Big Girl on a Bike

It's getting better

2009-06-30T15:56:00.000-07:00

Work. 30 minutes until me and the rest of the government runs from the building for the stat holiday tomorrow.

First of all: UGH. Beside me, EW is regaling KW with some long convoluted story about something to do with literature. Usually the story ends uncomfortably. The two of them are always floundering for the right way to close thier conversations. EW lingers. KW doesn't particularly want him there, but EW strokes his ego and brings up topics he knows are of nterest to KW. It's awkward.

(Now they're talking poker, both of them suck at it, btw).

Second of all: glorious. Beautiful day. Nice breeze. Warm. I'm going to walk home. It's a long, long walk (wish I could helicopter Skittles in for it, would be very convienent because she could use a good walk every day of the week!!!). I am so looking forward to it. Why? Because I am not fitness walking home. I am strolling. I have given myself permission to amble. Which, I never do. I am always racing or trying to go as fast as possible. Today, it's all about enjoyment. I'm not watching the other walkers go by and trying to match thier pace and determination. Uh, unh. Nope. Today I am chillaxing the way home. All the way home!

Something about deciding to lose 100 + lbs last night was very liberating. Exactly what I needed. Why settle for 50, 70 or 80. What I want is to see what life is like if I live it to the fullest, so why hold back?

Of course if it doesn't happen, alright. I can't control the universe. But I will try to make this happen. I need a goal, something big to hang onto. And it's not about losing the weight. It's about something else that I can't define. Something to do with choosing life, as dumb as that sounds.

I just worry about

Self Destructive Update #578,765,332,357,875,449

2009-06-12T06:01:00.000-07:00

This blog could just as easily be called Mad's Self Destruction Tactics, as Big Girl on a Bike. It would be a lot more accurate. Since I haven't been riding much.

The surgery cannot come soon enough. I am scared of another month without it. I have an argument going back and forth in my head all the time. If I really wanted to lose weight and be successful, why am I overeating now before the surgery? Doesn't that indicate that I'll "fail"? And then I think well, I wouldn't be having the surgery if I didn't have this issue so of course I'm eating like crazy.

What I have been doing is not eating enough during the day and then I get home and I'm HUNGRRRRYYY. And I have a glass of wine. And it's all down hill from there. Wednesday was so bad I was about to collapse from hunger. Yesterday just a little, nothing like Wednesday. But yesterday I ate even more than I did on Wednesday. Four cinnamon sticks and most of a pizza. Actually, probably all of a pizza.

It was like I was on autopilot, just stuffing it in. More, more, more.

My friend and I were brainstorming options to help me to stop binge eating, especially with Kevin at night, after the surgery. It all sounds good in the moment. But when I'm faced with the opportunity to binge versus not, all those good intentions go out the door.

I don't know what to do to stem the tide before surgery in August. I do know that I don't want to be 280 lbs by the time I get to TJ. There's a pre-op diet to shrink the liver that I'll do- it's supposed to be 12 days before surgery. But maybe I should start in July. Things will be quiet at work by then and I could see it as a gentle reminder to take care of myself. I could also recommit to working out and biking to work.

Actually, I'll start the last week of June. Things will have died down by then.

But I am not doing the diet for weight loss. I need to make that dinstinction. I am doing the diet to shrink my liver, and, create an eating schedule and get used to eating smaller portions, more frequently. The diet is a selfcare diet. The diet is to help me workout and stop eating so much at night.

In the thick of it

2009-06-01T05:22:00.000-07:00

I should have written sooner.

It wasn't a case of: why bother, things are good. It was more along the lines of: If I do blog I have to be aware of what I' feeling/doing and make sorting out my emotions a priority. And I wasn't ready to do that.

I'm still not. I'm just also not willing to be so destructive, or at least, I want to understand the impulse. In the first time for a while I can see my friends taking steps to be healthier or more "with it" and they're being successful, but I feel like I'm doing the opposite.

Although I actually resolved some big things that had been nagging at me. The electric bike got repaired and fiddled with and I rode it into work. That first ride resulted in some bruises when I had to get off to navigate a weird corner that joined two trails together and turned the throttle on. The rest of the ride was okay other than that, but that was just it. It was okay. I didn't necessarily need a shower, but I went really slowly and couldn't catch my own speed because of the upright nature of the bike. The second time I tried to ride it the chain came off and I was so mad and disappointed and frustrated I hopped on my regular bike and rode to work, hills be damned.

In all, I rode my bike to work 3x last week.

So that feels better.

One thing that helped take the pressure off was scheduling lap band surgery. It's official, booked and real now. On August 3rd I fly down to Mexico and have my surgery.

Whoa just writing that made my chest constrict. And then reading it made it constrict again.

Before I booked the surgery I spoke with a coordinator and she said people often gain weight before they have surgery in cases like mine where there's a 3 month wait. At first I thought, pah, why would I do that, that's just more weight to lose! But tell that to the compulsive eater side of me that's been noshing on all her favourite foods before she's forced to stop/die.

I say die, because I think that part of me really feels like this is a death- the end of an era, but certainly the end or death of a part of me. I have a lot of conflicting thoughts and feelings about this surgery (will it work, will I be one of those people unable to eat anything but who's still fat {actually those people don't exist but that's my worst fear, unable to enjoy food, but still fat} will I be okay, will I have any health problems due to this?). But despite those fears the reason why I am having the surgery is because I'm for it.

Mostly though, I want a physical barrier between me and my first instinct, which is to binge eat. I told Penny about it yesterday and she said, "Well, you really have tried everything else, including counselling."

And that about sums up my feelings, too. I tried counselling- made vast improvements in other areas but not weight loss. I tried exercise and that had some fits and starts but I now know a lot about fitness and actively work to be active most of the time and am successful with that (I should take a minute to acknowledge that- go me~!!!!!) I tried diet and exercise and lost a significant amount of weight. But like a spectre the compulsive eating was always hovering around, needing to be managed, dealt with, kept in check.

For all these years I have tried to deal with the compulsive eating directly (counselling) from the side (exercise) in a combined way (diet, exercise and counselling). And I have spent a lot of mental energy managing me. All those random thoughts on just this one topic, all that planning, guilt, shame, dreaming, hope... all that effort.

And I am still fat.

So for me, the lapband represents a freind. Someone or thing who will stand between me and impulse. I might really want to eat 3-6 slices of pizza. But it won't let me. And I think what will happen, knowing me and the process as I do, is that for the first while I will feel very thwarted and really miss the option to eat compulsively. But since the option won't be there my compulsive eating will steadily whither on the vine.

The thoughts and feelings won't go away from what I understand from my lapband support group, but the act of eating compulsively, will. It can't co-exist comfortably with the band.

I see it as a kind of death. Part of me is extremely glad to see it go and welcomes its demise. But another part is hanging on and scared and anxious and driving me to eat as much as I can before the "big day" because who knows when we'll have delicious food again? Never, that side of me whispers. It feels so final, like death. No more soft bready things. No more rare steak. No more carbonated drinks. And when I go back and re-read that list nothing on there is that bad. I can have toasted bread when I want it. A bite of cake here and there, well done steak and eventually even a carbonated drink every now and then.

It's not the loss of certain foods because as I've learned at the support groups, there are very few foods the band won't tolerate comepletely (though everyone's different) it's the loss of the ability to stuff my feelings at any time with the food of my choosing, in the amount of my choosing. After August 3rd, I won't be able to enjoy that familair, tried and true process anymore.

I know that the compulsive eating isn't good for me. I know that it doesn't even really work. It doesn't take away bad feelings/experiences it just delays them, smothers them and creates new ones. I know that what I seek from those experiences isn't food- I know that what I get from binge eating is a cycle of pain, release, shame that's as old as time for me.

But that cycle, pain, release, shame is my connection to my mother. To me as a child, to me as a person. It's how I interact with the world, how I cope with the demands of the world, of a typical day. It's everything.

Without it then, who am I?

How do I get through the world, how do I relate to myself. Do I become someone I don't even know?

And what do I instead to get my daily dose of shame- because that's what I am seeking when I binge eat. I feel bad- something is making me anxious or tense or sad. I don't like feeling that way because strong emotions are scary- they make me want to hurt myself. So, I eat. Not because I love the taste of 7 layer dip so much (though I do) but because I need to create a situation where I went wrong. Where I was out of control. The actual eating itself is mostly in autopilot. I do that because if I were to check in a voice would say "this is wrong, it takes us away from all our goals" so I don't check in and then when I'm done I look at all I ate and I do listen to that doomsday voice saying, "well, we're really fucked now" and then armed with all the evidence, I emotionally crucify myself.

Morning Quikie

2009-05-12T06:34:00.000-07:00

Got the bike yesterday. They did not charge me, as they were in error, (duh). But I don't think I will ever go to that shop again- customer service sucked and so did the repair.

But enough bitching- the past is the past and the present is bikedom! This is the official Bike to Work Week here and I'd like to take part but Monday no dice, T, W, TH I'm on course in a remote location that is unbikable. So Friday is the only day I can partake. Perhaps the universe is throwing obstacles in my so I can learn to relax? It certainly feels like I've been doing a lot of waiting/bumping up against walls. Which is hard for me. It triggers my need for instant gratification- which is what so often leads me to binge. "I don't feel happy and I want to feel better now! I think I'll eat, that'll help."

I never learned to just sit with my feelings. And that more than anything is probably the magic ingredient I am missing since I lost the initial weight. For the last year, I've kept trying to pinpoint the magic ingredient to success, right down to thinking that the season, summer, was the pivotal reason why I lost weight, or that I won't lose weight in every other season. Obviously, I have to let go of that magical thinking. And ironically, the way to do that is to sit with my feelings of sadness at having gained weight and sit through them until they pass- rather than eating. Which is what I've been doing.

When I was just sitting through feelings, letting them pass through and over and out of my world, I was losing weight. During those times when things gelled and I was able to let feelings pass without too much "weight" being attached to them, and I was consistently sitting through them, I lost the most weight, and it was easy in the sense that it wasn't a struggle. I would say to myself, "I know you want to eat right now. And I understand that urge. But let's wait 20 minutes, if you still want to eat we'll discuss our options. I need you to sit with me right now though this feeling though, and let it pass. If we act on it by eating, by doing anything destructive we're literally feeding it and it will never go away. We know that, we've done it many times before and food never works in the longterm. If we wait, it will go. And we'll get what we want in the long term and short term."

I'd repeat bits and peices of that over and over to myself as I sat through the feeling. And if I decided I did need to eat I would go to Sbux and get a lite drink- because it was summer and I wanted something icy and refreshing. But not calorie laden.

It wasn't a magic bullet, and as I recall I journaled a lot and had a lot of moments where I was painfully emotional and feeling raw- especially on long days left to myself. But it was hepful.

Am I ready to try again?

What's next?

2009-05-10T09:52:00.000-07:00

So, I didn't get the dream job. What I didn't say in this blog was that while I waited to hear about the position I put off two things.

I put off signing up for my program at a local university next year. And I put off scheduling my surgery.

I'm not 100% committed to the university program, but the reality is my employer is paying for it (once I complete it) and with the way my career is going right now, I can use any boost I can get. Maybe it's just the sadness about not getting that job speaking, but I have this voice in the back of my head asking, "If you're such a hot shot why haven't you gotten a new job yet, you said this place was just a landing strategy, so what's the problem? Maybe it's you?"

The weird thing is, in jobs past, I've always been way too busy. Staying late, working through lunches-every day for six month stretches. Right now, I can take a lunch every day and I go home at on time. And I really like that. Yet I'm chafing at the bit with the micromanaging. My ED makes all the decisions and I just book rooms. I don't have any access to the decision making. I fought that hard, until I adopted a zen approach. But the zen approach worried me- did it mean I was becoming a complacenet house cat, letting everyone else get all the opportunities? I was able to shush my ego and let it go, until I saw an out in the dream job. And then I started to fantasize about how great it would be to combine what I have learned in this job, humility and the working my set hours, with autonomy and confidence from my "superiors".

Like for example, I wonder if I shouldn't be learning how to make videos. W does and god knows they love him. I used to be the golden girl and a part of me misses that. But i also worked crazy hours and worked crazily just to gain approval, which was fleeting. Ugh. I can talk myself into circles on this.

So I need to cut to the chase. Does it matter to me that boss respects me? Not really, I mean it would be nice, but I don't have much control over her. Does it matter if I'm the star? Definitely not. Does it matter if I deliver on my promises? Yes. Do I? Yes. Then that's it. That's all I can do. Do I want to make videos? A little. I'd also like to get better at building websites. So how about I just go ahead and update my own website portfolio and then start playing with video. I have the software here at home. I can make a video of the tetons!

But I'm not doing it for "them". I'm doing it for me. To bring a little fun back to my work.

As for the surgery, not getting that job (I was so sure I'd at least be interviewed!!!) means that I can now take off all of August, which is a gift, really. And I can have almost a whole month to recover and get used to this new way of eating. It will be like a spa.

More on that later...

The highs and lows

2009-05-07T17:36:00.000-07:00

I finally heard back on a job I had applied for- turns out they want more media experience. I do a lot of fielding and behind the scenes work but I don't deal with media much anymore. I think what they really wanted was a retired journalist turned hack. Which seems to be the best way to get a good job in PR around here, writers just don't cut it anymore.

But it was a good experience. The woman running the posting was really kind and just... well, nice. I called her on Monday to inquire about the short-list and she seemed genuinely happy to hear from me, (She actually said, "I am genuinely happy to hear from you!") which is the total opposite of the dreaded "hi, I just sent in my resume two weeks ago and was wondering if you'd ever get around to shortlisting for interviews?" phone call job applicants are hectored to make. I once had to make one of those calls and sit through awkward silence as the gal on the other end actually read a prepared speech to me verbatim about her branch process for selecting interview candidates. That's savvy key messaging!

But like I said, it was a good experience. It got me to thinking about the possibility for something new and better.

