growth details that are probably boring if you're not me

Still moving imperfectly but happily along this journey of letting God teach me how to love my body.  Some successes:  times I've gone to bed hungry, cuz I knew I had enough for the day and I woudn't die from not having a snack.  Getting out and moving - riding the bike, walking, etc.  Eating what's reasonable, and not what my appetites say I oughta get.  Completely bypassing ridiculous foods offered to me between meals - just pure straight sugar/carb garbage, nothing but bad for me and it seems I am learning to respond to "bad for me" now even when "yummmmm" is shouting loudly inside my head.


Noting little happy measures of these obediences:  the new belt that I just bought?  Already had to move in a notch tighter.  Shirts that used to be tight on me are now biggish.  Those things aren't the point of the story, but they are definitely fun little niceties.


Less-than-successes:  times I went down for a cuppa hot tea at bedtime, and teabags were gone but milk was not...so I had bowls of granola cereal.  NOT a good bedtime choice.  Cleaning my plate at lunch, when guys on the line gave me too much.  I gotta outgrow the "clean plate club."  I can TAKE less and eat it...but dude...if it makes it onto my plate, it ends up in my stomach.  No good.  Room for  growth in my journey.

A friend in my age bracket has taken up running (or, as she calls it, "plodding.")  Reading her accounts of this always inspire me.  When I moved to Chicago, my son told me my exercise plan should include a walking/running routine.  Like, walk 3 minutes, run 1, repeat, etc.  Over time, the objective is longer running jags.  Meanwhile it maximizes the fitness effect of the walking time, as the pulse stays higher.  This is a great plan.  I have meant to do it since I arrived.  I have not done it.


I think the excuse at first was Chicago was too cold in November/December/etc.  And then meanwhile I shrunk.  So more recently, the excuse has been my sweat pants will fall off my body, I think, if I try to move quickly in them - they are clownishly large on me.  So...what was I gonna do...run in jeans?  NOT! 


Today I went to Old Navy to get $1 flip flops.  Along the way, I "happened" onto great sales on:  great pants for running (made of that stuff that "wicks the moisture away"), "performance" socks (extra padded on the bottom, supposedly for support, light weight, "wicking" material, mesh on top, oy vey), and of course the all-important sports bra.  I already have shoes that should work, passed along to me by my sister, and I found a good shirt at the free store last month.  I also figure I can use my water backpack thingy that I use on the bike so I don't dry out.  The only think I lack is maybe a sweatband, but I can just try this and see if sweat actually runs into my eyes like it used to on the elliptical.  

(And can I mention this little bit of joy?  I bought my clothes in the regular section.  I mean, off the same rack where the smalls and extra smalls are sold.  Yes, I bought the biggest stuff in that section.  BUT it has been yeeeeeeeeeeears since I bought anything off a rack that wasn't all plus-size stuff.  That was FUN.)


So basically I have removed my excuses.  I didn't plan this at all...just stumbled into a good sale and kinda bought on auto-pilot.  So I'm guessing this is more answered prayer - the Lord is pushing me forward on loving my body.  Tonight I asked a friend to nag me and ask once in awhile whether I'm putting all those workout clothes to work. 


The other thing is, I resolved when I moved here to use the stairs mostly and the elevator only when it was necessary.  Shortly (pretty much immediately) after arriving, I amended that plan to climbing to the 6th floor at least once per day, and let myself ride the elevator the rest of the time.  After awhile, I mostly stopped using the stairs, cuz I breathe and blow so hard it makes my throat sore when I do more than 3 floors.  This week, I heard how someone else manages this:  we have an "east" and a "west" stairwell.  She climbs a set number of floors, then walks the hall to the "other" stairwell (giving herself a chance to catch her breath a bit while walking a flat floor), then does a few more floors, more of the same, etc.  I CAN DO THAT.  I need to do that.  I need to stop using the elevator so much.  I have a built-in easily accessible workout, and I am burdening the elevator system instead.  Writing down my need to do that here.  Hoping this will push me into praying more consistently about that and obeying the leading I get. 


Signing off, hungry at bedtime but excited about possibilities.

new belt - like, party on, dude!

I got to do something fun this week:  I bought a new belt.  The top belt in this picture was new this time last year - I bought it to wear with my dress pants.  I used the first hole when I bought it (as in "the biggest setting possible.")  

I started whittling it down right away.  I was walking that dreadful Rock Island hill and taking Lulu out for adventures along the banks of the Mississippi, and I went down a notch pretty quickly.  Then I joined COWS (have you been reading long enough to remember that?)  and I focused on a diet that was healthy to the max, and I went down another notch.

