Sunday, January 30, 2011

workin' it

I have continued working out with the class, when it fits my schedule.  I am pretty much astonished at the progress that occurs with even a little faithfulness.  For instance:  we do push-ups every time...usually at least 2 sets of them (I'm only doing 45 minutes of the hour class at this point; I'm pretty sure they do a 3rd set after I leave).  On the first night, I couldn't really do any.  I struggled and trembled and sorta kinda almost did 2 or 3...but not really.  

What's it been?  A week or so?  I can do 15 on the first round, at 10 or better on the second round, though I shake so hard I kind of just fall down when I'm done.  

We do another torturous thing called "the plank."  Elbows on the floor, holding the remainder of the body in a (boys') push-up position, abs and all the other fun muscles tight.  I couldn't do THAT one at all either on the first night.  I still can't really "do" it but I'm getting stronger.  I assume the position and last maybe 5 seconds and then fall down.  But then...I get back up again.  So I'm kind of a ridiculous comedy side-show while all the other ladies are groaning in pain and begging for mercy but can at least hold the position.

That's okay.  I still remember learning to do what I think was called the roman chair when I worked with a trainer several years ago.  When I started, I couldn't even hang there, not even for a few seconds.  Over time, I could hang for long periods of time and even lift my legs.  If I got that, I can get this.  

There are actually a bunch of things we do in class that I can't "really" do.  But I have made real progress on all of them, as I try and just settle for doing badly (though as well as I am able) with all my might.  And I'm confident progress will continue.

One of the plans I talked through with my son before I came here involved the bike/running path.  I have never since high school attempted to do any kind of running at all.  Even when I was small enough to not shop the plus-size racks...even when I was fit enough to jump bareback onto my horse from the ground...even then, I sucked at running.  Add to that the fact that post-children, all the wiggle and jiggle is just downright appalling...and I just haven't even TRIED.  

But I noticed before moving here, when I checked out that bike/running path, there are ALL MANNER of people running there.  I mean, some are slim and svelte and look mahvelous sweating it out.  But others are less well-proportioned, much more awkward, have terrible form, and even wiggle and jiggle every bit as much as me.  Still, they are running. 

I wouldn't dream of doing that where everybody knows me.  Too damned mortifying.  I have sorta kinda jogged in place the last 2 times in class (amazed the whole time that I could do it) and I'm beginning to suspect I might be able to do this.  Which is what my son said.  He told me to, walk 3 minutes, jog 1, etc and he had a specific alternation pattern in mind, though I suspect at my low fitness level, ANY moving and pushing myself will dramatically improve where I am now.  

So today, when I was kind of jogging in place for the first full 10 minutes of our time, I was looking hard out the window, imagining that when spring comes, this butt is getting on that path.

I think it's possible.  

I am amazed to think so.


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

love hurts, yeah yeah

Okay I have made it to my new workout class 2 nights in a row.  Feeling good about that, though my muscles have a thing or 2 to say about that.  Not gonna gripe about their griping...after all, it is a direct result of my failure to train them in the way they should go, eh?  I shall treat my body with love, and not blame it for the way I have mistreated it.

Going to my class is humbling.  It's the coolest workout class I have ever been to, in the amount of freedom.  The leader keeps time.  So for a set amount of time, she tells us to "get moving."  We all get moving in different ways.  Some step, some jump around, there are jumping jacks in there, and jump rope too.  I march in place, mostly, though tonight I did try to remember some of my old pom-pom girl footwork.  That was more interesting than marching.  She guides us in short intervals of non-cardio stuff.  Push-ups, a torture called "the plank," lifts from the edge of the stage, and a bunch of various ab stuff that I almost can't do at all yet.  We are reminded all along to do what we in everything we can, but also as in not pushing dangerously past our limits.

This is where I feel humbled.  Everyone else in the class is much, much closer to their ideal weight than I am.  Actually, if I looked like any one of them, I would not bother with an exercise class (and now we see the kind of thinking that got me to this weight.)  So during the cardio part, they are so very active.  Bouncy.  High energy. 

And I can't do more than a small fraction of what they can do.  And I'm sucking air like no other, while they don't really seem short of breath at all.  And I couldn't bounce if my life depended on knees have serious things to say, on the issue of bouncing.  