Next week is Bike to Work Week here. I called the bike shop and of course they were cheerful and friendly and said that my tire situation would be an easy and quick fix (only I have my doubts, I don't think it's the tube, it's the tire... but I'll cross that bridge later and now that I have spewed all my inner vitriol I feel much better about the whole thing) and shouldn't take long.

Which got me to thinking. Just how long will my new route be, exactly?

Well thankfully my co-worker Emily came to the rescue and sent me a link for Gmap. It's awesome. I was able to map my route, including the bike trails here and I was able to see that my route is 7 km or 4.5 miles. (Funny, I have been here so long that km's have more of a frame of reference for me than miles. That said, I will forever remain a farenheit girl, the idea that 30 is smoking hot is just stupid.)

My diet brain took over and started to do some calculations. That's 14.5 km's a day, or 9 miles. Calories burned round trip is 1862. That's more than I eat some days! (We call those good days). Take all of that over a work week and I've racked up 72.5 km/ 45 mi and 9,310 calories.

7 km's isn't much- I've ridden much more over hilly terrain without an electric motor to help. I find for me that the first 3 km's are a bit of a slog- my body just isn't that warmed up and I feel like it's "work" but after the 3 mark, I'm sailing until about 12-15 km's. But I will have 8 hours to recover between rides so realistically, I probably won't even be that tired. Sure, the first week I'll be knackered from the novelty and my anxiety for doping something new.

And I'll probably need to get there early and shower and do my hair there, but I'm okay with that.
______________________

Okay, the truth is, I'm bummed about the job- not even an interview- come on! But I'm mostly bummed for selfish reasons. I loved the idea of a four day work week and I loved the idea of getting paid $200 more p/month for 4 days less work (work/life balance rules) and doing something with more autonomy. Non-selfishly I really do miss doing something in non-profit land, but selfishly, I don't miss non-profit land culture.

But that's a post for another day.

Grrrr

2009-05-05T16:24:00.000-07:00

This probably isn't going to be a very interesting post for anyone but me, but then again I don't have readers so what do I care?!

Picked up the bike in the afternoon yesterday. First red flag: they hooked up the wires wrong so the motor was going- but it wasn't actually working. The tech could have rolled his eyes and seemed more responsive to my request that it be fixed. At first he said something about not having space until May 30. Yeah, no. It took me being polite but persistent (read not leaving as they closed for the day) for them to open it up and fix the connection right then, not May 30th. Semi-satisfied, I head off into traffic without my helmet- which I thought was in the storage box on the bike, but wasn't, so I don't want to accuse them of theft, but, where the fuck is my helmet? I decide to let go of the helmet issue, after all, I could be mistaken and I don't want to charge in their sputtering accusations when so much has already gone wrong.

I start pedaling my way through traffic and right away even with the motor charged up I feel a lot of resistance. But I ignore it. I put it down to my first ride and nervousness (the whole time I keep thinking about the person who will, at any moment, snidely take me to task for not wearing a helmet not to mention all the shitty looks I will get). I ignore the resistance and keep going.

But then I get on the goose. And I just know something is wrong. Even still I don't listen to that little voice. I tell it to shut up. But my back tire is flat. It has to be. It's dragging and bumping and I can hear the rubber smacking against the pavement. I may not be Lance Fucking Armstrong, but I'm pretty sure my back tire isn't supposed to make slapping noises. But I tell myself to shut up. Because I just picked up my bike from the shop and paid $100.00 to get it repaired and tires changed. The little voice whispers FUCK. I keep riding. Maybe I'm wrong, what do I know about electric bikes? Maybe this is normal, I hope. A lady calls out to me. Inwardly I cringe. I just know she's gonna say that I should be wearing a helmet. Instead she calls out, "I think you have a flat. In the back."

I make that helpless 'I know, whatt'ya gonna do face'. Cause really, I'm half way home, I have a flat and the bike shop is closed. So what can I do? Abso-fucking-lutely nothing.

These situations really get the best of me because I find the bike shop intimidating to begin with. They all look very athletic. Like the kind of people who think nothing of pulling a century over the weekend for shits and giggles. (A century, for those not in the know is a one hundred mile ride). And the bike weighs a ton so getting it there is epic. Plus, I paid for a service and they screwed up the connection and gave me 'tude about it. And they didn't change the tire or the tube in the tire correctly. So now I have to go back. I have to lug that heavy bike into the trunk of our car, drag it in and I just fucking know they're going to be dicks about a quick service and a refund. I don't think I should pay for any labour for this fix, and I should definitely be refunded for the last one. Plus, the timing is all fucked because their hours don't fit with mine so that means the weekend, which means who knows when I will actually get to ride my new (fucking) bike.

So why does it make me so mad (aside from shitty customer service and wasted time)? Because, this is screwing with my plans. I had hoped to use the bike as a catalyst for change- forward momentum, man. And the truth is, I have some kind of screwed up way of being that says if I don't exercise every day I am a bad person. If I don't eat right every day, I am a bad person, too.

You combine those two commandments (thou shalt exercise and thou shalt eat right) and I am bound to screw one or both of them up on a daily basis.

But I figured, I have to get back and forth to work, so, building a bike ride into my routine was my crafty attempt to take a little bit of the pressure off myself- and avoid daily jaunts on the smelly loser cruiser. (Plus I desperately want to be one of those sporty people who think nothing of hopping on their bikes for a half century on a weekend for shits and giggles). Commuting by bike would mean I'd accomplished half of my daily "to-do list" 5 days a week. (Imagine the sweet relief of getting at living up to one commandment at least!)

Now though, my plans have all gone to shit. I had to sit through two weeks while the bike got serviced and that caused me to be anxious (unfinished business). Then you add in the fact that I had to shell out $450.00 for the bike and $100.00 for repairs and I feel guilty for spending so much money on myself. Then you factor in my mounting terror about riding in traffic (compounded by the fact that I have to wait to face my fear), and, my embarrassment that I need an electric bike versus a regular bike and I really just feel like... like I am on hold. And the feeling of being on hold is just anxiety- it's like being in a waiting room, waiting to start to feel more in control, to stop feeling like a failure.

Why do I feel like a failure? The usual stuff. I'm 100 lbs overweight, I gained back 20 of the 70 lbs I lost last year. I hate my job and am in a "junior" position, I left a higher paying position due to someone sexually harassing me in an already toxic environment (and I can always just imagine every one's nasty comments behind my back "she couldn't cut it", "she brought it on herself by being too friendly", "she's weak and broke down under the pressure"). What else? I don't have a degree. I don't have sex enough with my husband (anti-depressants take away my sex drive), I'm not a good gardener, I have bad knees, I have cellulite on my calves (who the fuck has ripples of cellulite on their calves beside me?) I don't floss often enough and have gingivitis. I have corns and wide feet. Lately, I can't wear heels because they hurt too much. Oh, and I seem to have permanent camel toe nowadays. (The C-Toe, combined with my "comfortable flats" makes me look about 20 years older than I am, with a big vag, to boot.)

No wonder I feel like a failure. Actually, the wonder is that I actually get out of bed every day and continue to make an effort. But then I seize upon a plan- a plan in the making for a year- to ride to work every day. It took me a full year to devise a means by which I could reasonably attempt to ride to work every day on a bike. It took a whole year- more than a year- to gently cajole myself into braving traffic and other, potentially judgemental bikers, it took me spending money on myself, it took me planning safe routes, contingency plans, coordinating apres bike ride grooming plans and supplies, psyching myself up and god knows what else. It took a year to get here and now the whole fucking plan is delayed (and sullied) because the bike shop made me wait 2 weeks to get it serviced and fucked up the servicing and now I will have to wait who knows how long to get it right. (Plus I have my suspicions that bike people will be like restaurant servers and get back at me for asking for my bike to be fixed and not be charged the equivalent of spitting in my supper- they seem like a petty and vindictive bunch).

And, it's bike to work week next week, and I signed up for a team. It's a small thing, but being able to drop my participation in bike to work week into casual conversation would have meant a lot to me. And I would have felt like I was part of something- but nooooo that's all over now. That is just dashed. Ruined.

Maybe some people can take these things in stride and shrug their shoulders and say, oh well, it's gonna be fixed eventually. But I'm not one of those people. Besides for me, this is like waiting for a year, not two weeks. This was a series of baby steps on the way to a larger goal and now external obstacles are in my fucking way. And I feel like external obstacles are also in the way of my career. They're beyond my control. I can't change them. I have to be zen. Okay, well I've adopted a zen attitude on my job, but now the universe wants me to be zen about the bike, too?

Come on. Give me a fucking break. Actually, no, give me a fucking bone. Just something. One little thing I could do to feel a little bit more in control, a little less like a fuck, a little more like I won't be 100+ lbs overweight with a gaping camel toe for the rest of my life. One little fucking win is all I need right now.

But instead, I'm consigned to the waiting room.

Of mice and men

2009-05-04T15:11:00.001-07:00

Today seems to have a theme- making me unsettled.

In the morning we had a nurse come by to draw blood, take our blood pressure and urine samples for insurance coverage. Kevin is their ideal client, he runs, he's thin, he never drinks and doesn't have an enormous amount of death and illness in his immediate family. I, on the other hand, am considered and insurance risk. Mother died at 49, 275b lbs.

Later today, I have a Dr's appt. I'm going because I have been avoiding dealing with my knee pain for, oh, years. And I thought if I am going to get the lap band surgery I might as well also deal with some other issues at the same time. I'm also dealing with hypoglycemia, have been for years. But since I have been headachey for the last while I thought I'd finally seek some medical advise- maybe it's not hypoglycemia or maybe they have better info than I can find on the internet on my own.

I went to the bike shop to pick up my bike but duh, it's not ready until 4:30 today. I'm pretty sure that by the time 4:30 rolls around the sky will open up and it's gonna pour on my first ride home. But I guess that's just another thing to get used to if I bike to work every day in the "good" months.

Already I started to calculate how much weight I could lose biking about 12 K a day. Probably about 5 lb's a month if I'm conservative- or 10 if I was able to avoid binge eating and all drinking. But asking that of myself, especially right now when I've been so unwilling and unable to do that, seems like setting myself up for failure and disappointment. And frankly I'm a tad sick of feeling disappointed in myself- feeling as if I am letting myself down all the time is fucking tiring.

Kevin and I have been watching Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer,on DVD a lot. At first it started as a fun distraction. We know our dogs aren't perfect, by any means, and we figured we'd pick up some good tips and tricks but I didn't think it would have any lasting impact on my life.

But something has sunk in!

The DW talks a lot about rehabilitating dogs and training humans. He also talks a lot about how dogs pick up on energy and use energy- they use energy to decide on a course of action, to be with someone- everything really. I started to realize that when I got Runkie I saw him as a savior. I had no friends, no family here and it was the first time I put my foot down in our relationship and demanded we do something outside of our comfort zone by getting Runkie.

Normally, I tend to go with the flow. But there have been a couple of notable instances where I have been firm and demanded we do things my way. Buying the house, Runkie and Skittles are all in our lives at my insistence. I said that they were non-negotiable things I had to have in my life in order to function. I always feel guilty about these things (before I "get" them and for a little while immediately after) but they always end up being a life changing experience for both of us- that improves our lives. It usually takes a year to five to accomplish them, sometimes less in Skittles case!

Back to Runkie though. When I got him Kevin still worked nights and we both slept during the day. I had terrible anxiety and panic attacks and just being outside alone caused me to feel terrified. I was not the person I am now. I couldn't leave the house unless accompanied by someone else. And because I had no friends, no family, no job- nothing, I really didn't have a reason to go out, really. So Runkie represented my fledgling attempt to rejoin the world. He needed to be walked for potty time. He needed to see people, places and things. And so I started to explore the world with him.

Because of my anxiety I didn't much more than go around the block by myself the first year, and even that was nerve wracking. But he was my shield. I was gauranteed good interactions with him at my side and I felt safe with him there.

But according to the DW I was putting him into the role of the protector and pack leader and that's where a lot of his dominance problems stem from. He only did what I asked him to do. And as I got better I never took that role away from him because for the most part, he's a good boy and I see that he has a gift of calming people and being incredibly loving. I didn't want to call him dominant or aggressive because he's not- he's insecure because I put a heavy burden on him. And when he and I bump up against one another for "power" he's confused. I let him run the show for so long he doesn't understand why I am saying no.

We even have a joke about him, if he had a motto it would be: you don't tell me, I tell you.

Anyway, Runkie attacks if we try to take a chewie away. So now I have been using the DW techniques of dominating him to put his chews down, instead of asking (and getting bitten). I stand by him or sit and start taking up physical space and I only ask once. I wait for him to move away and drop it. He attacked during the last session, (his chewis was down to a nub and we panic he'll choke- he has before) and I put him on his side and waited for him to calm down. And it's working.

I think it's all about the energy though. If I put him on his side and was filled with anger, it would be abusive. If I put him on his side and think instead of being a calm, balanced influence who is bringing peace and compassion to the situation, I can feel him relax. I keep his tail up so he doesn't get scared and when I feel him relax, I can actually feel it, I loosen my grip and start to stroke him in neutral zones, so it's never a punishment, but a correction.

There's some controversy about the DW's methods- but the important thing in my eyes is intention and energy. If the intention is to defuse an aggressive dog in an aggressive situation and you send a calm, confident energy, it's not cruel. When I put Runkie on his side I could actually feel him release his tension and rage after a couple of seconds, it was like the fight went out of him, not the spirit which is what animal owners always worry about, but the fight. The aggression naturally faded and I could almost feel or sense that he was coming to his senses. Like a switch had gone off in his brain that said, "I don't actually want to bite my mother, I just flared up because she tried to take my precious, but I guess that's not good."