 

I didn't NEED the belt to hold my pants up.  It was just a nice accessory to make me look more "put together" in the executive office - I'm kind of a fashion nightmare, but this was one attempt to play at least a little bit by the rules.  

 

Sometime after arriving here in Chicago, with all that walking and the wonderful changes that eating in community has wrought on my previously extremely over-generous daily caloric allowance, I started needing my belt to hold my jeans up.  I have NEVER needed anything to hold my jeans up...not in my whole life.  But they kept tugging down to the awkward zone, so I started wearing it every day from necessity.  

 

Then I got this God-inspired New Year's resolution to press into God until I learn to love my body.  It hasn't looked anything like a planned diet or detailed exercise regimen.  It has been much more moment-by-moment, much more intuitive, much more just about learning to obey and yield one choice at a time.  Meanwhile, I kept going down notches.  Maybe a month or so ago, I hit the smallest notch.  That was definitely cause for celebration.  I am NOT doing this as a weight loss plan...sometimes I have to remind myself of that, but mostly these days I remember the goal is loving my body (on the premise that if God does, then so should I!) and any weight loss or increase in fitness is just fruit - just evidence of daily grasping of the goal.  So...the smallest notch on the belt was not the point of the story.  But it sure did make me smile.

 

About two weeks ago, I discovered that even on the smallest notch, my belt was riding down.  It wouldn't stay at my waist.  It wasn't in danger of sliding down into the awkward zone, but...it wasn't really keeping my pants where I wanted them.  I cheered - I would need a new belt soon!

This week I bought that new belt.  I wore it today.  The 2 belts in the picture (my old one and my new one) are matched exactly at the buckle end.  CHECK OUT THE DIFFERENCE IN LENGTH!

Yes, I am smiling.

Know what, though?  IT'S STILL not a weight loss or fitness program.  I am learning to love my body, one choice at a time.  I don't do it perfectly.  I did a road trip last weekend and I treated my body barbarically.  I ate a whole big bag AND a smaller 99 cent bag of Fritos in my 18 hours of driving.  I drank several sugared sodas (I'm such a sucker for Ale8One every single time I go to Kentucky).  I didn't exercise one bit while I was on that trip.  I sucked down WAY too much caffeine, so that I wouldn't get sleepy while driving.  I owe my body an apology.  

So...I'm not perfect, not 100% "there."  And I'm not all hard-core at any point.  I enjoy small treats.  I am learning how to eat ONE cookie.  There was a point in my life, not so long ago, that I considered that basically impossible.  

Looking at those belts lying side by side...looking at the INCHES of difference...4?  5?  I don't know...that's a major improvement in a year's time, though.  I still have a very long way to go to anything like a HEALTHY weight...I definitely still have to shop the plus size section (I am already praying about that...soon...not tomorrow, but soon enough, new [presumably used] jeans will have to follow after the new belt, and plus-size jeans aren't all that easy to find in the "free or practically free" category).  But looking and thinking things through, I do believe I'm learning this business of loving my body.  

And I think it's starting to love me back.

this is a slimy one...

So...a post every 23 days eh?  Way to make a blog succeed, Karen...


I just don't tend to have a lot to say on the naked dieting front just now as this "learning to love my body" thing is succeeding beyond my expectations but is so very UN-diet-ish.  And on that note, today's blog is also un-diet-ish.  But it's quite related to loving my body.


I've been sick for six days - not just "this is no fun" sick, but more like "this is interrupting my life" sick.  I've been to the doctor and learned it's a virus and can't be hurried along.  We can treat symptoms, but otherwise it's just a matter of taking good care of me and waiting it out.  


Today I noticed that my body is an amazing fighter.  It has been performing the equivalent of massive air raids on the virus today.  They have come in waves.  One moment, I'm kind of tired and blah but getting by.  The next moment, all hell breaks loose in the mucus factory and stuff is moving everywhere that it can move.  I'm scrambling to manage it.  Find a cough drop to suck on to stop the out-of-control cough that threatens to make me throw up right where I stand.  Find a kleenex...make that 3.  Wipe away the tears that gush to the point of "I can't see."  


It ain't pretty.  It ain't fun.  It ain't dignified.  But you know what?  It's amazing!  Really!  Carpet-bombing, live inside of Karen's nasal passages.  GET OUT, VIRUS, GET OUT!  


Color me impressed.  What a strange way to learn to love my body.


Go, body, go.

click go the connections and karen goes "wow"

Well, here it is April and the good news is:  I'm still fully connected to my single New Year's resolution:  in short, that I will let God teach me how to do what I've never had a clue how to begin:  loving my body.  