Back on the bike path last summer, situations like this made me hateful.  Svelte, tanned, barely clad, beautiful women would whip by me on their bikes, as if I weren't even moving at all, and I would think nasty, spiteful thoughts.  I mean, sometimes I tried not to.  But...I still did.  I hated on them pretty consistently.

I'm not tempted to hate these girls, though they are just as beautiful as the babes passing me on the bike path.  I know them, and/or they are my housemates.  Still, I DO feel very inadequate, dancing in their shadow, even while they are so very positive and encouraging to me.

So I've been expanding a technique I used on the bike path, to help me hold more realistic expectations of myself and not go all ugly-insecure.  Here's how it goes:

Oh man, I barely get my feet of the ground and she's bouncing.  I'm so hopelessly fat!

Wait...I'm carrying 100 more extra pounds than she is.  Let's think about this.  Remember when I used to carry feed sacks?  A FIFTY pound bag was almost more than I could carry.  The 100 pound bags...I could only get them an inch off the ground.  I couldn't breathe or speak while carrying them.  They made my knees and back hurt, just in picking them up.  I couldn't have climbed a stair with them to save my life.  

Okay, okay, okay...picture the cute bouncy girl picking up that 100 pound bag.  Is she bouncing now?

I don't think so.

Would she be able to work out as hard as I am working out right now, holding that bag?  

I doubt it.  But look..I wear that bag every minute I'm alive...and still....I'M DOING IT.

And with that, the I'm-such-a-loser feeling dissipates for awhile...and I can call the whole visual back again when the feeling tries to return.

Does it seem ridiculous?  I dunno.  It helps me stay on task and not fall into the for tonight...I am counting it as love.

Monday, January 24, 2011

good at being bad, bad at being good, learning all the way

My silence on the blog hasn't meant an end to the pursuit of the mission, which I repeat here to remind myself:

This year, I resolve to press into God in prayer, to listen to what He tells me, to do what He shows me, to press on and run the race, to not give up until...until...

...until I love my body.
Sometime since I last posted, I ran into a great friend in the hallway.  She was teasing me about something I consistently do, saying, "You're so funny" several times.  I laughed along with her, and then did that icky thing I sometimes do:  I was mean to me...I was the butt of my own joke.  

"I think you mean 'You're so dumb!'"  Her eyes grew wide as she was walking away, and I was left wondering...did she hear that I was saying that was about me...or did she think I just called HER dumb?  I was pretty mortified, pondering it. 

She was great (as always) the next time I saw her, so I suppose she heard all of what I said.  We didn't talk about that sentence further.

But OH MY, Holy Spirit had a thing or two to say to me about it!

So, it would be terrible for you to say it about her, but funny to say it about you, really?  How is that?

Why is it important that you treat her with love and respect, while not mattering what you say to/about yourself

Do you really believe I sort people out in the same cliquish ways people do...favoritism and all?


I have worked past A LOT of those negative internal dialogues that beat me down, but a 5-second conversation in the hall really revealed to me:  baby, I ain't arrived yet.

So I'm back to working on listening to what I say to myself, about myself and pushing it through the "God filter."  

Tonight I learned that there is an exercise class here at my house, 4 nights a week.  Free.  I met the news with great dread and horror.  It seems I STILL don't want to exercise.  

I am reminded that love, in the context of relationships, often means doing what I don't prefer to do, for the higher good.  I go back to the child-raising metaphor:  if I know that good parenting means discipline for the child's own good, and then I choose not to discipline because it's uncomfortable for me or requires too much energy on my part...well, that's not love.

I don't have to "feel" love, in this instance.  I need to SHOW love by doing what is best for this child that is my body, despite my discomfort and general laziness that yells, "NOOOOO!" at the notion of stepping it up a notch.

Will I choose to love my body this week?  

Oh Lord, please help me.


Sunday, January 16, 2011

kind of a love/hate thing

Well, today I for sure don't love my body.

I've been sick for several days.  Been babying myself, resting, going gently...have felt I was really on the right path.  Yesterday I was mostly better, but even still, took it slowly. 

Today after church, I went for a walk.  I needed to get to a nearby Walgreens to pick up some photos I had ordered.  It's about 6 city blocks from here, I guess...the number on my building is 920, and the store is on the same street, numbered 1500.  That's 6 blocks, right?  It's not 6 blocks like back home...not 6 small-town blocks.  A piece further than that.   But still, not at all unreasonably far. 