Skittles is another matter. Skittles is pure fun. She has never bitten either of us, or anyone for that matter. Skittles' main goal in life is to have fun, to enjoy every second and squeeze the love out of every encounter. She's a big suck- she loves to cuddle and she has no personal boundaries. Our bodies are merely extensions of her pack sense- she feels it's totally natural to be connected to us by laying all over us. It's not dominance, she's insecure and our presence makes her feel safe and secure. I try to introduce her to situations where she can overcome little obstacles and become more confident and I think doing some DW techniques with her can help her feel more calm. Mostly we're focusing on creating space in the household- no jumping on the nice furniture, calm submissive state before walks (as opposed to bouncing off the walls), asking to come up on us and being more polite with strangers (instead of actually bouncing off of them and trying to stand on their shoulders).

In her case, I think Skittles' feels more secure because she'll have rules and boundaries- things will be clear to her so she'll feel secure in herself. That's the hope anyway.

But all of that was really a segue! Or just me thinking through my own history with my dogs. All of that was to say that both of them are conduits and living expressions of my mood and needs. Runkie came to me at a time when I needed stability and leadership- he provided that to me! He came to me when I needed someone to help me come out of my shell and with his cute looks and fun personality he attracted people to me and helped me to gain confidence during social interactions. Skittles came into my life just after we lost Mondo and I was desperately seeking love. Runkie was getting on in years and wasn't as cuddly- he wanted more space. I wanted and needed someone who could share my sense of play and fun enhance my own good times. I wanted a cuddly little being who had no boundaries so I could shower them with constant affection and give them all the love I don't give to myself. From day one, Skittles gave me that. She loved being touched and stroked and snuggled. She's a repository for all the love I feel. For me Skittles is affection.

Ode to last night

2009-04-22T12:58:00.001-07:00

Ahhh, blissful. Yesterday afternoon didn’t start particularly auspiciously. I had sent myself a “to-do” list home and when I contemplated completing it I felt tired, hemmed in. But also accountable. It was also colder than Monday and this niggling voice in the back of my head kept repeating, “Well, you blew Monday. It was a perfect day for exercising and yard work and you just sat on the deck like a beached whale and then watched a movie inside, beauty squandering idiot.” (Ha- no wonder I feel beaten before I even start!)

I went out with the dogs and I thought, before I get started, I’ll eat dinner. Then I called the woman off the internet- she’s a lapband patient who said she had the contact info for a nurse in Victoria who did fills. I can’t/won’t have the surgery without a reliable contact for fills, so I called her. She called back right away with great info, alas no mythical fill nurse in Victoria. But she did invite me to attend a lapband patient support group tonight! I’m excited. One step closer, plus it felt great to cross off the most important item on my to-do list.

But the question of whether to exercise kept rearing it’s ugly head. I’d just eaten so I started yard work. It wasn’t on my to-do list but I suddenly had a realization- Skittles would continue to destroy the grape hyacinths with her running and they are in an exceptionally pointless spot- middle of nowhere surrounded by grass- so I can’t mow there, weeding is pointless and Skittles is crushing them. Why not just dig up as much of them as I can and transplant them?

It was harder work than I’d thought, each batch required careful digging to preserve the bulb and I almost filled up an entire wheelbarrow. Then I went over to an established but sparse flower bed, weeded it and started planting them. They look a bit rough, poor things, they’ll need TLC.

By then it was late, it took a good 2 hours to accomplish all of that. So I decided that with those plants gone I could cut the grass in the backyard- I’d been holding back because I didn’t quite know what to do with that corner. Wow, what a difference the mowing made. Everything seems so much cleaner, clearly delineated. I just didn’t like the overrun edges and corners.

When that was done, I reseeded, watered and then decided it was time to wind down- it was 8:30. So I pulled out my yoga mat and did some easy hatha poses for about 45 minutes. The sun was going down and a lot of the time my line of sight was pointed right at our weeping birch. The air was still. The sky was charged- maybe rain, maybe not. There was a strong breeze on my bare feet- but not cold. I felt like it was just me and the trees.

I let go of the idea of doing a really intense workout and stopped the voices of complaint- I had done good, I had done enough. I deserved to wind down with a gentle stretch and that was all I needed after all my squatting and digging.

After that Kevin and I went into the hot tub and then we went to bed.

I'm a human being, not a human doing damn you!

2009-04-21T16:03:00.000-07:00

I want to write this all down so badly. But I feel as if there’s always someone right around the corner, or peeking over my shoulder. (Because I am at work, after all!) But I also really, really need and want to connect to myself again. I’ve been feeling a bit adrift, lost in work mode which is a shut down version of myself, and I don’t want to lose that sense of self I have on the weekends this week, I want to hold onto it as long as possible.

Yesterday, after finally feeling in control of things, I lost control. I worked all day off-site and at lunch had four beers with pizza with friends. It was a long, relaxing lunch. But it threw my whole day off, self-care wise. First off, the lunch wasn’t filling. Second is the drinking. So I had two protein drinks after work, noshed for the rest of the night and had no energy to workout. And even, somehow, inexplicably, hurt my lower back?

I feel like it was a loss of control because it’s not what I planned to have happen yesterday. I planned to go home, workout, garden and go to sleep early. Instead, I got home, couldn’t read, watched a movie and went to sleep late. Pretty much the exact opposite of what I’d planned. Which is okay, on the one hand, but I didn’t get anything productive done. And I had lost some weight and gained it all back in the space of one frigging day!

Other things that are causing me anxiety, too. I look at my yard and I see a wasteland. I secretly hoped that I would turn out to be a gardening whiz, but alas by garden looks really sparse and overgrown with weeds. And yet I am spending so much time out there. Everyday the weather has been nice I’ve been out, puttering, and I feel as if I have nothing to show for it. There are weeds everywhere. And my flower gardens in back are so blah. I don’t have enough flowers and I can’t afford to buy more. I am trying to tell myself that this is a foundation year, that I will be building on the work done this year for future years- but I don’t see any progress and I hate not seeing progress, it makes me feel unhinged.

And then there’s my bike. I bought the electric bike and road in traffic. I am so glad I have an electric bike for traffic. But it needs a tune up and new tires, natch. And they can’t even take a look at it until April 30. FUCK. I wanted to get started and build my routine- a new routine, a new way of being. It’s just one more thing I am waiting on though.

And then there’s the lapband surgery. Have to wait until August for that. And I have to wait to find out the contact information of the nurse in Victoria, who does fills and then get in touch with her and get a go-ahead. If I don’t have anyone to do my fills, there isn’t any point.

And while I’m complaining about waiting… waiting for progress, waiting for change, waiting for, I don’t know, peace, resolution, let’s talk about waiting for those things in regard to my weight. Have been working out more (not last week), have been trying to reach a balance with eating and drinking, dare I say it, I had been doing well. And I saw some progress last week, a tiny budge in the scale. But when I tried to go shopping for some new clothes, nothing fit, I was between sizes and everything was just “off”- can’t quite describe it. Just that everything was either too big, too small and all of it was unflattering. So it was a waste, in every sense.

I feel like I am on the brink of some change- but also that I am squarely where I always have been and always will be. The free floating anxiety I feel, I think, is related to this idea in my head that if I can just grab hold of all the things I want to do and get them accomplished I’ll feel at peace- comforted by the fact that I have taken control of things. But on the other hand, I wonder, am I just fooling myself by thinking I’ll feel better when it’s all done? The pile will always be there, after all. But even as I write that I rebel, because I want all of those things and I want to do them myself, I don’t want anyone else to do them for me, I want to feel that I accomplished those things. I started a new routine of riding to work and around town. I got my garden looking neat, organized but also whimsical. I changed my weight with lapband surgery, I changed my life. Maybe all that anxiety exists because this something I feel driven to do?

Another glorious day

2009-04-13T10:11:00.001-07:00

Yesterday took a turn for the rainy so I ended up cutting short my outdoor plans and reading instead, it was relaxing. So very relaxing. This four-day weekend is heavenly!

Except for one thing that's niggling at me. Am having a perfectly good night, have not binged all day, have not felt the need. In fact, I even turned down an opportunity to overeat. Then, we're watching a movie (the day the earth stood still- whoa, crappy) and I decide I want something sweet. We don't have anything sweet in the house. So I make toast. Four pieces of fucking toast. Slathered in butter, two with PB, 2 with honey. I mean come on. I told myself it wouldn't have happened if I had something sweet, but really, I didn't even believe that then, I certainly don't believe it now.

I could go on about that moment, but what's the point, I'll let it float into the ether- my best guess is that since I had been reading all day and kev asked me to watch a movie with him I said yes to make him happy and be close to him, but I really wanted to continue to read. So that feeling, of wanting to be close, near, involved and my desire to continue reading created a fissure- discomfort. Rather than express myself either way, I joined him for the movie (I also felt pressure because of the late fees and my stiffening shoulders). Something to think about for my next post.

Speaking of which, in my last post I said that I needed milestones throughout my day. I often feel as if I hit that 4:30 milestone, go to the gym (feel wiped clean) or home (feel disappointed in me for not gymming it) and then I have this sense of now what? We don't have cable anymore so I can't watch TV, I often feel too tired to do much of anything- or not so much tired as unmotivated (what's the point) and I end up going off the rails food and drink wise.

But as I was waking up this morning, I had a vision of myself that appealed to me. It was 8 pm and the sun was still out- just setting. I had an incense stick going- a big one and I was doing yoga and pilates out on the deck before bed. Nothing strenuous, slow, sinuous movement, hatha style. I was getting strong but also winding down, slowly, on my own. The minute I thought of it, I loved it. I loved the idea of future me, the me who doesn't use food or alcohol to relax- the me who is un-kinked and has a practice. Something she does, regardless of whether it's perfect or too slow, or too fast or not enough- it's something I do every day, just for me. No one is watching or judging, especially not me. And here's the thing. It has to be outside. On the deck, sometimes on the lawn. It cannot be inside. I'm inside all day, all the time. The whole point of this is to be outside, surrounded by trees, shrubs, birds, nature, quiet. I am in love with this idea. I want it to happen. I need something to bring me back to myself. Will begin tonight.

Before I go, must say I want to revisit the need for intimacy by doing what someone else wants and my anxiety about biking to work. I want to be the kind of person who bikes to work, but like all big things that I embark on (for me anyway) the more anxious I am, the more I need to do it- it's been the pattern throughout this journey. I was a nervous wreck before getting my regular bike. But the journey of learning to ride again, building up my strength so I could ride for 22 kilometers in hilly terrain, then riding with the dogs alongside me was very important. I took back a part of myself I had lost to being fat- to shutting down, to a nervous break down I'd had for over a decade. Biking to work is the next step. And I know that. I don't bike on my regular bike as much as I'd like because of the dogs- I know skittles loves to ride alongside and runkie likes to be in his basket, but it's so much work! (it's hard to control skittles and when other bikes come by she's a danger to them and herself so it's not exactly responsible dog ownership- and runkie in the basket is like having baby beluga hanging off the front of my bike). So biking to work is a guilt free way of getting some biking in, getting to work, getting some exercise, and being in my body for a period of time every day without having any competing needs/responsibilities. I mean, I have to get to work, don't I?

Yesterday was a great day, today will be, too

2009-04-12T11:16:00.001-07:00

I didn't expect yesterday to be so great, but it was. After I finished up my post I took Skittles to the park and tossed her ball around for her. I also climbed up some playground equipment. I liked using the bars to climb up- I didn't even do that as a kid, too scared! Then I came home and did a kettellbell workout. But by then the clouds had blown away and the sun was out and it suddenly got warm- about 60-65 degrees! The timing was perfect, I was already in my workout clothes and committed, so I went out on the deck. I had my ipod on, and I could see neighbours through the trees, kids playing in forts but I didn't let the idea that people would see me doing something new, stop me. I just went for it.

I did 48 swings, 48 snatches, 48 crossbodies and then some other stuff that's a bit more advanced-mostly calisthenics (pushups, planks). It lasted an hour and today my legs ache- in that good way that lets you know you accomplished something. But I even feel it in my shoulders, my upper back, my calves. The only thing that doesn't ache is my core- I was too blown to do any pilates and by that time I brought Runkie out on the deck and he wanted to cuddle. I decided the universe had decided my w/o was finis.

I wanted to go out on the deck and do some pilates and yoga today, so I don't stiffen up, but its raining. I can already see though how much more appealing exercise is when you can do it outside. Hopefully the weather will improve soon.

Anyway, after the workout I took the dogs with Kevin to see a friend and her dog. They played, except for Runkie, he doesn't really consider himself a dog and finds their doggie ways tiresome. We came home, I read on the deck on my chaise lounge (love that thing, will love it even more now that I can use it more) with a glass of wine. Around six I started making my prawn risotto (delicious) and then I went to M's house for a visit. It was so good seeing her, she gets me and I get her; and she's the only person who really knows what happened at ABC – she was there and got just as burned. Thank god we didn't have to go through our ABC period alone, she really pushed me to see it wasn't me and I hope I reminded her that she was (and is) a good person.

Bike related news flash

In other news, I contacted someone about buying her electric, pedal assisted bike. She's not in town until Thursday, so I'll have to wait. I love my regular bike, a lot, but because I am who I am, I don't feel entirely comfortable riding it in traffic. It's quite hilly here in Victoria- you notice it the most when you're cycling. Plus, when you're at an intersection and need to signal a turn and keep pedaling it's fucking hard, I always feel like a gimp because it's hard for me to start and stop because of my knees, so if I can have a bike that gives me some power, then why not? I can start riding to work like I've always wanted. That will be awesome. No more smelly loser cruiser for me!

I haven't worked out the shower thing after I ride to work- but I got my hair cut on Thursday (love it) and it's pretty easy to style and I have a locker at the gym at work and I've showered there before, so I'm over that particular hurdle. I just don't look forward to having two sets of everything. There's a hair dryer there, but I need a straightener.

But none of that is a deal breaker, I can make it work.

