Well, again this morning I was mostly dressed for the run when my left foot informed me with a high keening of arthritis pain that we would not be running. DARN IT. It's really hard to surrender to that, when I'm already in my running tights, already got my pants and shoes pulled on, already got the underarmour shirt on, already got the rest all piled up and ready, and already started stretching. It feels almost like a point of no return and it chafes me to stop.
But, just for today, I chose love by not running on a foot that was clearly indicating I should not.
Now, to continue choosing love throughout my Friday...
Praying for me, that I do. And praying for you, that you do too!
Friday, November 30, 2012
Thursday, November 29, 2012
progress report - boring but i'm smiling
Yesterday, the cookies were still in the hall, and I walked past them every time without touching.
Yesterday, I ate lunch in the Bistro and did not request a cookie basket or freak out about the different soup bowls.
Yesterday, I ran in the morning and biked to and from work.
Last night felt better than the 2 nights before it.
Go figure...loving one's body feels better then destroying it.
Yesterday, I ate lunch in the Bistro and did not request a cookie basket or freak out about the different soup bowls.
Yesterday, I ran in the morning and biked to and from work.
Last night felt better than the 2 nights before it.
Go figure...loving one's body feels better then destroying it.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
cookies on monday, cookies on tuesday, bring on the hill
Well, yesterday was another not-so-banner day for me. A coworker brought these amazing chocolate chip cookies - made by his MOM, for heavens sake! - and they were really small (which my brain translates as somehow not as bad a choice as big ones) and they sat in a container in the hall all day. There weren't many times that I walked by that container without snitching one. And I passed thru that hall a lot. DARN IT.
I've been putting off running up the Brady Street hill, as I was getting re-conditioned after my involuntary running vacation. This morning I decided that 2 days in a row of nutritional crimes against my body meant it was time to do the hill again. Gotta help the body burn all those awful carbs or the pounds they've probably already added.
It's still the Brady Street hill. It didn't get more gentle during my time away. It really takes me to the place of ONE STEP AT A TIME. Looking ahead just isn't an option, if I'm gonna actually do the whole hill without walking.
And that's what I did. Which leaves me a bit less bummed about two days of cookie binge. And a bit more hopeful that I'll choose love today.
I've been putting off running up the Brady Street hill, as I was getting re-conditioned after my involuntary running vacation. This morning I decided that 2 days in a row of nutritional crimes against my body meant it was time to do the hill again. Gotta help the body burn all those awful carbs or the pounds they've probably already added.
It's still the Brady Street hill. It didn't get more gentle during my time away. It really takes me to the place of ONE STEP AT A TIME. Looking ahead just isn't an option, if I'm gonna actually do the whole hill without walking.
And that's what I did. Which leaves me a bit less bummed about two days of cookie binge. And a bit more hopeful that I'll choose love today.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
some mondays, i lose the battle
If you've followed the naked blog for long, you know that Mondays are difficult for me, and doubly so Mondays after a longer-than-usual weekend. I am ALWAYS hungry all day long on Mondays. I assume it's my body's response to me messing with my usual schedule and routine. I always run late for work on Monday morning. My muscles are always more stiff when I stretch for the run on Mondays.
Yesterday was no exception, and it contained the multiplier of the Thanksgiving weekend behind it. I was glad to still make it out for my run, and didn't bother to be frustrated that it was one of the slowest runs I've done in awhile. I had forgotten to pack snacks, so I worked away at my desk all morning feeling voracious to the point of distraction. A friend invited me to join her for lunch, so I stuffed my rice and beans in the fridge and joined her in our Bistro there at work, where I can get a nice bowl of soup for about $2.
The soup is a perfectly adequate lunch. It is hot. It is big. It is unfailingly yummy. It is varied. What's not to like about soup for lunch?
We have new dishes there now, purchased to be quieter when handled and banged about. The big bowls are shaped different than the old, noisy big bowls. I am pretty sure they are not ACTUALLY smaller. But they give the illusion of being smaller. When the bowl came, I saw it and instantly thought "smaller." And KNEW it was almost surely a visual trick. Still, for whatever reason, my stupid animal impulses were stronger than my knowing-better brain, and I couldn't get past the feeling that lunch wasn't "enough." Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Then I followed that mis-perception with a bad choice - I asked for the free cookie basket. One can ALWAYS have free cookies in the Bistro, just for the asking. Unfortunately, they don't bring you A cookie. They bring a basket, you know, for the table. A generous and sweet thing to do. And - Monday sufferer extraordinaire that I was - I reached into that basket more times than I want to write here.