I was excited about going for a walk, after having been in my room for 3 days.  Loved the fresh air and the giant, slowly falling snow flakes.  Felt productive.  Felt good. 

Until.  Uggg.  About a block from the store, I suddenly found myself pretty darn tired.  I hadn't been hurrying; this walk was nothing like "cardio" at all.  Just a leisurely Sunday walk.  Still, I slowed down a bit. 

The walk home was pretty much excruciating.  My legs got rubbery.  Nausea took hold.  I was woozy and kind of staggering enough that I wondered whether passers-by thought I was under the influence.  By the time I got into the house and onto the elevator, I was propping myself up against the wall.  Needed to sit down before I fell down. 

WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED?!  I am mostly better.  MOSTLY.  Certainly felt enough better to go for a nice, slow afternoon walk in the sunshine.  It didn't seem like a gamble when I was walking out the front door. 

Truth:  I have no patience with my body, in cases like this.  My literal thoughts toward it were angry:  "Why are you f**king with me like this?!"  Bad language?  Yes (and I'm sorry if it offends).  But really...that's how vexed I was at what was happening in this body.  How merciless, uncaring, and unyielding my emotions were toward it. 

That's not love.  If a child in my care had an unexpected meltdown like that, I would have felt more mercy toward them than I felt toward my body today.  I might have been irritated, but f-bombs wouldn't have been dropping inside my head. 

I don't know how to love my body.

God, help me.  Please!

Saturday, January 15, 2011

sicky ickies and easing into wellness

Some of the usual winter upper respiratory gunk knocked me out for a couple of days.  My high school BFF, who also just got whacked by a flu bug to the tune of 10 days, was lamenting on her Facebook about how much harder these things hit now than they did when we were 18.  Man, ain't that the truth!  It used to be only stomach things had the power to send me to the bed for days.  

I guess there is a blessing in the fact that we are wiser than when we were 18.  Back then, I'd have wanted to throw meds at the problem and hurry back into action.  This time, my reaction was aggressive hydration and all the rest I could manage (barely moved off my bed for two days and three nights), and little comforts like salty hot ramen noodle soup and continuous cups of hot tea to soothe my throat, along with hard candy to keep it from clogging up.  

I'm not hurrying back into action.  Today has been about asking my body questions and listening for its answers.  There is the tricky business that a body at rest tends to stay at rest - it's easy to feel "too tired" to move, having been down.  On the other hand, I've regained a lot of ground since Wednesday, and I'm not willing to give that back and retreat to lesser health, you know?  

So I got up before sunrise, showered, dressed and did my hair, because I've learned in life that sometimes my body will follow such cues and be ready to press on.  I made my bed, so that I wouldn't be tempted to stay in it all day.  I'm not doing much, but sitting upright on the couch sends myself a signal - time to rejoin life.  Can't only sleep forever.  I've propped my door open so that neighbors in my hall can stop and say hi.  I even ventured downstairs to get my meals, though it seemed best to bring them back up here and keep any potential lingering cooties to myself.  

Just for today, I think loving my body is about encouraging it to be well, but not flogging it into performing when it needs to be healing.  

I'd be that nice if it were anyone else's body, after all.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

not my thoughts, but WOW a lot i am considering this morning

From Oswald Chambers in My Utmost for His Highest:

January 12, 2011
     When they were alone, He expounded all things to His
     Mark 4:34
Our Solitude with Him. Jesus does not take us alone and expound
things to us all the time; He expounds things to us as we can
understand them. Other lives are parables. God is making us spell out
our own souls. It is slow work, so slow that it takes God all time
and eternity to make a man and woman after His own purpose. The only
way we can be of use to God is to let Him take us through the crooks
and crannies of our own characters. It is astounding how ignorant we
are about ourselves! We do not know envy when we see it, or laziness,
or pride. Jesus reveals to us all that this body has been harbouring
before His grace began to work. How many of us have learned to look
in with courage?
We have to get rid of the idea that we understand ourselves, it is
the last conceit to go. The only One Who understands us is God. The
greatest curse in spiritual life is conceit. If we have ever had a
glimpse of what we are like in the sight of God, we shall never say -
"Oh, I am so unworthy," because we shall know we are, beyond the
possibility of stating it. As long as we are not quite sure that we
are unworthy, God will keep narrowing us in until He gets us alone.
Wherever there is any element of pride or of conceit, Jesus cannot
expound a thing. He will take us through the disappointment of a
wounded pride of intellect, through disappointment of heart. He will
reveal inordinate affection - things over which we never thought He
would have to get us alone. We listen to many things in classes, but
they are not an exposition to us yet. They will be when God gets us
alone over them.