Let's get all planny in here

So it's official, I plan on getting the lap band in August. I called to book the surgery. Kevin and I are discussing the pros and cons of staying an extra day, as I hate flying. As I write this, I am trying to get the information about a nurse here who does fills. But I can't get into the WLS forum. Fuck. I'd like to get that settled. If I can't find someone close by to do fills I might not be able to do the whole surgery.

Post-op eating. I think the first while can happen quite naturally- you can't eat normally and you feel full and it's the honeymoon period so your okay with liquids and then purees. My concern is after the honeymoon- when I'm doing solids and the novelty has worn off and I really want to blow off some steam. Then what? But that's why I'm doing this. Because I want/need some restrictive mechanism in place that can stop me when I can't. It was scary to see that despite losing all that weight and enjoying that weight loss so much I gained 20 lbs back, and so quickly and easily, because as much as I liked being thinner, I wasn't able to stop myself from coping with food. Despite everything I'd learned about nutrition and my body- I still reverted back. So my thinking is that if I have something in place, something bigger than just me I can let it do the work. Let it keep me in check. God, I'd love to eat everything in sight, really I would, but I can't, I have this lap-band, you see, and…

Your best friend for bingeing

Onto other topics, I'll get planny later, I have also been noticing, of late, that when my gf's really want to pack it away, drinking or eating wise, they call me. So, okay, they eat compulsively, too and maybe I've gained a reputation for being "up for it." That last sentence in the paragraph above got me to thinking of this. I feel pressured lately to eat with my friends, to join them in their eating/snacking/drinking. Drinking I usually want to do and don't need to be prompted- though I wasn't always like that. But eating, a lot of the time I would prefer to peck and stick with my goals, but I don't want to draw attention to myself. I don't want people to think I am getting ahead of myself, or "uppity". I know, I know. Everyone has to have this conversation with themselves at some point, especially if they're a big girl, and, they're trying to lose weight. I know I can't, shouldn't, eat to make my friends comfortable with their choices (I guess I also don't want them to be uncomfortable, there's nothing worse than when you really want to chow down and the other person is pecking, you feel like you're out of control). And I know it's not my job to make anyone else comfortable with their food choices. But then again, part of being friends is shared experiences and I always fear missing out on those moments. I didn't really have real friendships until the last couple of years and I like the intimacy of those moments of hedonism where we've almost made a pact to enjoy the food on our plates to the point of debauchery ;-)

But when I have the surgery, I won't be able to join along. I will have one glass of wine, maybe some cheese or meat and then that's it. I can't eat and drink like that anymore. Am I sad to miss out on those pleasures? Yes, of course. But I am also sad to get dressed every morning and find my clothes are too tight. And I remember how it felt, those fleeting days when I was a bit thinner, and picking clothes was fun, and I want that pleasure back.

Back to the bike

The other thing I like about the idea of the bike is milestones. I'm getting better at removing myself emotionally from work- detaching. And I find I break my day off into chunks. Right now it's as follows:

Morning Chunk: Get up, get showered, have breakfast and head out. This is mostly pleasurable.
- Ride bus to work. I don't hate the bus by any means, but I can't relax. My face contorts into what I hope is blank passivity (long standing issue of mine- controlling my facial expression). So the weird thing is, even though I bring all my focus to relaxing my facial muscles, I also end up feeling stiff and as if I have been clenching my jaws for hours. Plus, being crammed in next to another person makes my shoulders ache (can't relax).
Morning work chunk: Blah blah blah, must make it to my first milestone, 10 am coffee
- 10 am coffee, walk outside, cool air zinging, brisk walk, coffee, a little piece of realness in a fake world
Lunch- second milestone- catch up with the girls. I would like to take walks but I feel tied down to lunch. Another time.
3:30, third milestone, definitely a lesser milestone. Have my 3:30 snack. It isn't as nice as coffee but it signals the beginning of the end of the work day.
4^th milestone, work ends, time for gym. Sometimes its hard to go, sometimes I don't. But I do it because I feel cleansed afterwards, purged of all that silliness of the day and back in myself, feeling whole.
- Bus ride home, face hurts
Home- now what?

But if I rode a bike to work it would be more like this:

Ride to work on bike. First milestone. Don't have to worry about my face. Listen to tunes. Zoom through cool morning air, warmed by pedaling. Only my thoughts, clear headed, quiet, reflective, at peace.
10 am coffee, second milestone, walk outside, cool air zinging, brisk walk, coffee, a little piece of realness in a fake world
Lunch- third milestone- catch up with the girls. I would like to take walks but I feel tied down to lunch. Another time.
3:30, fourth milestone, definitely a lesser milestone. Have my 3:30 snack. It isn't as nice as coffee, but it signals the beginning of the end of the work day.
Fifth milestone, time for gym. It's always better when I go to the gym, even better than skipping out and heading home. More of a milestone.
Sixth milestone. If I've been to the gym then the roads will be less congested, I will have to build up endurance to w/o and be able to ride home, but I think I can do that pretty quickly. I'd have to change my routine to do less cardio and less weight for a while to build up my capacity, but within a month or two I could be back to 1.5 hr workouts followed by a ride home. I could amble along, take the long way home. It wouldn't be exercise, rather, a pleasure. My own time, to myself, feeling scraped hollow by exercise. Will probably have to learn to manage hunger and start drinking more protein shakes again so I don't come home ravenous.
Home- now what?

Note to self

Next time I need to address "home-now what" major issue with my bingeing.

Recommitted

2009-04-11T10:14:00.001-07:00

Yesterday's calories: 2500

No exercise

I think we have or hopefully, had, (emphasis on past tense) some kind of virus yesterday. So we didn't accomplish much. Kevin and I both felt kind of tired and torpid the whole day and aside from getting some chores done, we didn't do much else. Total pajama day.

But today, well, I have big plans for today. I want to take Skittles to the park and toss her ball and then come back and do a kettellbell workout.

Before I start getting all "planny" though and mapping out my day in detail, I need to share more about this recommitment.

In early August, I have scheduled a lap band surgery. I did the research and I have waited for two years for the gastric bypass as my back-up and this year, having gained back 20 lbs due to compulsive eating (exercise is on target) I feel like I am at a cross roads. I could wait another two years for a bypass, I could continue to try and get to the root of the compulsive eating and "stem the tide" or I could take more drastic steps. Trust me, I don't like the idea of taking drastic steps (and yet I kind of do, for their definitiveness) but either way I just need this to end, soon.

Gaining back 20lbs has been hard. I know it's attributable in no small part to the situation at ABC and how betrayed I felt. I know NN's behavior made me feel unsafe, I know my new job contributed to my sense of "there has to be something wrong with me" and all of that resulted in a lot of turmoil. And that turmoil got to be unbearable, especially after I started the new job and felt that the red mark against me had followed me, because "there's obviously something wrong with me."

So I ate. My portion control slipped away, many of the habits I had developed were tested to their limits, pushed past effectiveness and then just dropped altogether. The new ingrained habits with food that I thought would be with me forever morphed back into my old habits. So subtly. I still use skim milk, but I used to avoid all processed foods and sugars, (even fake sugar), now I'll dump a splenda in my coffee and when things are feeling a little crappy I'll get a muffin- even though I have a healthy snack back at the office.

I was still exercising (I did go through a period of inactivity, too). But the exercise couldn't take the brunt of the overeating and just ameliorate it. So even though I am fit, I am getting fatter and it's hurting my joints A LOT to be working out as much as I do, with 20 extra pounds. It's almost as if I have the fitness capacity of someone who is a very fit 250 lbs (unusually fit for that size, not bragging, but I do workout 3-5x a week for 1.5 hrs) with 20 extra lbs strapped on my back at all times. My knees are especially feeling it.

That and there's the matter of clothing. I don't know what size I am. I do know that it's not the size of most of the clothes hanging in my fucking closet, that's for sure. It is beyond upsetting to get ready in the morning and realize my boobs don't fit into my bra, they're spilling over and if I tuck them in to avoid spillage, my nipples are in a weird spot. So I have the unenviable decision to make: nipples very askew, or check throughout the day for spillage and adjust as needed. Yes, I could get a new bra, get fitted and try to make this work, but here's the thing I learned when I weighed less: There comes a point where my bra size gets so big that comfort, support, control, shaping are no longer options- when they're this big a bra just serves to contain them, it can't really deliver on all those other things most women take for granted with their bras. (I have ordered new bras, but since I am so large busted they have to be ordered via the internet and they're on back order- oh, and they're expensive). But when I weighed 250 lbs I did have those options and I felt so feminine and refined, and I miss that so much. I miss slipping on a bra and watching my boobs take on the classic feminine shape of breasts. (They're so big they sag without support, even at 250).

But getting back to clothes. My clothes don't fit. I have a camel toe once again because my pants are all too tight. A lot of the stuff I had from Ricki's, my cute sweaters, don't fit anymore. My tummy is much too big, it muffins up and spills out way too much. I am so depressed about it I don't feel like going out and getting new pants and tops. I am mad, I had finally started amassing a wardrobe I liked and was proud of and now I can't wear it. I can only wear the weird clothes on the margins. Great.

When I weighed less, for the first time in my life I felt like I was part of the "girl world". I took pleasure in finding clothes and dressing up. I felt pretty for the first time. I knew that people thought I was fat, very fat, but I felt as if I'd accomplished something and for the first time I had a sense of confidence and "okayness" that I thought no one could take away. Sadly no one did take it away, I mean no one outside of me. I took what happened at ABC as a confirmation of my secret fear that there was, is, and always will be, something that is very wrong with me. I know this belief is a direct result of all the sexual abuse I lived through as a child and when you add in the sexual issues of the situation, it, of course, makes a lot of sense I would feel as unraveled, exposed and unsafe as I did. In other words, betrayed and used.

When I look back on it now I see their machinations as plain as day, and I see my own culpability and humanness (Oh no, I called my boss a useless pants load in an e-mail, evil!!!! And I took a day off during the sexual harassment investigation and lied and said I had a stomach flu, gee, that's just totally inexplicable, couldn't imagine a person feeling stressed that their co-worker had said some disgusting shit to them, lied about it and was being investigated and the other person [me] needed a day away from the office!) but man, they knew exactly how to push my buttons and manipulate me. My fear of authority, my need to be accepted and loved, my desire for validation- exploited.

But it was an experience that taught me something very valuable, about myself, about life. And I think only now am I starting to take it to heart and apply it and integrate it into my personal system. Work is not an extended family. Just that. No one there is really your friend, a family member or replacement for those things. Sometimes you'll make true friends, but that's not why you're there. When I started at NIF I told myself I wouldn't get caught up in the social world. I'd keep to myself, and I didn't. I got very close with Ad, Lady and T. And I don't regret that. But because I was still traumatized from ABC I think I turned it into a very co-dependent relationship without healthy boundaries. So when I leave there, I really will follow my own advice and keep a distance between me and my colleagues.

The bad side of that friendship is that I reinforced their emotional struggles with the system, and they did the same for me. We reinforced the belief with each other that there should be some kind of common code of decency, and we waxed in vain about the lack of compassion and respect with which we were treated. We shared our personal humiliations about un-tolerable situations and behavior and comforted one another. And unfortunately, there were so many examples of callous and unthinking behavior we never ran or will run out of material with which to commiserate. Nothing wrong with that, right? No. Not really.

And yet, yes. There is something wrong with it. Because we just spin our wheels. We're powerless, and we know it. And we sit and discuss the things that happen when someone with power wields it over us and we feel shitty as a result.

But there's a freedom in the situation that I hadn't quite grasped until now.

We are powerless. And we know it.

I was always so busy trying to get a little power, so I could insulate myself against other people's power struggles, that I bought into it all. I cared when they swung their dicks around and slapped me across the face. I thought it meant I was weak, and they were demonstrating their power and I could either be a sniveling victim, or swing back (or just lie in wait until I could swing back!).

I'd get stepped on, used and most upsetting for me, anyway, have my time royally wasted (in this job anyway). And I kept trying to make it right. I kept trying to make them see me as a person, I kept trying to stand up to them, I keep trying to do the work the way it should be, thoroughly, I keep trying to own my work, to have integrity and actually teach them to treat me with respect. I kept trying to change the system.

Which is a losing battle. Not to mention arrogant. As if I could change an entire system! As if I could make someone who is 50 years old see me as an expert! What hubris! Who cares. If she wants to burn herself out and take all my decision making, autonomy and "expertise" from me, then so be it. I don't need it. Do I even have expertise? I don't know.

I am powerless. And I know it. And I'm embracing it. I'm not fighting it anymore and I'm not going to try and make them see me as someone who could run with the pack- I don't care if they accept me now and I don't have any desire to get them to ask me to join them, to recognize me as competent.

And it's not coming from a place of malicious obedience (you want a briefing note, I'll give you a fucking briefing note, cuntasauraus). No, I will continue to deliver on responsibilities. I will turn my work in on time and make it as good as I can. But I won't care anymore. And I don't mean "won't care" in the toddler temper tantrum sense. But I won't be attached to the outcome. One thing this position has taught me is humility. Invariably, what I send in will be sent back with 30 incomprehensible changes. One or two may be valid (imho) the rest pretty pointless. And from there on in it will continue, back and forth, back and forth. Late. Out of date. Not timely. And then pushed through into action. And that too, will change again and again and again and so I will spend most of days doing, then undoing the same thing, over and over.

Because the reality is, I am powerless. And I know that trying to change the system is a losing battle. And I don't have the time or energy to wage that war anymore.

Now that I have given up (it's a new thing) I feel better. I have to fight the bad moments, when common sense grips and I wonder why I am doing and then undoing and then redoing the same thing, over and over. But then who cares? None of the stuff we do actually matters. So who cares if one project is particularly shitty over another? It's all just pensionable time!

So what does any of this have to do with my desire to recommit? Everything and nothing. I am ready for a change, I am ready to stop putting energy into my professional life (altho I am taking a certification course next year) and I am ready to take care of myself. I have been avoiding taking care of myself because my thoughts go something like this: if they don't care about me, I will make them care about me, notice me and respect me and when they do, I will, too. That's no way to live. I can't handle that for much longer.