Doh! This is the naked blog! That means I gotta tell the truth.
*Sigh*
I might have eaten something like 5 chocolate chip cookies for dessert yesterday at lunch.
Yes, this makes me want to cuss like a sailor.
Nothing to do, of course, but pick up and do better going forward. Anything else is self-sabotage, and I think yesterday's lunch was a sufficient dose of THAT, don't you?
Grace. It's everything. Today's goal: not abusing that grace.
Yesterday was no exception, and it contained the multiplier of the Thanksgiving weekend behind it. I was glad to still make it out for my run, and didn't bother to be frustrated that it was one of the slowest runs I've done in awhile. I had forgotten to pack snacks, so I worked away at my desk all morning feeling voracious to the point of distraction. A friend invited me to join her for lunch, so I stuffed my rice and beans in the fridge and joined her in our Bistro there at work, where I can get a nice bowl of soup for about $2.
The soup is a perfectly adequate lunch. It is hot. It is big. It is unfailingly yummy. It is varied. What's not to like about soup for lunch?
We have new dishes there now, purchased to be quieter when handled and banged about. The big bowls are shaped different than the old, noisy big bowls. I am pretty sure they are not ACTUALLY smaller. But they give the illusion of being smaller. When the bowl came, I saw it and instantly thought "smaller." And KNEW it was almost surely a visual trick. Still, for whatever reason, my stupid animal impulses were stronger than my knowing-better brain, and I couldn't get past the feeling that lunch wasn't "enough." Dumb, dumb, dumb.
Then I followed that mis-perception with a bad choice - I asked for the free cookie basket. One can ALWAYS have free cookies in the Bistro, just for the asking. Unfortunately, they don't bring you A cookie. They bring a basket, you know, for the table. A generous and sweet thing to do. And - Monday sufferer extraordinaire that I was - I reached into that basket more times than I want to write here.
Doh! This is the naked blog! That means I gotta tell the truth.
*Sigh*
I might have eaten something like 5 chocolate chip cookies for dessert yesterday at lunch.
Yes, this makes me want to cuss like a sailor.
Nothing to do, of course, but pick up and do better going forward. Anything else is self-sabotage, and I think yesterday's lunch was a sufficient dose of THAT, don't you?
Grace. It's everything. Today's goal: not abusing that grace.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
karen's beans and rice recipe
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I make this on the weekend and then eat throughout the week. Totally vegan, cheaper than cheap, almost no work at all, highly satisfying and nicely spicy, pretty darn good for you. It's my own adaptation of a recipe I found on the internet.
The picture doesn't do it justice - I generally add a smidge of water before microwaving a bowl of it, and today I added too much. But if I put off posting this, who KNOWS when it's going to happen! Trust me. It's yummy!
BEANS AND RICE
1 (1 lb) bag dried pinto beans
1 can Rotel tomatoes with chilis
2 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 tablespoon garlic powder
1 tablespoon garlic, minced (kind in jar is okay)
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon oregano or Italian seasoning blend
1 can Rotel tomatoes with chilis
2 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
1 tablespoon garlic powder
1 tablespoon garlic, minced (kind in jar is okay)
1/2 tsp turmeric
1 teaspoon cumin
1 teaspoon oregano or Italian seasoning blend
1/2 teaspoon Mrs. Dash
1 large onion, chopped
Rinse beans in colander.
Put in a crock pot.
Cover with water, plus about 2 inches over top of beans.
Add all ingredients except the can of Rotel. Truth: I don't even bother stirring. Just put the spices in first, everything else on top, and it's FINE.
Cook on low in crock pot about 8-12 hours until tender. (Overnight is what I do - you can stir and even add water a bit, but I generally don't bother them.)
Add the can of Rotel (no need to drain it first). Stir. Turn crockpot up to high setting. Cook about 4 more hours.
Serve atop cooked brown rice (well...you COULD choose white rice...but brown is so much better for you! Come on!)