Monday, January 10, 2011

about that spoiled brat...

Back to the little metaphor God has been using so aptly to instruct me:  within the last week or so (and many times before that in life, as well) I've spent some time around a parent who doesn't bring the children into obedience.  The kids are in charge, running rampant, disrespectful, loud, disruptive, and just generally no fun.

The parent, when approached about this, laments how terrible the kids are.  How they don't listen.  How they don't obey.  How their smart mouths are so offensive.  How badly they behave.  

And I listen to the parent, and think:  whose fault do you think that is?  Who always lets them do what they want?  Who never tells them no? (*Edit* s/b "never enforces a no.")  Who never models nor teaches respectful behavior?  Who would rather rest and pretend not to notice what they are doing, rather than confronting and dealing with it?  Do you have any idea how ridiculous it is that you blame the kids for this problem?

It's so easy to see, when it's not me...ya know?  

So.  This morning, I wrote about how my body is being a spoiled rotten brat.


I guess it's time for me to stop blaming my body for the way it acts, and start taking responsibility for training it to do the right thing.

Usually I hate mirrors for the shape they show me.  Tonight, what the mirror shows me is somebody who's been shifting the blame.  

Gotta knock that crap off.

Perhaps that means today's lesson from God to Karen is:  part of loving my body is taking appropriate responsibility for its care and training, and accountability for the lack thereof.

I wish I came off looking a little better, in this story...

O praise the Lord, for He is good, and His mercy endures forever.

pro at procrastination

I read this really great article about procrastination this morning...really the perfect thing for a Monday morning.  Great insights into the whys and hows of procrastination.  I definitely keep my procrastination compartmentalized; I'm right on top of things in some areas of my life, and a flagrant, unrepentant procrastinator in others.  Diet and exercise have tended to fall under the latter for me.  

This just goes to show how stubborn I've been about not carrying life lessons from one compartment to another.  I can look back across my life and see areas where I've switched from procrastinating to not, and can see my freedom in those areas so clearly.

I used to be deep in debt, because I nearly always enjoyed the now and didn't factor in the later.  Digging out of debt was a matter of choosing to pay now, pay first, forego the "now pleasures" in favor of the later.  (Admittedly, a whole lot of this specific process happened against my will with wage garnishments, but still there was a lot of lesson along the way, and I DID understand.)  

I used to live most of the time in an appalling mess...the kind that makes people cringe.  Stacked dishes, stacked laundry, stacked garbage, mess everywhere.  I thought I was "too busy" and "too tired" to take care of these things.  When I began to grasp dealing with each thing immediately, in the now, I learned that the mess is unable to catch me and mess with my peace of mind.  So now I make my bed as soon as I get out of it...stop to put that book back on the shelf now, rather than planning to do it later, and while no one will ever call me a "neat freak" I do enjoy the sort of order that keeps me from being oppressed by the mess.

I'm realizing while I write this that the body I'm currently driving around this earth is in some ways the same kind of appalling mess, for the same kinds of reasons.  I enjoy the treat now, with the plan to be good later.  I relax awhile longer, with the plan to work out later.  This afternoon.  Tomorrow.  Next Monday.  Anytime that is not NOW.  

Now here's the trick, on this one:  the lesson is great.  I have a choice:  I can handle it in the usual Karen-ish way and formulate a plan for how Karen Who Is Bigger Than God (my imaginary friend) will overcome her procrastination by her plan, her power, her might, her determination, her wisdom, her insight, blah blah blah. 

Been there, done that, got the size 3X t-shirt.  

Or, I can recognize my imaginary friend as the powerless fool she is, and I can take the really great lesson and ask God to remove this shortcoming in me.  What I know from working the 12 steps:  no point in asking Him to remove it until I am entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character

I find myself in that strange spot again - struggling to be in charge, in control, fully understand and grasp, and to FEEL what I know I should.  

Being entirely ready is not just an emotional state - not just a feeling.  