I'm taking matters into my own hands. I am devising a plan. I love plans. I want an electric bike so I can ride to work and get over hills and feel safer in traffic. I want to have that surgery in August. I want to start offering myself some thing soft when I get home from work so I don't feel the need to binge- something pleasurable. I want to make this belly a little smaller so I can fit into the clothes hanging in my closet. I want to have more energy. I want to do that course next year. I want to start trying to have a baby in the new year. I want to enjoy this. I am recommitted to me. And right now, that means exercise and safe, trusting relationship with food.

Plans for today:

Skittles- park

Kettelbell w/o

Look for electric bike or converter kit for my bike

Find nurse who does fills

Hem curtains

Make soup

nails

Over and Over like a monkey with a miniature cymbol

2009-04-01T16:07:00.000-07:00

So right now I am in the unenviable position of feeling as though no matter what I eat, it leads to weight gain. Eating sensibly leads to weight gain and being out of control leads to weight gain. Right now, all food seems to be the enemy.

Whenever I eat, especially at night after work, I have this voice in my head saying, “You keep gaining weight. It keeps creeping up, you’re working out but your portions have slowly started getting bigger again. And no matter what you do, you keep getting fatter. So you might as well enjoy this meal, the weight gain is inevitable.”

The end result is that I have an epic struggle with food- should I eat a small, healthy meal (bland, pointless, will only eat more later anyway) or should I just have exactly what I want in the quantity I want, especially since gaining back the lost weight seems, ahem… inevitable?

Sometimes one side wins, sometimes the other. But one thing is certain, I do keep getting fatter. And this argument in my head is driving me over the edge.

# 1 “You keep gaining weight”- well this is true. I do keep gaining weight. Since last year I have gained about 20-22 lbs.
# 2 “It keeps creeping up”- also true. At first it shot up to 258, then 263, 265, 267 and now it’s around 275. The number keeps going up and I keep trying to stay calm.
# 3 “Your working out” – I am w/o and I have seen more muscle tone and definition, but my eating is undermining weight loss. Scarily, if I weren’t working out I would probably gain even more weight.
# 4 “Your portion sizes have slowly started getting bigger again” – also true. Since I started gaining weight I have found my portions, especially in the evenings and now even at lunch, have gotten larger. But then I ask myself if a sandwich and veggies is too much? I don’t think so. But… It seemed like my portions were smaller at BCA. Dinner is definitely bigger. And junkier. When I was losing weight I used to leave food on my plate, now I don’t. I’ve tried going back to smaller plates, etc etc etc but fuck, it just keeps happening. I know it’s me doing it, duh, and I know it undermines my weight loss but I feel compelled to add another scoop, to have a little more than what I need.
# 5 “No matter what you do, you keep getting fatter” – well unfortunately, that’s also true. Sure, a couple of days of being comfortable around food and eating well don’t guarantee weight loss, I know that, but it could a little! But the uncomfortable days around food are outweighing all else and so yes, despite strenuous effort on my part, I am gaining.
# 6 “So you might as well enjoy this meal, the weight gain is inevitable” – youch, this is the one that hurts the most. It feels kind of stabby. It hurts because seeing it in bold print is so sad, as if I’m really saying to myself, ‘I’m sorry that a fattening, calorie laden dinner that you won’t really remember and will regret 3 minutes after you eat it is the best I can offer you in the way of enjoyment. And oh yeah, you’ll getting fatter too, right away, so it’s a long term punishment for a short term pleasure. But go ahead, enjoy your meal.”

Fuck, that really does hit the nail on the head. How disappointing to waste my life on that struggle. Basically, I can eat too much to deal with life which is genuinely sucky, or I can… what? Suffer? Either way though, it leads to suffering. The original suffering, and then the suffering of gaining weight and being fat(ter).

What can I do?

Right now, I’m asking myself if I need to add the suffering, guilt, regret and recrimination that will result if I eat too much at dinner to the equation tonight. The answer is no. But I do want the option of drinking a glass of wine.

What about tomorrow? I’ll have people over and we’ll be having fun. Should I eat with them, or no? When I was losing weight I looked for healthy options in the midst of events like that but still partook. Can I find that balance again?

Happy new year

2008-12-31T17:52:00.000-08:00

It's a small thing, but I feel a little better knowing that I had a solid four invitations to parties. At least I'm not a total loser who has no friends.

But all the same, I decided not to go to C.'s party tonight. I just can't bring myself to do it. I'm on the verge of a breakdown here and the last thing that appeals is the idea of forced merriment and realizing it's all going to be okay, or, more likely in this mood, feeling abandoned and rejected. I need a lot of attention right now, kid glove handling and I'm sensitive to slights that aren't there. God forbid, I should show around my good friends like this and act like a turd because I've convinced myself that no one really likes me.

Generally, people don't like nursing the feelings of a baby asshole all night.

So here I am. Again. At the verge of some kind of breakdown, gaining weight (and inexplicably all I can think about right now is eating... everything) and hating my job. As usual, I am convinced my job is the problem, but secretly worry that I am the problem.

I must be. Here it is. The bold declaration I've been afraid to make but have secretly suspected. Twice now, in the last year, I have been told I am "wrong". Once during the Nick affair with MA (though I have my doubts about all of that and MA because they were looking for something and MA herself was inappropriate and I was responding to her inappropriateness during a time of great stress) and now again at sbr. What both times had in common was that I was under great stress.

But why is it that I am so often under stress? I was going to say that I manufacture stress. But then I realize that right now at work, I would not say my workload is unmanageable by any means. So I don't over exaggerate my workload- when it's really busy and stressful, it is really busy and stressful.

But I wonder if I subconsciously create stressful situations? Then I think, no, because Adriana is often dragged along for the ride and I know she is stressed, too. Very stressed. And I can't create anything for anyone else, and her stress if authentic.

And why was it that N kept her cool throughout, leaving at 4:30 every day? Maybe because she knew I would do it all so she didn't have to worry.

But I can cop to one thing, I'm not so good at hiding the veneer of being stressed anymore. Now I must be snapping at people and letting it show. As N said, we should have grace under fire. But honestly, when it gets that bad, and I'm hitting the wall of burnout and aggression from others, it's pretty hard to smile while I eat their shit sandwiches.

I have a really hard time managing my anger of late- which is why I have been eating. I mean come on. Working out burns off a lot of steam, but when I literally am so burnt out from a day of work and have three more to go, a drink and a big meals and snacks after is a lot more doable than a workout.

I signed up for counselling again. If I were to look back to last year I'd probably also find an entry where I said I needed counselling last year. I went last year this time, and the year before that, too. Seems to be a pattern? Maybe something to do with SAD?

I had stopped taking my meds a few weeks ago. I don't know... I just tapered off. I have never been the best with taking them, I miss a few here and there, but I just stopped. Wasn't aware of why.

But I can't get over that. This is the third year in a row that I have sought counselling during this time of year- it's not new years, but maybe something about the exact amount of light (or lack thereof) my brain is missing, the cold and not being able to get outside much. All I know is that this time of year, consistently, I seem to explode. Everything comes out. (Oh, well maybe in the past it had to do with BCA's business cycle?) All my anxiety is magnified, my anger is just past the surface, my depression is deep and thick, my eating and drinking are out of control and I don't feel quite suicidal, but close enough.

I'm also worried that if I don't do something I will lose my friends. I'm worried they'll realize what a negative person I am (although so many people think of me as the exact opposite) and they will say: Things might genuinely suck.... but there is something about her that makes it worse. I can't put my finger on it it... but I am beginning to dislike her.

That would be awful.

I probably worry about it because they've seen me at my worst.

God, even this entry sounds crazier than usual.

I don't know. I don't know how to pull my shit together and start enjoying life more again- take control of work or whatever. I don't know. I wish I did. I'd do it.

Hit Rock Bottom

2008-12-08T06:06:00.000-08:00

Someone, I don't know who, is always saying you have to hit rock bottom before you can actually get up. I don't know why that's always true for me (probably stems from my intense need to punish myself) but I'm finding it true again.

I got up to 270 after eating and drinking my way there every night- with wild abandon. It was almost like I needed to take it that far, to wreak that much havoc, before self preservation kicked in and I felt like I was ready to come back into my body. I literally feel as if I've left my body behind for the last couple of months, slowly floated away from it and only now am I coming back in, reclaiming it. I'm developing a theory that because I was traumatized physically as a child and dealt with it by disassociating I disassociate as an adult, too. My head just leaves my body and I push on with no connection. I literally march on, discomfort, sadness be damned and get shit done. I don't know how to live through a stressful time without escaping it in some way, I suppose.

What turned it around? This is probably one of the first monday mornings where I'm not exhausted. It's hard to feel excited about life when you wake up feeling so tired your face hurts, your jaw aches from keeping it all together. Yeserday I did a lot of work but I'm not exhuasted. I'm caught up on my sleep (could always get more, but who couldn't) and I've had good nutrition for the last two nights- both of which were sit down meals. I drank a little last night but that had a lot to do with a sore back. Now that I don't have any booze in the house I will keep it that way.

I'm also not at work- two days away. And that's what is concerning me. I'm okay and taking care of myself in this moment, but is that only because I've had two days away from that place? And it's small, but SD wasn't there on Friday, which is much more relaxing (because I don't trust her, she creeps me out).

My startegy for dealing with today is two-fold. I'm going to get out at lunch and go for a walk to chinatown and look at bamboo blinds and urban barn. I'm going to eat all my meals and snacks. I'm even going to eat twice in a sense, because I have a salad from last week I'll eat at the end of the day. I'll start off by washing out that bowl at my desk. I'm going to call Zuma and cancel my membership- big relief. It's just not that interesting to me. And after work I'm going to the gym for a nice, relaxing workout- 45 minutes, tops. I'll shower off there so I don't feel gross on the bus. (remember to bring undies!). And during the day I'll log my food onto Fidtday and check out makeup alley. And look up exercise programs for the new year.

Eventually, I'll call Bob and Marianne. I'm not looking forward to it and the whole Penny situation weighs on me very heavily. I am so angry at her for getting like this. She has two kids. And I feel like I need to do something, but I don't know what and I hate not knowing the whole story. I know in my gut she's abusing perscription drugs. But no one else seems to think so or wants to make it an issue. That I know of.

So that's really all I can think of for now- little ways to enjoy the day and take back the right to take care of myself. I'm so tired of feeling tired and run down and used and unhappy.

Hopefully this will start to unfold and unfurl all those peices of myself in hiding. Hopefully they'll feel safe to come out and help me enjoy the world again, one little bit at a time, a flower here, the pride in doing a days worth of of home improvements and maintanance. Little things that make life enjoyable.

Things are horribly wrong

2008-12-06T16:07:00.000-08:00

Last night I drank a lot of vodka and woke with narry a problem, other than a dry mouth. My tolerance seems to be increasing and yet just a few days ago I missed lunch, grabbed some chocolates at 3:30 pm and then was sick. Really, really sick. I had to go home and sleep, but I was stuck in traffic- my gut aching, getting cold sweats, my head pounding. And I thought, I caused this. I caused this by drinking at night and then eating everything I could lay my hands on. And then not eating in the morning, because I was full from the night before. And then not eating lunch, because I was busy. I caused this by not working out and taking care of myself.

Everything Hurts

2008-12-04T05:57:00.000-08:00

My chest aches. My knees feel brittle. There's a pain in my right wrist and my head is cloudy, like I'm right on the verge of a big headache. And I'm tired but can't sleep. And I'm thirsty. I feel allergic to myself. And my stomach is itchy. And I gained a pound and a half last night.

I want to snap out of this. I want to want to go to kick boxing, the gym, to eat heathfully. I want to feel better. But I just feel like crap.

At work it's not so busy and I took a chance and wrote in my epdp that for me, curisosity is a luxury, I have not time to be curious and no time to act on those ideas. Hopefully that won't bite me in the ass.

Today I'm supposed to meet with an ed from pab. It feels kind of stupid to me. I should have been accepted into pab a long time ago. It's what I do. It's what I excel at- I'm a natural fit. I tried meeting her in nov and she forgot our meeting, so I also harbour strong doubts about whether she'll come or not. And I feel like my chain has been jerked enough already with them considering last spring. If this doesn't pan out, I'm moving on. No more pab.

Today is a new day to get it wrong all over again

2008-11-30T11:53:00.000-08:00

Maybe I am being a bit pessimistic in my title, but hey. I keep doing the same thing over and over that's been bringing me grief, I might as well embrace it.

According to the voice in my head this will never stop. I won't get back to taking care of myself and I'll never be able to devote myself to exercise again. Or I will, but it won't work.

I don't like feeling this way: phsyically or emotionally. Physically my skin is itchy, especially my tummy and speaking of my tummy, it's downright bulbuous. I have officially lost the slight indentation suggesting a waist line I had a couple of months ago. Now it spills out in loose folds over jeans that fit just right a couple of months ago, and I feel like it's a full time job trying to find clothing to disquise my stomache. My lower back also hurts and my knees are creaking. And worse yet I feel like my insides are close to exploding, that my vagina is a dry husk.

Emotionally, it's much worse. I'm in a fog and I don't have the energy or inclination to do anything about, except to eat or have a glass of wine. When Kevin iniates anything, even cuddling I have to pull away. I feel so disgusted with myself. I also feel like I have no control over anything, career wise, so why bother. I hate to say it, but I think a lot of this is stemming from my work situation(s).

I left hellhole and took drastic steps to get away- it wasn't as planned as it could have been. Then I came to the ministry of UBSURD and I was making less and doing menial work. No matter how hard I try to get away from these situations I keep finding myself in them. What I want is a job with little politics, organized, proactive leaders and recognition for my contribution- and to leave at 4:30 most days of the week. I didn't realize I was asking the impossible.

