minutes of a ride I'm a total klutz and completely lack confidence. I'm all over the place. Then as soon as I'm off the road for a couple of minutes and away from shared use lanes and inclines I'm a-okay. I rode to the Johnson Street bridge and back to the gym, about 3k I guess?

It felt good. My butt is no longer sore. Well a teensy bit but I'm not in agony or even discomfort. But now my shoulders and wrists ache a bit as I ride. And while I can hold my arm up to signal a left turn easily, holding up my arm for a right turn is much, much harder. When no one is around I practice with both. But I haven't seen a difference yet.

I'd like to end with something positive, so how about this: I can already see a huge improvement with my handling of my bike and with my "take off" and I can see myself steadily getting strong enough to ride to work.

Ride numero 3

It rained hard last night but when we got up the sun was playing peekaboo in the sky and it felt warmer than it had in weeks. Kevin promised to take Runkie out for a long stroll and I wanted to go for a spin on my bike so we all headed down to the galloping goose together.

Runkie was scared of the bike so I made sure to "walk" it around him and stay at a safe distance but when I pedalled away he started barking and when I looked back he was straining on his leash to catch up with me. I was pretty sure once he got over the novelty of seeing me on a bike he wouldn't care anymore. But when we got down to Selkirk I was doubling back and forth to say hi to them and Runkie was going nuts, he wanted to come with me and run, run like the wind!

Kevin, nervous nellie that he is, didn't want to let Runkie off his leash to chase me. He was worried something would happen (when pressed he was unable to provide a specific threat to Runkie's safety but continued to assure me that letting him off-leash around a bike was practically inviting disaster) so I waited until we were on a wooden bridge that was straight up and down so I could see anyone coming and anyone coming from behind could easily see me. Kevin finally relented and let Runkie off his leash. (This was after he'd told me that he was worried Runkie's heart could explode because he might run too fast. Sadly, Kevin was only half jokingly.) As soon as I took off Runkie was off like a shot, too. I could hear him huffing and puffing behind me and he was working those little legs like crazy, but he was loving it!

So my worries that he'll never want to go for bike rides is completely disappearing and now I have all kinds of fantasies about the Runkster and I cruising along and letting him out to run on quiet stretches.

Don't touch my chocolate

Still pissed off that I'm not as fast and sleek as I'd hoped.

Drats.

Just had a mini tantrum. On my lunch break I went downtown and got Kevin tea- $30.00's worth of elixir from his favorite tea purveyor, Silk Roads.

I also popped by Bernard Callebaut. I bought a big honking chunk of baking chocolate for Kevin to bake with - he's an amazing baker due to an anal retentive attention to detail I can't compete with. And, I got myself a box with 17 truffles. A special treat to me, from me.

I got myself chocolates, and not just any chocolates, because I wanted to send a message to myself: just because the bronchitis is clearing up and I'm back to the gym and trying to be a better (i.e frequent) bike rider does not mean I'm going to put myself on some strict diet where I eat tuna fish for lunch every day for six months.

So, when I saw svelte Kevin stuffing my truffles into his mouth like they were freaking tic-tacs, completely oblivious to the complexity and flavour, it bugged me. I bought him a little chocolate torte at Thrifty's and now he's eating my expensive chocolates by the handful!

He always promises to replace what he eats, but I always let him off the hook. It's pointless to hold on to that kind of stuff. And yet....

Ride 2, Bitch-a-thon

Waaaaaa!

Whatever happened to me sailing along, taking in the sights and leisurely reclining in my big cushy seat as I returned to riding?

Biking was supposed to fun/easy. But it's not and I'm mad.

I know, it's immature for a 25 year old woman, okay, 29 year old woman to whine so shamelessly, but I'm crushed. I had big dreams and they got left on the side of a small incline as I pedalled for dear life as pedestrians passed me.

Pedestrians. Passed me. I was on a bike.

That's sad.

Worse yet, during my research phase I learned that your supposed to shift down. I was on "2" on one side and "3" on the other side. I don't know what they're supposed to do but I do know that's where they're supposed to be to make it easy for me to go uphill. As in a real hill. So if those gears didn't work a slight incline, how the fuck am I supposed to go on Finlayson?

It was awful. And there's always an audience around. So I have to pretend I can't see them staring at me wondering why I'm panting and grinding my way up a slight incline. Ugh. But this is classic. Whenever I start something new I suck at it in ways no one has ever imagined could be possible - I am the person who sustains bizarre injuries and develops rare ailments. I'm the person who sweats more than anyone else and is slower and more klutzy.

But I'm also the person who eventually catches up with the pack. And I'll keep riding and will get better eventually.