Right now in this moment though, I am stuck on the feelings.

The eating part of bringing my body into obedience - not so hard.  I mean, I don't do it perfectly, but I've made and continue to make really nice progress on that.

I DON'T WANT TO EXERCISE.  Oh man, how lazy is that?!  I don't want to.  Here in my comfy bed at 7:15 in the morning, considering any kind of commitment to exercise makes everything in me balk.

In other words, who is in control?  


And I'm not loving it by letting it squawk so loudly and insist it can't, won't, doesn't wanna exercise.  

I'm letting it be in charge.  Letting it be a spoiled rotten brat, with all the baggage brats carry.  


Time to get entirely ready.

Saturday, January 8, 2011

started this one with a thought, and then it exploded on me

This year, I resolve to press into God in prayer, to listen to what He tells me, to do what He shows me, to press on and run the race, to not give up until...until...

...until I love my body.
What was I thinking?!

I can't love my body.  
I don't know how to do that. 
I've never done that.  
I can't even wrap my head around that!

It's so abstract.  How will I know when I've gotten there?  There are no numbers to measure!

When I feel the way He cherishes it as a feeling me...that's an accomplished goal.

When I treat it like the gift it is...that's success.

When I can agree with Him for real that it is glorious (and not complain within myself about the way He decided to make it)...well, all I can say is that would be a miracle.
Oh yeah.  Uh.  I guess that's kind of a definition.

Number one difficulty here:  I am accustomed to making a plan and working it.  This would feel less Utterly Impossible if I wrote out a list of stuff to do.  You know, to try and get it under control.

Cuz I'm so very proven in the "getting it under control" department, on this one.

*Insert face palm here*

The part of me that so desperately wants a checklist right now is the ME, ME, ME part.  Karen Who Can Do Anything.  Karen, Queen of Head Knowledge.  

Karen Who Is Bigger Than God.  She's my favorite imaginary friend.  We've spent TONS of time hanging out.  

Meanwhile, there is the business of working it out.  I think I understand that Philippians 2:12 "fear and trembling" bit differently just now than I have before.  I would like a clear road map, and an unhindered view of what's ahead.  But I think this is going to be a "one day at a time" proposition. 

I fell asleep last night knowing what was the next thing He was telling me to do:  fast today.  

I woke up this morning pretending to myself that I didn't know for sure whether it was Him or me who said so.  It takes a special kind of arrogance to pretend like that, eh?  

At my parents' church over the holidays, their pastor talked about the fasting (there is a lot of that going on in their church just now.)  He talked about how the body is not supposed to be in charge.  How it talks so very loudly about what it wants, always stating it as an urgent and undeniable need.  How it needs to be brought into obedience.  

Ever spent a lot of time around a child who has never been brought into obedience...or even worse, and adult who was that child?  Not fun.  Not interesting.  Not pleasing.  Not a blessing.  NOT.  The loving thing to do with a child is teach him how to yield, to obey, to that the world won't shrink away when they see him coming.  So that he can enjoy healthy relationships.  So that he won't push everyone away with his obnoxious demands for what he wants (which of course he thinks he needs, never having learned otherwise).  

Umm.  Wow.  I started writing and this thing is just sort of opening up to me as I do so.  

IT IS NOT UNLOVING to bring my body into obedience. 

My body will be more fun, more interesting, more pleasing, more of a blessing in that state.  

Crap.  That's true!  I never saw it like that before.  

Brought under obedience, it can be healthy.  

Saying goodbye to its obnoxious demands...uh...I COULD GET EXCITED considering that.  

Its current overfed and under-exercised state definitely makes demands.  

Don't walk so fast.  You may not run or jump, or the knees will scream bloody murder.
Avoid the stairs, or I'll make you breathe so hard your throat will get sore.
Don't push your range of movement, or I'll play the clumsy card and make you pay.

Uh.  I've turned my body into an obnoxious, annoying spoiled brat.  

Reversing that project won't be fun at first.  Ever said "no" to someone who isn't accustomed to hearing it?  PLUG. YOUR. EARS.  

But then again, this is also true:  kids without boundaries only lose their minds for a little while when they bump up against someone who consistently enforces boundaries.  Sure, they pitch fits and feel hatred toward the enforcer.  For a bit.  

And then they find comfort in the unexpected place of boundaries.