Sigh. So now there's this new teleworking thing and if I could work from home a couple of days a week, I think that could be a good interim, if not long term, solution. I just worry SD will jump all over it and insist I stay in the office. As if I wouldn't have the common sense to know when I needed to be in or not. I'm too much of a worker bee not to try to live up to expectations of me.

Thank god the teleworking thing came along when it did, I would be miserable without something to hang my hopes onto.

To be honest, I'm hoping the answers are in here- in this journal. I need something to point me in the right direction and keep me on track because god knows it's not coming from inside and Kev's not exactly a voice of reason when it comes to eating right. Yeah, he does workout a lot and nowadays people tease him for being thin (as in, you look like a male model, good on you skinny!) but he eats worse than most 8th graders and lives on junk. When I replicate his unique relationship to food I just explode. So I need something or someone to be like a parent to me, to remind me of the bigger picture, to tell me that the food isn't worth it, it changes nothing.

I need someone to step in, gently, and point to the future and cajole me in accepting those shitty feelings, to ride them out and tell me it's okay I have a house that I really love. It's okay to enjoy this and to feel overwhelmed. Because on top of the whole I feel guilty thing is a sense of overwhelm- what the fuck do I do with all of this? How do I take care of it and maintain it so it doesn't deteriorate like the condo did.

That someone could remind me to take it a day at a time and to enjoy it. She would also soothe me and love me through the nights- when I tend to say fuck it, I lasted all day, now it's my turn to bust this wide open and get what I really want. Food. Large quantities of food to fill the black hole of need and sadness.

But why so sad. Why so destructive. It's like I am hell bent on hurting myself. Maybe I should hand write the rest.

A time to stop

2008-11-29T07:35:00.000-08:00

Big sigh of relief. I always feel this way when I finally sit down and devote a little time and space to talking to myself like this. I should do it more, a lot more, but somehow it usually gets pushed to the back burner.

Okay, here's the thing. I have pretty much everything I ever wanted right now. We bought and moved into a cute house. It's a 1912 character house with gleaming wood floors, a new, stylish kitchen and a yard. And I love it. I don't regret it. (I do miss the second bathroom however).

But I have not been able to stop bingeing. Or drinking. This house is beautiful and the first thing that pushed me off the rails was when Kevin's parents got angry with us for wanting to buy it and putting in an offer. Irrational since, it's our freaking house. Understandable since most of the money was coming from the sale of the condo, which they bought, more understandable given the announcements of the bail outs. It's not like we'd planned to place a bid during that time, and it actually happened a week after when we were already "in" to the process. But they reacted like were idiots and we didn't understand anything, and were so rude and cold and mean it almost pushed me even more into holding my ground. Because I knew, deep in my core, that this recession wouldn't change the Victoria market that much-- I'm not saying we won't be feeling the pinch here, we will, but I know in my gut that it will remain roughly the same. (If I'm wrong I'm sorry). I also knew I needed to leave the condo and have an outlet for myself. And I also knew that we were meant to live here. It already felt like home.

The first night we slept here it was like sleeping at home. No weirdness. No waking up at 4 am grasping my pillow wondering where I am. It feels natural and easy here. Even the amount of cleaning feels just right.

So why then, did I feel so guilty and undeserving for so long that I started eating uncontrollably every night?

Then, just before we moved it was the pre-move chaos. And eating right and getting exercise was impossible. The first couple of weeks was hard, too. There was always so much to do it made more sense to grab burgersand fries and I was stressed out so I had two, three, four beers.

And then there was work. The work situation hasn't improved despite leaving the old job because now I'm in the unbearable position of being an underling with no authority. Oh wait, I mean I continue to be in that position, only for less pay and just as much meaningless work. And now our new ED is working around us and I can't stand her. Her favourite employee is an ass sucking lazy shit and anyone who surrounds themselves with such obvious sychophants is bizarre.

So what am I going to do. Because the truth is I can't change SD, I can't know what the recession will bring. But I can stop doing this to myself.

Because let's face it. I am punishing myself. I am so bent on punishing myself it's uncomfortable. But why, why am I punishing myself?

It's hard to put into words and I worry that a year from now it will be infinitely clearer to me, but now I can't define it. It's just a feeling. When we were kids we wanted a house more than anything and now I have one. A nice one. The kind of house I like and the kind of house that when others enter they can't help but notice that it's a good house. I am uncomfortable with having something valuable, like when I lost weight. I felt like I had no right to enjoy this new version of me and a new phase of life.

But the truth is I don't really know why or how this is triggering me so much. I only know that it is. And I want and need it to stop. Starting this weekend. Starting today.

Here I go.

2008-10-19T10:23:00.000-07:00

Here we go again. Except this time, now, it's different.

I was down to 253- a significant achievement, for me. Then all the stress of the workplace took its toll and then something snapped inside of me and I started thinking I deserved more food again- because, after all, I was going through a tough time, then I was in transition, then I was in yet another crappy job and it just seemed logical that I would take a little extra, have a little more to get through.

But now, things are okay. More than okay. We're buying a house. Kevin and I will actually live in a house- sure it's not perfection (it was almost HALF A MILLION DOLLARS but the real estate market here is nuts). But it's a house. My house. Our house. And it's adorable and so perfect in so many ways.

I have wanted a house for so, so long. Since I was kid I wanted a house, a nice, middle class-ish house that didn't have embarassing details like a water sodden kitchen cieling that was about to burst. I wanted a tidy place that was snug and had lots of little details that made it special. And now, I have that. And for some reason it's sending me running to the kitchen every five minutes. It's making me feel dizzy and confused in ways I don't understand.

I know that I want the house.

And I know that I like the house. But I'm afraid to say I love it because.... Hmm, because why? Because part of me thinks I don't deserve the house. That I just kind of lucked out. My logical side says sweetie, you live in a crazy market and you still are getting a house because you have, on paper anyway, a good job for around here, luck has nothing to do with it. But I can't shake this feeling that I'm a fraud and don't deserve to live in such a nice, tidy place... that it's really mine. (and ING's). Kev's parents were a nightmare about it and I felt as if I derserved to be treated like that, while simultaneously wanting to slap his father in the face, hard.

But it's not just me. Kev has been all turned around, too. He's been just as bad as me with wanting food and when one of us works late or even looks like they might be tempted to eat something in large qunatities the other one of us jumps at the chance.

We both just feel hugely ambivilent. He's been running a lot so of course, it doesn't show on his body, but I have gained 15 pounds, so I'm not only hugely ambivelent, I'm just huger than I've been in a long time. And I don't like that.

And there's the work life balance sitch. I took this job so that I wouldn't be busting my ass after 4:30 pm. And right now, I have been getting home on time most days. But this is a recognizable lull. I know it will start to suck again any day now. Though I don't want it too.

I was at a freinds' last night and I was conveying all of this and she said: You have to take care of yourself, no one else is going to do it for you. It's not exactly news, but somehow I found it comforting coming from her. As if she was giving me permission, the permission I have desperately needed, to take care of myself again. To feel like I should take care of myself again.

And I think that lack of wanting to take care of myself, or feeling safe taking care of myself stems from the whole maggot situation.

I had finally lost a lot of weight and although I still remained very fat by societys standards I had accomplished something I never thought I was capable of- in a very healthy, safe way. And I was ecstatic with all the new clothes and newness of how much everything was different, and yet the same... but better. I walked faster, I could see the contours of my face, I felt like I was more a part of the world, I could try on jeans at Old Navy.

And that confidence was alluring to maggot and he sensed my readiness to embrace my looks and so he complimented me. And for me, that combined with his subsequent behaviour is enough to make me feel uncomfortable with body all over again. To somehow blame it for getting me noticed.

I remember in years past when I wrote in my journal I always said I hated being noticed (but I love being noticed for my perosnality). And he noticed me. Not a lot but it was enough to make me doubt myself all these months. I always have this fear, because of what happened during childhood that confidence in my body and comfort with myself is a great way to get noticed which in turn is a great way to get violated. And when he did violate my private sphere it just reinforced that belief.

So now I really have to acknowledge that maggot hurt my sense of safety and that it did falter my very new and shaky sense of confidence and comfort in my body. And then combining that with crappy hours and a lack of exercise is just compounding the situation. And frankly, it's justifying my mistreatment of myself: If I deserved to be pampered with exercise and good food at regular intervals than all the elements in my life would line up to allow for that.

And since that's not happening and I keep trying to bring it into focus I feel like I'm in a very begative loop.

As always

2008-08-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

All of this would be a lot simpler if I knew how it would end.

Will I be the girl who lost 100+ pounds, will I change from the outside and finally be able to wear clothes from any store I step into? Or will I linger and hover here- a new place to be sure, acceptably fat, but not quite where I want to be.

Where do I want to be. I used to think being a size 18 would be just right. And then this year I reached that (though I'm no longer able to claim that since the career crisis of Spring) and while I was there it was heady at first, I could almost fit into clothes at the gap, I could get my legs in the pants and they looked ridiculously tight on me, but when I was a 22 or 24, or 26 or even a 28 I would never have tried putting a toe in, let alone a let a leg. And then it was just meh. It was annoying to be so close but so far. I could see size 16 looming and some 18's fit but most didn't and that was annoying because I felt like a fake 18- like I couldn't quite claim that mantle legitimately. And then I put on 10 pounds in my belly and now I'm back at a size 20. Which isn't so bad, considering how stessful the job situation was.

But I don't want to be a size 20, or even an 18. I want to be a 12, and then I want to be a 10.

That's 40 or 50 pounds less than where I am now.

Sheesh. That's overwhelming, and yet, I have done it before. But I was much bigger than, so cutting out whole groups of food was effective. Now I don't eat those foods as much. Oh, who am I kidding. I do eat them, just less often and in smaller quantities. But then again I have found that it's much better pyschologically to say I've cut them out, not buy them and then buy them occasionally in small, single portions- like an ice cream cone after a day swimming at the beach, or dessert with freinds. The problem is when they creep in at other times.

I don't know. This post is much more stream of consciousness than I thought it would be and I'm okay with that. I had just hoped for some... clarity. Or inspiration.

Right now I'm anywhere from 264.5-267, averaging 264.5. Before the job stuff happened I was about 253- so a little more than 10 pounds which means I still fit into my old clothes, though they're tight in ways that is upsetting. My bras don't fit right- the cup is too small and the band is biting into my shoulders, causing neck pain and headaches at the end of the day. My pants are tight around the waist which tugs at the crotch creating a snug camel toe. But mostly its my belly that gives me trouble. It's a very soft muffin top and since some of my pants are tight on the waist band, they push my belly up and out, so it looks soft and squishy under my shirts. A lot of the tops that looked smart on me 10 pounds ago are unwearable, because they emphasized my waist line, and now I don't have one.

I have bought a couple of items for this new place- not much because I'm determined not to stay here for long. But I don't believe in punishing myself for what happened. I'm not really motivated enough to get a big hate on going for myself because I gained weight during an incredibly upsetting time, and it seems counter productive anyway- but funny I felt like I had to defend my decision to not punish myself.

In all honesty I'm actually about 261.5 right now. Because I have started running and getting back to the gym. So that seems to be the key for right now- exercise, even more than food, I think. I also notice that when the exercsie is in balance food follows- if only because I am enjoying the movement and want to enhance what I can do with food- not be hampered by it. Running is supposed to give you a huge calorie burn so that's why I am trying it. I know a quick fix isn't a good thing, but I also feel exhuasted by this. I have wanted to be thinner my whole life, well, since about 12. And instead I kept getting bigger and bigger- and thinner got further and further away. And now that I have lost a huge amount of weight I know it's possible, for me, and I don't want to wait anymore. I'm tired of waiting.

That deserves some background info.

Often, in my daydreams and fantasies, especially when I was at my bingeiest and starting counselling, I had this idea of losing weight very slowly and safely over time. I believe it was a four year period, sometimes two. But I always had a horror of the idea of someone who is 300 pounds and loses 100+ pounds in a year or less. It seemed really violent and extreme. (Still does). It seemed like forcibly shedding a self, a life and annihilating it way too quickly. For the body and the mind. I would think about the stretch marks that was likely to cause, and the emotional upheaval and I knew it would be too much. Being 300 + pounds myself and going down has been a head trip, so I can only imagine how going down to 200 would be, almost over night. Or lower. My fear was always that I would become a vaccuous teenager again, obsessed, vain and disloyal. Maybe not in body, but in mind. I worried I would lose interest in Bunny. That I would be frustrated by him, hate him for his lack of confidence- the irony would not be lost on me.

But now I'm not 300 + pounds. And I'm not so sure that quicker isn't better. There's the financial aspect that comes first to mind. When I was losing weight quickly I cycled through a couple of sizes in one summer- much better on the pocket book. But when it slowed up I would hover and linger in one place for months. And I needed a new wardrobe all the time. You think you'd be content with a pair of black pants, a white top and a couple of other shirts. But the same thing happens to you at transition sizes that happens at other times. You buy a top thinking its fab, wear it once and realize it doesn't flatter you at all and convince yourself it's okay to try again for a better replacement. It's an especially addictive game when you're losing weight and always hoping to see progress in the dressing room. Pretty soon you end up with a bulging closet of castaways- more so when you go down yet another size.

Then there's the fulfillment factor. I have been waiting for a long time to lose weight and it takes a lot of mental and physical energy to make it happen. I'm exhuasted with treading slowly, carefully- with treading at all. I started treatment for BED about 10 years ago- I did the work psychologically for a long time. And then two years ago I started doing the physical side and lost weight. But that's a decade of focus and work. It would be nice to just get "there".

I used to be scared of maintance and now I'm not so much. I can see how it's easy to gain 10 pounds without realizing it- you fluctuate a lot over a month and by the time that 6 pounds is permanent you're in the doldrums and his four little freinds creep on easily. Way too easily. But I also know that I maintained the weight loss for about a year and gained 10 pounds only under extreme duress- and only towards the end, when I was completely at my breaking point.

