Do you all know that movie, "Run Lola Run"? It's a foreign movie that stars the girl who plays Jason Bourne's girlfriend. It's been ages since I've seen it, and I couldn't tell you the plot, but I do remember it was super cool.
Well, if my life were a movie this week, I'd call it Run Laura Run.
After my meltdown post last week, I went through another "I can't take it anymore" dealies. Instead of printing a new diet plan, I signed up for a couple of races. I'd been planning on running a half in October but hadn't made it official (read: paid money) yet. And I really like Race for the Cure 5k's (and t-shirts) so I signed up for that one too.
I've run 3 times since Monday. I use the term run with qualifiers--walk a few minutes, run a few minutes, repeat.
But! Tonight I actually Ran, for really reals. It was cooler than any weather I've run in since January. There was no sun, since it was almost 8. And I guess the couple times a week I have been running/walking is starting to make a difference.
So I headed out and ran 12 minute miles, only walking to cross traffic and a small break at mile two. I did 30 minutes, 2.5 miles, because that's all I had time for. But it was the best 2.5 miles I've had in months.
I realized the other day that any time I post that I can't take it and I'm starting a new plan, I've screwed it up a few days later. Conversely, I post that my life is shit, and I get my shit together. What the heck is that about? Guess I better end this with "blah blah I can't take this anymore blah."
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod Touch
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Not great. Same old story!
I feel like a broken record lately, singing the same tired refrain. I'm not happy with the way things are, I try to change, I fail, I try again, I fail, I try again, blah blah blah.
So the latest attempt lasted all of three days. I'm back in the "life's not changing any time soon, so learn to live with who you are now and change later." Honestly, is being a size 12 the end of the world?
No. But when you were almost a 6 two years ago, it sucks.
More than once the thought has crossed my mind that getting to a toned and fit 146 in the summer of 2008 was a horrible thing. I was in the neighborhood of that weight for a few months, and they were glorious. I loved my body, as much as I could love a still imperfect body, and I felt confident and kick ass. I had great clothes. I looked fabulous in pictures and my hairstylist's mirror.
But I remember the summer of 2007 when I went from a 14 to a 12, and wore a belt for the first time in years and bought a bathing suit. And felt great about how I was shaping up. I was more toned then, but if I still had the clothes from 2007 (I gave them away in 2008--dumb move) I know they'd fit.
Now, I have the old mind set of The Me from our original Amazon blog days in 2006. I just can't get it together, can't string enough days together to get some momentum. When I think I can finally do it, life comes up and bitch slaps me back down.
It's really quite annoying.
But. Life moves on. I bought size 12s. I can pass for "average" still. Not obese, "just" overweight. I can still run (and did, yesterday, 3 miles in 40 minutes), albeit only a few minutes at a time. I'm not buying boxes of powdered donuts and eating them all in one night. It could be worse.
I fully expect that, eventually, I WILL conquer this weight battle again. Some days are better than others. The weather changing for the cooler will make a big difference in my ability and desire to run/walk. When my dad passes away and I've gone through the proper therapy, I will have space in my head to think about myself again.
For now, things are too messy. Joy is fleeting. My dad's the one with ALS, but the rest of us live with a cancer of pain and guilt and sorrow and fear that's taken deep roots over the past year. And it's not taking our lives, but it's draining the life out of us nonetheless.
Dad's 3rd week in the nursing home is not going well. The first 2 weeks he had lots of family all the time, except at night. My sister's trying to pull away a bit, spending fewer hours and letting the staff take care of more of his needs. Well, dad doesn't like it--who would?--and he's making things more difficult for everyone.
I had a big project for church last week and didn't have time to see him for the whole week. I finally made it last night and he was horrible to me. As in, I left the nursing home sobbing. I called my sister and she's a great help because she understands him better than I do. He's angry and hates the place. He needs someone to blame for being there, and I expected it to be me. I just didn't know what form the blame would come in or when. I wasn't prepared. If it weren't for my faith in God I don't know if I'd go back to see him. I need heaven's power of forgiveness.