And so this post doesn't turn into a complete bitchfest I'd like to thank the awesome girl I met on the galloping goose trestle bridge who helped me get my chain back on (it came off after I shifted so much, so hard, in a desperate attempt to go up the incline for a second time that it made a grinding noise and the pedals stopped working on the way down the incline). She was really cool and helpful and convincingly acted surprised when I admitted I was a newbie.

We have bikedom!

The Buy

So the test turned into a purchase pretty easily. I got on the bike and liked how smooth it was and how easy it was to ride. But the biggest factor was that it just felt right.

I went to Cdn tire for my accessories- helmet, lights, and lock. As I get more acquainted with biking I'll get some panniers, repair kit and a basket for the dog. For now I just want to get used to being in the saddle and practicing turns. I'm not kidding. I turn like an old lady driving a cadillac.

I don't have a lot of bike appropriate clothing so I went to old navy and got a pair of long pants and cut them into capris. It's not a very fashionable look, especially with my ghostly white legs - but the hem wasn't getting stuck in the chain so I was happy.

The First Ride

I'm a little uncomfortable. Not physically, though my butt is sore. Emotionally. I enjoyed riding when it was easy. On the flat surfaces when no one was around and I didn't have to agonize about passing them correctly, it was great. But the goose was busy and there were lots of walkers. Should I say "on your left" every fucking time? Should I have just bought that annoying little bell after all-- I hate them as a pedestrian. They scare the crap out of me. In the end, I did neither. I slowed down and went around pedestrians in a wide circle. Which is my preference when I walk on a shared use lane.

But that wasn't the only thing, nor was it the reason why I'm feeling a little anxious. The thing is, it's hard to go uphill. And I don't mean "uphill" I mean just going up a little bit. You're supposed to shift down and I got good at that, but I would shift all the way down on little hills and then I would pedal and pedal and get slower and slower and slower. And since I didn't want the other people around me to know I was struggling - I powered through. And if my commute only had a couple of "uphill" moments I wouldn't think twice about it. But Victoria, as I have just discovered today from the perspective of a bike rider is a "hilly" place and my route would be hillier than most. The gently rolling hills I drive over every day are not so gentle on a bike. Damn.

So my first ride wasn't the moment where I realized that biking was the thing I'd been missing all these years and suddenly felt whole, it was more of a challenge.

Luckily for me, I like a good challenge and I still really don't want to turn this into a workout thing. But I'm okay with making this a challenge- if that makes sense. Which is why I didn't buy a computer - I don't want to get obsessed with how many K's and how fast - I just want the challenge to be more like, I ride 2-3 times a week and each week the rides get longer. My first goal is to get good at going up and down. My second goal is to get comfortable enough to bring runkie along. My third goal is to ride to my job on weekends for a month. My fourth goal is to ride to work on Fridays.

The Epic Search

I, er, um don't actually have a bike right now. And the truth is I haven't ridden one outside of a gym in like, fifteen years. But I want one, badly.

The idea came to me as I was pedaling away in the gym. And then again when I was driving and saw two girls on retro bikes, pedaling happily on Cook st. Once I started thinking about getting back into bike riding I couldn't stop.

Mostly I just want to feel like a kid again. I don't want to approach this from a "calories burned, how many K's, how long," work-out approach. Not that a regimented work-out mentality is always such a bad thing. I do that at the gym because it's so fascinating to see my physical progression as I get stronger and can do more reps or hold a plank pose longer. But there's a time and a place for everything. And right now in my life I am looking for a little lightness.

Everything is so scheduled. Kevin and I go to bed at the same time, wake up at the same time and go to the gym at the same time, on the same days. We do laundry and grocery shopping on Sunday and the dog goes to dog care on Tuesday and Thursday. And on and on. I need a predictable schedule where stuff gets done, I never had one growing up, but it lacks... pleasure. It's like a compatible, easy going, but sexless marriage. And I want some sex!

My first trip, to my first bike shop, went beautifully. I couldn't have asked for a better experience.

I was worried that I was too big for a bike. That my weight would wear down the tires or that I would rend the frame in half.

So I went in told the staff that I knew absolutely nothing about bikes and I didn't know what I should get.

But I was just testing. I'd done a little research of my own and I knew that for a bigger person hybrid bikes are often the most recommended, they are a cross between mountain bikes and road bikes. Hybrid bikes give you the best of both worlds, the "ruggedness" of a mountain bike with the smaller, sleeker frame of a road bike for speed and agility.

I played dumb because I wanted to see where they'd steer me. My sales guy steered me right to the hybrid bikes. So I was impressed with that. The bikes he showed me and that I liked were Trek bikes. They're supposed to be some of the best out there and after a little rooting around I found a lot of people who consider themselves overweight rate them highly. But I couldn't get past the price. $600.00- plus I'd need all the fixings. Eeeks!