And then there's the fun. Losing all that weight had some pretty cool side effects. I used to worry that weight loss would only bring negative side effects, male attention and sexual temptation or misbehaviour or something. Like I would suddenly become a temptress or something! Or a total slut. And even if you tried to count the co-worker sexual harassment thing (which I don't) you'd have to know it was more based on his attraction/confusion/focus on me as a person- my personality. Not my looks. I don't think how I looked played a role. It was also just proximity in my opinion. But enough of that. I'll save that for another time, when I am ready and don't feel so green about it. Back to the fun. The fun of weight loss wasn't getting checked out (which also caused me anxiety and hasn't happened yet that I'm aware of anyway). The fun of weight loss was about buying clothes- I could shop in Ricki's with gf's and rather than stand around outside the dressing room drooling over clothes I couldn't even get a toe into, I could change alongside them and come out and discuss the merit of this shirt over that and they could do the same for me and I liked that. Another fun thing was re-discovering what my body was capable of. Let's say I haven't worked out in 2 months. Not just haven't worked out consistently, but not worked out at all. In the old days if that were the case I would never decide to join a spin class for an afternoon and figure it would be fine. (Actually, pre-weight loss I wouldn't have considered joining a spin class period). But now, it's no big deal. I know I can do it, I know my body likes cycling and that the class will kick my ass, but in a good way. If someone says, hey, let's walk home after drinks downtown I can feel completely confident that I'll be fine and it doesn't even occur to me to worry/fret, except if my shoes are heels. Which brings me to another fun aspect. I can't do the full on heel, but now I can wear heels and walk in them for the most part. Low heels. Before I couldn't wear heels because my feet were too wide and I couldn't find them in my size and if I did it would be too painful because I didn't have strong leg muscles to compensate for the height and my knees were vulnerable. I still have weak knees and mix heels with flats, but, I have some really nice shoes that draw tons of compliments and that genuinely look good on me that I can walk to work in and even walk to the corner in to grab a quick coffee.

There are other good things. I can trying new things, like this running. I can do yoga. I still can't dance. But, I can go to a night club with gfs and dance for hours and hours and hours and enjoy myself immensely. I can lose myself to the music and yes, I'm usually the biggest person there, but I don't care because I'm dancing and it's fun.

I don't hold back from enjoying myself so much anymore.

What else?

I feel a little more comfortable around men. Not so foreign. Or maybe they feel more comfortable around me? If I did lose a lot of weight and suddenly got my male attention I know for the most part what kind it would be. It wouldn't be "dudes" with cool clothes and hair. It would be intense, nerdy guys who are looking for a wife. The kind of guys who would be drawn to me would be drawn to me for my personality- and my looks would be a conduit to that. I also know that I wouldn't be a beauty. I always secretly hoped that if and when I lost weight I would suddenly look like a model or something, or just be above average in some way. But now I think I would be attractive- genuinely attractive with good features and a quirky elegance- but sometimes, in some lights, my features would be heavy and hard and my skin isn't so great. I think I would have my mothers thighs (big) and my tummy would always be flabby and soft so it's not as if I'd suddenly start sporting skinny jeans and ankle boots and super fitted tops. I guess what I'm saying is that losing weight now that I'm a little closer to average wouldn't be such a shock. My face wouldn't change much and neither would my body, I'd still be a classic hour glass. I'd still look like me. And I'd still be like me. I know that I wouldn't change much perosnality wise. I might get a little more confident, a little more daring- but those would be good changes. Other than that I don't see much being different. And I'm okay with that.

So basically, I guess what I'm saying, public declaring, is that I am ready to lose 50 more pounds. I am giving myself permission to go there.

2008-05-12T13:39:00.001-07:00

Since I last sat down to gather my thoughts things have changed a lot. I left my job. Visited home. Got a new job. And right now I’m in transition- haven’t started the new job yet and am trying to enjoy a well earned break and make sense of the situation I left so that I can begin to heal and get some of my confidence back.

The biggest question that keeps floating in my mind is how much of what happened is me? As in, did I create a lot of the stuff in my head and make it worse, or was it as external as I supposed.

I play devils advocate a lot. When things I usually spend a lot of time afterwards looking at my own behavior, questioning my own motives and feeling guilty for my role in things. I usually end up crediting the other party way more then I do myself. I shoulder most of the blame and take on a lot of the negative “baggage” and assume my motivations/behavior was more petty and self-centred than the other persons.

But not this time.

This time, looking back I can see I wasn’t perfect by any means. I used gossip via e-mail to a trusted friend to relieve some of my tension- and also unleashed my poison tongue with some like minded gossips in person. Being on the receiving end of gossip stings, I know, I’ve been there. And that’s why my gossping is the only thing I feel guilty about. And I fully intend to think about that- though there’s a caveat, as bad as gossiping is, and as much as I would prefer not to engage in it, I know that in the big picture it’s not the worst thing in the world and my gossiping only reached hurtful proportions when I was at my most stressed and most overwhelmed emotionally. I know that I gossiped to deal with the situation. It was a coping mechanism. I couldn’t affect change in a straightforward manner with my manager so I dissed him behind his back and made snide little comments to people whom I knew would be receptive. So really what I would like to do is cut down on the idle, gossiping about harmless people that just rolls off my tongue in a moment of weakness/bitchiness/passing frustration and get away from people who make me so frustrated and who block me into corners so that my only defense is to strike back by talking trash about them. So that’s what I learned and it’s something I have wanted to do for a long time but everyone does a little gossiping and when you’re with friends it feels so good to finally say all those things that have been building up inside for so long and laugh about it over coffee. So honestly I don’t know how realistic that “lesson” really is; which brings me to my point: I wasn’t perfect, but I can forgive myself this time for any behavior I exhibited because overall I was coming from a place of trying to enjoy life, grow professionally and fix what needed fixing at work. Which is why this time, not last time, but this time, I am placing the blame externally. Because for all my imperfections and less than stellar behaviour at least I didn’t behave in a way that made me ashamed or seemed “wrong”. They did, however.

That job started off very well. But I knew right away L was going to be a problem. She’s bitchy and catty and smart and talented. She remarks about everyone and provides a strong social code of behaviour with punishments doled out very quickly, and yet the rules don’t apply to her. She’s a middle-aged Queen Bee with a hive swirling around her and I knew right away that in order to get along there I would have to befriend her and put her onto a pedestal. Which I did.

I promptly began to kiss her butt, as she was my supervisor and I relied on her good graces to keep me protected from other divisions/depts. stealing my time with make-work projects, and most of all my manager stealing my time. I knew right away she was the de facto manager and I’d be wise to show my deference and loyalty more visibly to her than to him.

Things went swimmingly and if I had any qualms about having to kiss her ass I quickly squelched them because I was happy to be included in a group and to have peace at work.

But once X came on and L started to see a new group forming within the group she turned on everyone- it was also at that time that she started to date a super senior manager who has a reputation with the ladies and she went through a lot of angst about whether or not to date him for her own personal reasons. She’s also highly sensitive about aging. So all of that combined into a perfect storm and she blamed all of her emotional stuff on the people around her. As I later found out she did something similar during her divorce.

So there was the episode with L. Which, to his credit, my manager stepped in for and stood up for us.

I survived that very well in tact because I had friends who kept me sane and balanced. I even lost a lot of weight that summer.

Then C left. Then X left. And then L left. And then things took a turn for the worse in terms of workload. I got dumped with more and more projects because I had the longest corporate history and well, because I was the only person there. A very talented person who I respected greatly and I competed for the same job. Both of us were equally qualified. Neither got it. Instead it went to a smarmy, sexist pig.

And then things went from bad to worse because my highly qualified and wonderful friend was laid off and my work load got bigger. The new person was lazy and lacked iniative. So my workload got bigger. Plus, by this time I was serving two masters. I did 2 jobs worth of work and I had two managers to answer to, neither of which was willing to give me up and each of whom fought over my time. Only one of whom was my actual manager. The problem for me was, I found the work with my non-manager supervisor to be more interesting, rewarding and more important for the overall wellbeing of the company than the make-work I had to do for my actual manager. Plus, I was working at a much higher level. So I felt like I was being dragged down by routine, mindless tasks, stupid window dressing projects that lowered our credibility, and had to carve out time for real communications work that would benefit the company in the long and short term, while being paid less than my lazy colleague and doing the amount of work of two, and oftentimes 3 jobs. With no appreciation and no foreseeable way to get out. And when I tried to deal with it with my manager on many occasions he became extremely defensive and rude and mean, questioning my dedication and my professionalism on small mistakes that I made (I lost a flower arrangement at an event- but in context to the service and product I provided on a daily basis I hardly think losing a fucking flower arrangement is worth questioning my work ethic over.) Then came the sexual harassment and then came the betrayal of the company. After all of that I can truly say that while I may regret gossiping as a coping mechanism I forgive myself that error in judgment and can only feel compassion for myself.

Of course I was saying snotty things by e-mail! I had to find some way to make it in every morning, to make it through the days when a dumb decision landed on my desk and I had to fix another mess and be treated like shit on top of that. And you know what? I am fucking ambitious and I did want my co-worker’s job. I should have had his job and yes it did cause bad feelings. Not initially. No, at the time it really didn’t bother me at all except on my other co-workers’ behalf who I felt deserved a promotion of some kind. But I figured the new person would be a real dynamo and would pull their weight and produce good work and I would learn from them- after all I reasoned- there had to be a good reason why they were hired over me or the other person. But alas not. And not only that he was a prick. A creep. So I began to feel even more bitter and resentful. And when I tried to talk my manager about my workload and he freaked out my feelings were hurt and I put my head down and tried to make the best of it. But really I gave up. And the truth about me is; I’m not really able to give up. I care too much. So I just got bitter.

Now, I wonder, what did I learn? What valuable lesson can I take away with me from all this? The first thing that springs to mind is to move on sooner. I started feeling that way in October but I stayed because I thought they needed me for SABA and well, because I like SABA. I couldn’t have known that decision would blow up in my face, but I could have checked my ego a bit. They need me? No, they don’t. Nothing I built there will be remembered fondly or honoured. And why should it. That place didn’t need me- because I’m replacable. Which isn’t to say I didn’t do good work, I did, but that there is nothing special about me and I shouldn’t have worried about them- it’s not my problem. (But saying I should have moved on sooner kind of denies reality in that I tried a few times but didn’t get any bites and was so exhausted after 5 days of that craziness I had no energy on weekends).

Lesson number two- when you stop taking care of yourself for a job it’s no longer a healthy environment. For me, the level of my happiness is best expressed through my level of self-care. Self-care for me consists of a balanced diet, working out a couple times per week and the ability to have fun in my body- that can be a long bike ride, a hike, going out to eat without guilt, or pilates. When I start to distance myself from my body and its wisdom it means I am distancing myself from the message its trying to tell me. My body doesn’t whisper, it roars. And when I ignore it takes a lot of work, a lot of active deception and sabotage on my part, but I’m also very good at ignoring it, I’ve done it for many more years than I’ve had the pleasure of working with it. And that’s exactly what happened this time- I didn’t want to listen to the message it was sending about stress at work, about feeling bitter and looked over- about feeling trapped in a job that was going nowhere and for whom I felt it necessary to sacrifice my health. I stopped working out because I was so busy and something had to give and I had to make more time for myself to decompress and sleep to recover, and so I took more time/mental energy from my already strapped self- rather than from my work. I hate to sound like K but she was right. Your body is a well. You have to re-fill it all the time. And you have to be more vigilant when you’re taking a lot from it. But I got so busy emptying the well, drawing on my reserves to the last drop that I had no time, no energy or interest in re-filling it. I couldn’t. And my body knew, it saw it happening and I knew it wasn’t healthy or right. And I ignored all the subtle hints, all the messages it sent. I lost so much. Physical strength, emotional well being, that sense of accomplishment, energy, zest, hope, flexibility, a flatter stomach. And I gained 10 pounds of flab in exchange.

Lesson Number three: The hardest of all. The one I will have to think about, long and hard. The realization that maybe I’m not cut out for a stressful job. Maybe I don’t handle even mild stress very well. Other people have done that job (though its changed quite a bit since C left- but then it had it’s own stresses then, too) and didn’t feel as depressed and shit on as I did. Maybe if some of my blame lay anywhere it’s in the fact that I denied to myself how little stress I can actually handle. Maybe I am more fragile than I ever thought? But when I think those thoughts, when I allow myself to go there a voice, my drill sergeant, shouts: NO! It sounds weak and pathetic and I don’t want to be those things. My brain says only tiny little weak women with itty bitty bodies get to claim their “fragile” and can’t handle stress. Not big fat oxen like me. Not work horses, not me, a lumbering mule with a thousand lb weight on my back. I have to be strong, stronger than most, with hidden wells, reserves of strength- why? Because I always have, because I’ve always pulled through (at great cost to my body) and so I expect myself to tough it out, take the harder road and persevere. The idea of admitting I need a gentler environment, a softer existence, special accommodation because I can’t cut it seems like admitting I’m a failure and weird and weak, and I don’t want to be any of those things. I feel like I already make excuses for myself internally, I don’t want people to see my weaknesses externally, too. And I don’t want to miss out on opportunities, on fun because I took the easy road and opted out of competing.

And I guess that’s all for now.

Emoting

2008-03-22T10:12:00.000-07:00

I won’t bother to go into all of the details, suffice to say there are a lot. Instead I will bullet point the last month of my life and attempt to capture the gist of why I am now going into work and coping by disassociating and then binging uncontrollably at home.