Serve atop cooked brown rice (well...you COULD choose white rice...but brown is so much better for you! Come on!)
wrinkles and fog and cellulite
I stood in front of the mirror this morning at 4:40 AM, brushing my teeth and noticing all the extra lines and wrinkles in my face that this hour of the morning brings on. It occurs to me that God had pretty good timing, bringing me on this "letting Him teach me to love my body" at this point in middle age, right when evidence that I'm no longer 17 becomes so obvious that even I in my generally oblivious state of being can notice it. I looked at the wrinkles and I didn't hate them at all. Just noticed. Actually I'm pretty sure losing weight has added wrinkles, where everything all used to be all plumped full of fat and now isn't.
It's okay. I love the peace of seeing and just embracing where I am. I've been very blessed. I grew up in a house where my dad told me every day (many times, most days) that I was beautiful and smart and that he was so very proud of me (and he still does that very same thing, every time I see him, even now.) Somewhere there in the middle there were a couple of voices that did a lot of damage on that front, and my voice joined theirs for a long time in condemning agreement. But those old voices grow quieter and deader each day, and the things I say to myself and about myself grow kinder and more life-giving each day. And - oh happy, blessed thing - into the picture comes a man who tells me I'm beautiful every time he talks to me. On one hand, I'm glad to be at the point of not NEEDING that validation. On the other hand...DANG it's nice. I'm just sayin.
The fog was thick this morning. Running on the bridge, there was no water to be seen below, no downtown Davenport to the one side, no downtown Rock Island to the other. Just me and the black morning and a few very dim orange lights and the fog and the little patch of concrete and steel beams just a few feet ahead of me, and cars zipping by, being swallowed nearly instantly by the fog. I ran the only way I can, one step at a time, just doing the best I can with THIS step and not minding the ones ahead. The fog helped highlight that for me. No visual gauge of how much further to the turnaround point, how much further to the end.
I ran and I thought about the grace in learning to love my body. I ran and I really felt my muscles moving and working, listened to my rhythmic breathing and the much-lighter-than-before patter of my feet on the pavement. I loved what my legs can do, the way they carry me. I remembered that when I started hating my legs was 7th grade, a year with many black marks on it, the least of which was I went from 94 pounds to 126 pounds, and cellulite appeared on my legs and has never left me since. I realized at 46 it's unlikely this journey will lead me back to even 126 pounds, much less 94. Which means me and my cellulite had best make friends - we're probably (not definitely, but probably) in a 'til death do us part kind of thing.
You know what? It's okay. Really. I've run far enough down this road to understand: He loves me just exactly as I am.
I can do that too. FOR REAL. All I gotta do is keep letting Him teach me.
(You too, by the way...)
It's okay. I love the peace of seeing and just embracing where I am. I've been very blessed. I grew up in a house where my dad told me every day (many times, most days) that I was beautiful and smart and that he was so very proud of me (and he still does that very same thing, every time I see him, even now.) Somewhere there in the middle there were a couple of voices that did a lot of damage on that front, and my voice joined theirs for a long time in condemning agreement. But those old voices grow quieter and deader each day, and the things I say to myself and about myself grow kinder and more life-giving each day. And - oh happy, blessed thing - into the picture comes a man who tells me I'm beautiful every time he talks to me. On one hand, I'm glad to be at the point of not NEEDING that validation. On the other hand...DANG it's nice. I'm just sayin.
The fog was thick this morning. Running on the bridge, there was no water to be seen below, no downtown Davenport to the one side, no downtown Rock Island to the other. Just me and the black morning and a few very dim orange lights and the fog and the little patch of concrete and steel beams just a few feet ahead of me, and cars zipping by, being swallowed nearly instantly by the fog. I ran the only way I can, one step at a time, just doing the best I can with THIS step and not minding the ones ahead. The fog helped highlight that for me. No visual gauge of how much further to the turnaround point, how much further to the end.