And next thing you know, the enforcer is one of their favorite people.  Why?  Because they feel the safety and even the love therein, even if they can't understand why or articulate what has happened in them.  

Is it really possible that my body will stop being my enemy if I'll bring it under obedience? 

I'm pretty sure God just gave me definition one of loving my body.  

Color me amazed.

Friday, January 7, 2011 this called a re-set?

I put the following up on my Facebook blog thingy today.  If I follow through, I reckon this naked dieting blog might read a little differently than it has until now (more consistent, but also different in other ways as well):

Among the various artists and very gifted people here at JPUSA, we have a guy whose art shows up on magazine covers pretty regularly (and no, I'm not going to name him here because I have no idea whether that would be okay with him.)  Recently he sent an email around on the list that goes out to the whole house, calling for models.  He is working on another magazine cover, and needed ordinary people of all sorts and ages.  We were invited to come to the garden room if we wanted to be a part of this project. 

He is an incredibly talented artist - I have spent a lot of time admiring his work.  The way his illustrations go, though, is he draws real people in a sort of caricature.  So certain features come out a lot more pronounced - you've seen enough caricatures in your Sunday newspaper political cartoons to understand what I'm saying, I hope. 

I couldn't bring myself to go down and model.  On one hand, I've never seen anything in his work that looks like he sets out to be mean or make people feel bad about their appearance.  On the other hand, it was too easy for me to imagine which of my features he might choose to exaggerate...and even imagining pretty much filled me with horror.  I stayed far away from the garden room that night. 

Along about the same time, I was having a girly sort of conversation with one of my very favorite new friends here, the details of which have no relevance to my point tonight - except for the part where she said to me quite simply in an email that "God loves our bodies he created."

Oh.  Yeah.  He does! 

I tend to forget that.  The evidence of my forgetting is how much I tend NOT to love my body. 

I don't love the way my body looks.  True now, true when I was 100+ pounds lighter (and thought I was so large that I owed the world an apology for having to look at me.)  Beyond even weight issues, I can pick myself over and tell you all manner of ways I am made that don't fit the airbrush model ideal currently held for how a woman is supposed to look. 

I don't treat my body with love.  Don't feed it right.  Don't work it out enough.  Don't stretch it like I used to.  In ways both big and small, I am careless in the basic care and maintenance of this machine that transports my soul and spirit around every day.  You know, the one He knitted in my mother's womb.  The one called "fearfully and wonderfully made."

Many make body-related New Year's resolutions.  They choose diets.  They plan workouts.  They pick numbers - weights, measurements, clothing sizes - and set target dates for them.  I've made a whole lot of resolutions like that over the years.  Some of that has been chronicled on my on-again, off-again "naked dieting" blog ( - never fear, the only things "naked" there are thoughts, not people).  

Those resolutions haven't been total failures.  I eat a lot better than I used to.  I listen to my body (not as in "obey its cravings" but more as in "read its barometer of my health and well-being") much better than I once did.  I don't live nearly as sleep-deprived as I have in past parts of my life.  

They also haven't been total successes.  I won't waste energy spelling out the evidence; if you know me, you know they haven't.

Setting aside appearance issues and such, the simple facts are these:

God loves my body he created.

I don't.

David Crowder sings, "You make everything glorious/And I am Yours/So what does that make me?"  I love the song.  I sing along.  I agree with it as an idea.

I absolutely never factor my body into that "glorious" bit.  I pretty much keep it limited to my soul and spirit. 

My New Year's resolution this year is not going to be a specific diet, a specific weight, a specific size, a specific workout. Instead, how about this:

This year, I resolve to press into God in prayer, to listen to what He tells me, to do what He shows me, to press on and run the race, to not give up until...until...

...until I love my body. 

When I feel the way He cherishes it as a feeling me...that's an accomplished goal.

When I treat it like the gift it is...that's success.

When I can agree with Him for real that it is glorious (and not complain within myself about the way He decided to make it)...well, all I can say is that would be a miracle.

Good thing I know Somebody who is in the miracle business.

Here we go!

much love


PS Yes that's right, if you're wondering... I am doing ONLY ONE resolution this year.  The rest will just have to work itself out without a list to follow.

PPS  Heck, who knows, maybe I'll manage to chronicle the journey of this resolution on the naked blog.  Feel free to hang around and see, if that's you're kind of thing.