I went to another shop, Reckless. They were a little more laid back and the sales guy was a big guy himself so I asked him straight up, for a bigger person, what do I need to know to make buying the bike and riding it as enjoyable as possible? His response- there really isn't much of a difference. Don't get a bike at Walmart, ride the bike for at least a half hour first, and make sure you feel good. That put me at ease, and it made sense.

So I've decided to go the used route. I don't want to commit a big chunk of my savings towards this but my gut is telling me I need to do this, right now.

But if you are a bigger guy or gal and you want to buy a bike and don't know how to begin here's what I have learned (please remember I'm a novice and am just regurgitating what I picked up on the internet, I will supplement this info as I get more informed) :

1. Hybrids, comfort or mountain bikes are probably your best option based on your height and weight. Hybrids can be ridden on the road and on trails of hard, packed dirt - these make great commuter and all around bikes - I guess the big draw back with them is price. Comfort bikes are kind of like hybrids, only they hold you up so you're not bent forward as much - think Mary Poppins on her bike versus Lance Armstrong. You can ride them on the road and on hard packed dirt trails but I have heard that they are slower and can be a little hard on the knees. Apparently, the traditional style of bending forward is more ergonomically correct. So keep that in mind. Mountain bikes have a bigger, heavier frame, thicker, larger tires and are good for trails and hard riding. I have read that they're not so good on the road as commuter bikes because the tires grip too much and the bike is slower because of the resulting "drag," and they're not as agile. But, I have also read that if you're 300 + pounds and just starting out they provide you with a sturdy frame and I for one think that a sense of safety and comfort is a good trade off for speed when you're a newbie. My personal preference is for a hybrid, a bike I feel I can grow into, but I'm looking at a comfort style bike tomorrow because that's what was available and I don't want to make any assumptions until I've ridden lots of bikes.


2. I'm guessing that if you're anything like me you're wondering what it feels like to get on a bike after 15 years of not being on one and your wondering if you'll make a fool of yourself. Well it felt good! I was a little nervous at first. The sales guy handed me the bike and it felt kind of strange to straddle it in front of another person but that's only because it's not something I do nowadays. But that thought drifted away really quickly. I didn't find it difficult to get in and out of the bike. But as I took off I did find it hard to get some momentum. So I did the old straddle and pedal with one foot as I tried to hoist myself onto the seat. And it worked fine. It's probably how every one does it after years of being off a bike. So if you find yourself thinking the sales guy is thinking you're a total dork, stop! Once I had some momentum and I was gliding along I hit a a speed bump. An actual one, not metaphorical. I braced myself and it was really barely a blip. So that was one of the reasons why I liked the Trek bikes, good suspension. I felt a little scared and exhilarated as I pedalled out of the parking lot and out onto the street but as I rode my body was just singing with glee! I wanted to keep going and even though I felt unsteady - not in a bad scary way - I knew I was just a couple of rides away from feeling like an old pro again. My turns, however, will need some work. I used an entire cul de sac to execute a turn and head back in the other direction!


3. If you feel the need to say, hey, I'm a big guy/gal and I want a bike that can accommodate me, do it. If you think that it's obvious you need a sturdier frame and you don't want to mention your body size because you feel it's completely unnecessary or, it makes you uncomfortable, don't. You don't need to apologize for your size and you don't need to trumpet it around, either. But if you feel like you're not being shown appropriate bikes for your body then you need to address that by asking for sturdier frames, or going to another shop. Don't let your size define you and don't let it hinder you from getting the most ideal bike for your body, either.


4. Test the bike. Most of the places I went to let you take it for a couple of hours if you leave your credit card, or you just rent it for $5.00 an hour. Most places will let you put any rental costs towards the bike if you do decide to purchase it. Make sure you have a helmet, and flat non puffy sneakers and you're off.


5. Hmmm what else? I guess I would just hasten to add that there is no right or wrong way to buy anything. I have done the shopping around, fastidious research approach to major purchases and ended up with a pile of shit! And I have done the gut instinct in the moment, don't know the first thing about it or the brand impulse purchase and wound up with the best "it" ever! So you just never know. Be skeptical, be realistic and just have fun.

I'll update tomorrow re: the Giant Sedona Comfort Bike Test.

What is this blog about?

The first post is always the stiffest.

So, rather than spending a lot of time trying to be clever and sparkling I'm just gonna lay it out in bullet points, the most effective form of communication I know.

• I am fat
• I am also fairly active
• I used to be fatter and less active
• I got fitter and more active by ignorning "them"
• But I still struggle with "them" in my head and in my heart

This blog aims to:

• Be a resource/fun spot for anyone else in a similar boat- fit, fat, whatever
• (I'm not an expert though)
• Mostly this blog is for me to talk about me to me
• Cut through the bull shit