Co-worker verbally attacks another co-worker in my presence
Same co-worker makes a very inappropriate, creepy remark to me on Valentine’s Day (day after verbal attack).
I stew for a couple of days, what to do, what to do….
I decide to document the event with HR- I explicitly say I do not want this to turn into WWIII, I just want it on record in case he does it again or does it to someone else.
HR immediately launches into action, disregarding my request completely.
I document, I tell the story, once, twice, fifty times.
People are called into meetings.
Tension abounds.
I call in sick, but I’m not physically sick, I’m emotionally sick, anxious with the entire goings on.
i. I call HR and tell them this is all impacting me negatively.
Co-worker is fired.
Friend quits job after 2 hour interrogation. They have read all of her e-mails and pegged her as workplace poison.
I am next.
Two days later I am called into HR. My e-mails are brought before me. They have been investigating me. I still don’t know why or how that came about, but I suppose turn about is fair play? Anyway, they zeroed in on snotty e-mails between me and friend wherein we joke at the expense of others.
Please note: these snotty e-mails were not exactly cutting a wide swath through the company. Five people were targeted with our “workplace poison” including the sexual harasser (only after he sexually harassed me, mind you). The other four breakdown as follows: my manger, a useless pantsload. And two co-workers of my friend that are notoriously irritating and condescending. The final snotty e-mail was a one off, wherein I called a fucking idiot a fucking idiot.
i. Oh, and the e-mail I sent to my friend explaining that I wasn’t really sick on the day I called in, but feeling like shit with everything and using the day to gather up my emotional strength to make it through the rest of the week in the middle of a sexual harassment investigation, wherein someone else’s job was at stake.
I was given a letter of reprimand for my crimes, a letter which will stay on my employment record for two years.
Note to self: Don’t trust anyone.

I have been through the wringer and I know where I went wrong (though shall not diss thy co-workers, especially not on company e-mail). But other than doing something 90% of people do I don’t really have much to be sorry about around my own behaviour. I took responsibility for it, I’ll never do it again and I’m genuinely sorry for using the company e-mail inappropriately. But I feel betrayed. Let’s just put it out there. I came to them and asked them to document a situation which I felt I could work with (as long as I knew I had a documented safety net behind me) and instead of listening to me and respecting my wishes they turned a tense situation into a scorched earth situation. (Tally: 1 person fired because of this, 1 person quit and the person who made the sexual harassment allegation {me} reprimanded for inappropriate e-mail use. Nice).

But this isn’t about who did what. This is about how I feel. How I’m coping. Or not coping. Or coping in a way that’s destructive.

To get myself into work and to accomplish anything I have numb myself, so that by the time I get to those elevators all trace of the person I really am, how wronged I feel and how angry I am, are gone. In order to do that I have to sublimate every natural impulse I have, which is to stay home, to yell at them, to send a snotty e-mail to a friend pointing out all their failings as human beings, to say something snide to a friend about how fucked up the place is, but most of all, to leave. All of these impulses, which are essentially healthy, given the situation, have to be shut down. All day long. For eight hours I have to make my face a blank mask that doesn’t betray my despair, my seething rage or my hurt. For eight hours I have to pretend I’m not counting the seconds until I get another call about another job or arrange another interview/writing test. For eight hours I have to pretend I’m happy to be there, that I’m okay with being there and that I accept that they have a right to read e-mails, written during a period of duress, accept the conclusions they have drawn about me and the situation, and meekly accept my punishment. Eight hours of eating shit.

I don’t do well with that, especially since I feel as if I’ve been eating shit for a while now.

But again, this isn’t about them. It’s about me. I have to keep reminding myself of that, I have to stop myself from telling the story. The story isn’t really that important, the Meta story is. The Meta story is the key here. The Meta story is this: I’m in a shitty situation. One in which most people would chew their own toes off to get out of as soon as possible and I am still there, biding my time, playing nice, secretly seething. I don’t actually know if I have any right to feel as wronged as I do, but I feel it and since I feel it shouldn’t I quit, shouldn’t I completely pull up stakes and say fuck you I’m outta here? Is it smart, strategic, to stay until I have another job? And more central even than that is this: why is it that when I am in an untenable situation I not only stay and try to make it work, but I punish myself.

It’s the self-punishment aspect of all of this that scares me. I am doing a lot of this to myself. I have been unhappy there for a while and trying to get out since Octoberish. (hence my snotty e-mails beginning in October according to HR, at least they got the timing right, though the lions share of the reprimand-able e-mails came during the month long investigation period, funny, wouldn’t that be when I was most upset and most needing to vent?). Why did I stay as long as I did and is there a part of me that knew it would have to come to a head like this in order for me to leave?

I’ve never actually cleanly left a job. I’ve never actually left a person or a situation without it being a big thing. (Well, Emma Shram I left without much ado but somehow that doesn’t feel like a sufficient example). I have always held on to things long past their expiry date and stayed and stayed out of a sense of obligation, while also knowing that my seething hatred was crushing me and the other person at the same time. So I bring about these situations where I get to leave with a sense of righteous hatred or I slink away, slapped for my misconduct (coping mechanisms while in a shitty situation). But I never just make a clean break. Let’s look at all my dirty breaks:

My mother- too much history to sum up in on sentence. Let’s just say it was the mother of nasty break-ups.
Jen K- never told her straight up that I’d moved on so I avoided her instead.
Dawn G- never told her how upsetting/hurtful her behaviour was.
Michelle M- Fired me and broke up on bad terms, similar to this work situation, there were misdeeds all around, all of which could have been avoided if I’d just left sooner.
V-Day ladies- I would scale a wall with my teeth to avoid running into one of these women. They disrespected me and used me and I hate them for thinking badly of me.
A K- similar, but not, strange time for me, tainted by M. But I was in the middle of wanting to escape CC and it was a very triggering event for me.
Tommy’s taxi- lied about starting school to quit there.
Alan- should have just told him he was a racist pig in the first place and moved on.

I don’t want to get into blame the victim thing here, but how much of this would have been prevented if I’d just left? But then common sense cuts in. How exactly could I leave if I didn’t have another job? I mean, that’s stupid. So how can I blame myself for staying? But then again, I could have tried harder to get out as soon as I realized it was getting to that point where I feel taken advantage of and bitter.

(Note to self: When you start to feel taken advantage of and bitter, take drastic measures to get the fuck out of that situation. More on that later.

Alright. I’m trying to get away from the self-destructiveness thing and am going to the gym for a bit. I’ll write more later.

Back to basics

2008-02-24T10:47:00.000-08:00

I certainly took a long break from blogging. Interestingly, it’s directly attributable to the summer weight loss synchronicity cycle kicking in again. In late July everything started clicking together again, just like last year. I was going to the gym every morning, I was going to Pilates and I was feeling very strong and capable and relaxed. At night I would sit on my balcony in my new chaise lounge and read- despite my discomfort with having neighbors stare at me. And I started to lose weight again. Not as much weight as the year before, but enough so that I was able to make my dearest wish come true- to add one more, crucial clothing store to my bland shopping repertoire. Rickis. I first went in trepiditiously in September and tried on a sweater vest. At the time it was still a little too tight so I returned it. But a few weeks later I went back and I tried on a pair of black pants and they fit! That change launched me into another world in many respects- I finally felt like I was able to indulge my fashion sense in a way I’d never been able to before. September marched on and I began to worry about what would happen when the days got shorter and the cravings kicked in. So I got myself some anti-depressants. By the time October came I was a size 18 and toned and firm. I bought new bras and felt like a lady. I bought new shoes with heels that went with my new clothes. And then October was over and November was long and cold and dark. And then everything started to unravel. The depression wasn’t as bad this year, thanks to the Citalopram, but the exercise dwindled. I could barely wake up in the mornings and in the afternoons I was so drained from work I just wanted to lay on the couch. Mondo got sick and was dying and that broke my heart, another friend left work and I injured myself when I tried to kick my exercise routine up a notch- ironically, in an attempt to stave off depression and routine.

Other things happened, too of course. Work ramped up from busy and unsatisfying to crazy busy and unbearable. We went on a family vacation. Mondo got sicker. Coming home to see him so weak and disoriented was hard for me. I could not watch him suffer for much longer. It was too hard for me to see him like that. And I knew that my decision would ultimately be as much about putting us at ease as it was about putting him to rest. We were there with him as he passed away and it felt surreal to watch my little grumpy buddy slip away from us after the injection. When the vet left, we held him and buried our faces in his fur, touching his belly and stroking him in intimate ways he never let us do when he was alive because he was so “boundaried.” And I felt so guilty for being so curious to finally touch him unimpeded by his usually violent response to any unsolicited and often, solicited, attempts at touch. I wasn’t sure if it was disrespectful to bury my face against his body and breathe him in, but I needed to feel him and experience him; to know him one last time. I think he would have understood the impulse to touch him, finally, at last.

And then December rolled around and work got even worse. I was working late and working through lunch and when I got home I was too tired to do anything and I wasn’t eating right during the day so by the time I got home I was voracious and felt completely justified saying, “I deserve take out and I’ll get my shit together tomorrow.” But I never did.

And then January, work finally went back to just being busy towards the middle of the month and we got a new puppy to help fill the hole left by Mondo and for that first week I was so content and so happy about having a new being to love and know, I didn’t feel out of control around food at all. But that kind of contentment doesn’t last long, and so I was quickly back to feeling like I had before: not quite depressed, but not quite enjoying my existence either. Not able to exercise, not able to take care of myself for anything more than brief bursts (usually brought on by scale-scares).

Now February is almost over and I’ve been yo-yoing between 253 and 257. Sometimes I get as low as 251 and then I blow it. And my stomach is huge. Somehow I manage to fit into lots of 1x’s (18/20) but my waist is 41 inches, technically a size 22. I feel like a freak. I don’t know why my abdomen is sticking out so much in proportion with the rest of me. Fiona went to England in early September so I haven’t been to a Pilates class since then, hence my enormous stomach I guess. And since I haven’t been exercising much at all, including doing core work, all my weight seems to be going to my stomach. I don’t want to be bitchy here, but I am meant to be hourglass shaped, not apple. At least apple shapes usually have the benefit of shapely legs. But I have big, gi-normous breasts, an abdomen that threatens to exceed the breadth of my bosom, and big legs, featuring the ever attractive “cankle”. I don’t need this shit and wearing stupid spanx is a recipe for a yeast infection, but I have to tame this tummy somehow.

The thing is I’m unhappy with this body right now. I feel like I’m in transition. I’m not legitimately a size 18 since I usually get horrendous camel toe in size 18 pants and I don’t fit into size 18 jackets. But I’m not exactly a size 20 either, because the pants are too big and the shirts are boxy/big and frankly, I don’t want to be shopping at Addition Elle anymore. I want to be able to shop just about anywhere. I want clothes that will make me feel fabulous. Because I have to say that feeling beautiful, as I have in the last couple of months is probably the most exciting thing I have felt in years. There are times now when I look in the mirror and I know that according to society I’m still a “big girl” but I also know 95% of people would agree, I’m working what I have. Some people might feel like that every day, or feel like that fairly often and so they take it for granted but I haven’t looked in the mirror and genuine enjoyed, let alone appreciated what I see since I was a child. For the first time in my life, I approve of myself. That’s an odd feeling to go from a vague sense of disapproval and disappointment in yourself to approving of the way of you look, the decisions you make (not always but better than the past). I feel like a grown up with choices. But I also feel like a kid playing dress up, trying on different personas and finding out that the way I look can be a fun thing, it’s not a dreary prospect to get dressed and see all the glaringly wrong angles and dashed hopes of outfits that should have looked good but didn’t, couldn’t, because my body didn’t have defined curves and angles as it does now.

So, I’m making a list. To try and get things sorted out so that I’m not hamstrung until August. Maybe I can fix this; maybe knowing is half the battle. Maybe I have some say in this- maybe it’s not beyond my control. Maybe I can get what I want.

1. Buy a light therapy box. Okay, we have two years worth of evidence to back up this expenditure. Every year beginning in August I begin to feel better somehow- more alive and energized and despite the fact that I don’t like the humidity I feel more like myself and I can wake up and get to the gym. I can ride my bike and walk to get runkie and I can play tennis and do so much more without feeling like I’d rather be on the couch with a loaf of French bread, cheese and wine. My hope in purchasing a light therapy box is that it will give me that mood boost and energy and efficiency I seem to have during the height of summer. Odd though, that it peaks in August/September and July and October seem to be transition months. What does that say about me, I have 2 great months, 2 okay months and the rest are just write-offs? And why don’t the good times start sooner, in June, peaking in July.August/September? Could that delayed and short onset of good times be because of how northerly we are up here? I also noticed that my tomatoes didn’t ripen until the end of September, whereas back home, back east, by July you have juicy tomatoes falling off the vines. Hmmm. All the more reason for me to simulate sunlight now, as soon as I can.

2. Make a gym schedule for March, start now. Stick with it. Rewards built into schedule.

3.More protein. No more cottage cheese. It’s boring and I’m sick of it. Switch to yogurt and protein powder mixed with berries. Find protein powder that can be mixed with water. More nuts.

Imaginary This

2007-07-28T16:33:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-24T11:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-14T14:50:00.001-07:00

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

2007-07-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-07T18:29:00.000-07:00

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:

It helps me sleep really soundly
It helps me feel strong and capable
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....)
It helps me feel long and loose
It helps me get out all my shitty feelings
It helps me try new things
It helps me feel pretty
It helps me feel like I'm part of the world- not just living in my head
It helps me feel safe- I can take care of myself
It helps me feel better physically- my feet feel better, my neck and shoulders feel soooo much better.

Solution Oriented

2007-07-05T16:26:00.000-07:00

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

2007-07-01T14:11:00.000-07:00

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

2007-06-25T17:47:00.001-07:00

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

2007-06-23T23:05:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-13T13:48:00.000-07:00

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

2007-05-12T15:48:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-25T20:02:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-24T10:49:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-18T19:35:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-12T20:51:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-11T16:15:00.000-07:00

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

2007-03-07T20:46:00.000-08:00

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

2007-03-06T17:44:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-03-04T16:55:00.000-08:00

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

2007-03-03T09:35:00.000-08:00

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) :

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.

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!

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.

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.

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?

2007-03-01T18:21:00.000-08:00

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