I ran and I thought about the grace in learning to love my body. I ran and I really felt my muscles moving and working, listened to my rhythmic breathing and the much-lighter-than-before patter of my feet on the pavement. I loved what my legs can do, the way they carry me. I remembered that when I started hating my legs was 7th grade, a year with many black marks on it, the least of which was I went from 94 pounds to 126 pounds, and cellulite appeared on my legs and has never left me since. I realized at 46 it's unlikely this journey will lead me back to even 126 pounds, much less 94. Which means me and my cellulite had best make friends - we're probably (not definitely, but probably) in a 'til death do us part kind of thing.
You know what? It's okay. Really. I've run far enough down this road to understand: He loves me just exactly as I am.
I can do that too. FOR REAL. All I gotta do is keep letting Him teach me.
(You too, by the way...)
Monday, November 19, 2012
being one with the bike
My son Caleb is 23 years old and inspires me pretty much every time I spend time with him, whether it's politically, socially, or health-wise (and I think that inspiration runs both ways, which is fun.) He is an avid "fixie" rider, meaning his bike is of the "fixed gear" sort, which means basically 2 things:
1. It has no "speeds" for shifting.
2. The wheels only move exactly as the pedals do. There is no such thing as coasting. Forward or backward or completely stopped on the street are your 3 choices on a fixie.
I pretty much think he's crazy for loving his fixie, but he and his fixie friends assure me that I just don't know what I'm missing. Truth: I'm not interested in exploring that territory. I am a frequent user of "coast" mode and I love using the gears to navigate hills.
But whenever I ride with him I note how his bike is basically just an extension of his body. Really nimble and agile. It reminds me of when I was a teen on my beloved excessively high-strung horses - just a total connection, one moving with the other seamlessly and without thought. What a great high.
It has been nearly 3 years now since I bought Lulu in her wonderful pinkness. When I first got her, I was beyond terrified and clumsy on her. It was proof to me that I am no longer the wild, fearless, skinny little thing I was at 16. Every push of the pedals felt like taking my life into my own hands. The streets felt like potential corridors of death. Heck, it took me basically a year of riding to get to the point where I could stand on the pedals while coasting.
This past few months, I have begun to feel that connectedness with the bike. The joy of pushing the envelope, whether it's whipping 30 MPH down Main Street hill or just doing little swervy navigation. I grin like I'm 5 when I stand WHILE pedaling - this is a whole other world. Yesterday I navigated several construction zones with their uneven surfaces and gravel and such. This used to make my hands clench and my stomach twist in knots. Now the challenge just makes me happy all over, even though I'm still pretty slow and awkward as I rise to it.
I'm not 23 like my son. I won't be pulling his insane stunts anytime soon. But I do like growing into that feeling, bit by bit, that the bike is an extension of my body.
Wonder what that'll look like a year from now.
1. It has no "speeds" for shifting.
2. The wheels only move exactly as the pedals do. There is no such thing as coasting. Forward or backward or completely stopped on the street are your 3 choices on a fixie.
I pretty much think he's crazy for loving his fixie, but he and his fixie friends assure me that I just don't know what I'm missing. Truth: I'm not interested in exploring that territory. I am a frequent user of "coast" mode and I love using the gears to navigate hills.
But whenever I ride with him I note how his bike is basically just an extension of his body. Really nimble and agile. It reminds me of when I was a teen on my beloved excessively high-strung horses - just a total connection, one moving with the other seamlessly and without thought. What a great high.
It has been nearly 3 years now since I bought Lulu in her wonderful pinkness. When I first got her, I was beyond terrified and clumsy on her. It was proof to me that I am no longer the wild, fearless, skinny little thing I was at 16. Every push of the pedals felt like taking my life into my own hands. The streets felt like potential corridors of death. Heck, it took me basically a year of riding to get to the point where I could stand on the pedals while coasting.
This past few months, I have begun to feel that connectedness with the bike. The joy of pushing the envelope, whether it's whipping 30 MPH down Main Street hill or just doing little swervy navigation. I grin like I'm 5 when I stand WHILE pedaling - this is a whole other world. Yesterday I navigated several construction zones with their uneven surfaces and gravel and such. This used to make my hands clench and my stomach twist in knots. Now the challenge just makes me happy all over, even though I'm still pretty slow and awkward as I rise to it.
I'm not 23 like my son. I won't be pulling his insane stunts anytime soon. But I do like growing into that feeling, bit by bit, that the bike is an extension of my body.
Wonder what that'll look like a year from now.
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