I have been at this prayer thing now long enough in life to understand that when I ask Him for something, 99% of the time I don't really understand what I'm asking for.  The answers are almost never going to come in the ways my lil' old imagination can conjure.  The timing is going to look "off" according to my own expectations, but it's also going to be perfect.  The pieces of the answer will almost always blow my mind, but they always link together to create beauty that far surpasses what men can muster with our puny little attempts.

I have continued to keep my hands off the process.  No dreaming up plans or schedules.  No choosing my own measure-able marks of the journey.  I am asking Him, and I am waiting on Him, and I am staying out of His way as completely as I can manage. 

Wanna know something crazy?  IT'S HAPPENING.  I mean, I am not there, but I get glimpses of it now.  This is not "results based" emotion.  I've been there, done that so many times.  Dropped 50 or more pounds too many times to count...started feeling really, really good about how much better I looked...and then BOOM.  Sudden inexplicable end of all motivation, all the weight hammered right back onto my poor groaning frame.  This is not that.

I started with following the simple directive:  choose love.  CHOOSE to love my body.  Feed it what it needs, not what it wants.  Don't respond to its "spoiled brat" demands.  Take responsibility.  Love it enough for discipline.  Move it around.  Take care of it.  I have been doing this, one choice at a time, with far better consistency than any of the previous highly planned and structured attempts.

I have dropped some pounds.  I don't know how many; this is not about that.  There is a scripture that tells me to seek first the kingdom of God, and all the rest will be added to me.  I'm thinking loving my body as the gift it is from God is definitely a "kingdom" goal...so...the pounds are dropping as an "added to me" kind of deal and not as the final goal.  The point here is:  I am learning to love my body while it's still somewhere in the 100 pounds above target weight range.  BEFORE it gets to anything close to that condition that has brought the happy feelings before...those ones that carried me exactly nowhere.  

Anyway.  This weekend another piece clicked into place.  I've had this sudden awakening to my need to fight against insecurity in the last few weeks.  My tactics against it are different than they have ever been before.  It has been a very God-led thing; I've just been following along and generally being amazed.  Over the weekend, someone said just the right thing and the light bulb went on:  this battle against insecurity is a battle for loving my body.  I have been shutting insecurity's nasty voice off for SO MANY YEARS by stuffing food in on top of it, trying to squash it down into silence, to sedate my body and brain into not upsetting me.  I have done it mostly unconsciously and unknowingly, but occasionally with full deliberate zeal.  

Without understanding what I was doing, I have started "telling on" insecurity when it starts its crap.  I write it out and refute it, but what I don't do is shovel food into my pie hole, trying to still its voice.  When it shuts up this time, I guess it will be when it leaves.  Feeding it has only ever hurt me more.


I have no idea when that might be.  But tonight, grasping the fullness of the connection there, I feel hope.

 

saved by the big fat mouth

Tonight I made plans to go to my workout at 6:30.

Then I worked my side job until after 6.  Standing at the elevator a few minutes later with my plate of cold supper in my hand and my feet aching, I was ready to skip the workout.  I opened my big fat mouth and said so to a lady sitting there in the lobby.  I'm tired, there's not time to eat, change, and get down here in 15 minutes to start on time.  

Her answer was simple:  You can go late.  

Umm.  Yeah.  That's what my coworker did last night while I sat on my bed gleefully eating a chocolate chip cookie, telling myself I was "too late" anyway. 

I'm awfully glad I opened my big fat mouth.  And that the lady in the lobby opened hers.  And that my coworker mentioned how last night went.  I made it to the workout, only a couple of minutes late.


It wasn't my most graceful workout.  


But I did it.


Today, though just by the skin of my teeth, I chose love.

gleeful unapologetic self-saboteur

Had a wonderful time tonight at my supper Bible study.  It ran long...so long that it was really too late to change and make it to my workout.

I was gleeful.  Ecstatic.  So happy to have an excuse for missing the workout.  Even after having enjoyed ice cream cake for a birthday celebration.  Even with a giant chocolate chip cookie wrapped in a napkin to save for later.

Looks like I still have plenty of room to go on this journey...

progress even after time off...amazing

Made it back to my workout tonight - that has been interrupted for almost 2 weeks for various reasons.  I figured everything would be super hard after the time off; my motivating friend said otherwise.  Good news:  she was right!  I still have the plank 90% conquered, pushups were manageable, and I didn't feel as much like crying as usual when we did wall squats.  

Another friend tells me I can probably reduce the leg pain that steals my sleep so often by doing more stretching afterward.  That's worth a try.  

It must be bedtime...I'm hungry.  Sorry, body...you can complain to me, but I love you too much to give in on this one.

In other news, my sweat pants are beginning to be sort of embarrassingly big.  Except I'm not embarrassed...it's like wearing a trophy.