I told him I had to leave (it was 7:45 pm, I'd been there almost 90 minutes), hugged his shoulders goodbye, said I love you--and he shook his head no. As in, no you don't love me. I questioned him several times and it's what he meant. My uncle was there too, so he witnessed it. It was devastating. I didn't know how to respond. You can't have a conversation with him. It takes 30 minutes for him to type one short sentence. I told him he really didn't want to go there, what if he died and that's the last thing he says to me. I said it's not my fault you're here. He'd already typed "I hate this place" so I knew where his mind was. I said to type whatever his grievance was with me, and Crystal could read it to me the next day. I said more, but that's the gist. I left at 8 pm and cried my eyes out all the way home.
My sister said he does whatever he has to to make people stay with him. He sure did it the hard way with me. My sister and two uncles laid into him. He texted me an apology. I'll go see him in a few days. Who knows what awaits next time.
There's so much more to all this but you've gotten enough for one post. You're all so great to stick with me. It seems like it's never gonna end. But it has to eventually, right? This is only temporary. I keep telling myself that. But lately I'm having a hard time believing it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod Touch
So the latest attempt lasted all of three days. I'm back in the "life's not changing any time soon, so learn to live with who you are now and change later." Honestly, is being a size 12 the end of the world?
No. But when you were almost a 6 two years ago, it sucks.
More than once the thought has crossed my mind that getting to a toned and fit 146 in the summer of 2008 was a horrible thing. I was in the neighborhood of that weight for a few months, and they were glorious. I loved my body, as much as I could love a still imperfect body, and I felt confident and kick ass. I had great clothes. I looked fabulous in pictures and my hairstylist's mirror.
But I remember the summer of 2007 when I went from a 14 to a 12, and wore a belt for the first time in years and bought a bathing suit. And felt great about how I was shaping up. I was more toned then, but if I still had the clothes from 2007 (I gave them away in 2008--dumb move) I know they'd fit.
Now, I have the old mind set of The Me from our original Amazon blog days in 2006. I just can't get it together, can't string enough days together to get some momentum. When I think I can finally do it, life comes up and bitch slaps me back down.
It's really quite annoying.
But. Life moves on. I bought size 12s. I can pass for "average" still. Not obese, "just" overweight. I can still run (and did, yesterday, 3 miles in 40 minutes), albeit only a few minutes at a time. I'm not buying boxes of powdered donuts and eating them all in one night. It could be worse.
I fully expect that, eventually, I WILL conquer this weight battle again. Some days are better than others. The weather changing for the cooler will make a big difference in my ability and desire to run/walk. When my dad passes away and I've gone through the proper therapy, I will have space in my head to think about myself again.
For now, things are too messy. Joy is fleeting. My dad's the one with ALS, but the rest of us live with a cancer of pain and guilt and sorrow and fear that's taken deep roots over the past year. And it's not taking our lives, but it's draining the life out of us nonetheless.
Dad's 3rd week in the nursing home is not going well. The first 2 weeks he had lots of family all the time, except at night. My sister's trying to pull away a bit, spending fewer hours and letting the staff take care of more of his needs. Well, dad doesn't like it--who would?--and he's making things more difficult for everyone.
I had a big project for church last week and didn't have time to see him for the whole week. I finally made it last night and he was horrible to me. As in, I left the nursing home sobbing. I called my sister and she's a great help because she understands him better than I do. He's angry and hates the place. He needs someone to blame for being there, and I expected it to be me. I just didn't know what form the blame would come in or when. I wasn't prepared. If it weren't for my faith in God I don't know if I'd go back to see him. I need heaven's power of forgiveness.
I told him I had to leave (it was 7:45 pm, I'd been there almost 90 minutes), hugged his shoulders goodbye, said I love you--and he shook his head no. As in, no you don't love me. I questioned him several times and it's what he meant. My uncle was there too, so he witnessed it. It was devastating. I didn't know how to respond. You can't have a conversation with him. It takes 30 minutes for him to type one short sentence. I told him he really didn't want to go there, what if he died and that's the last thing he says to me. I said it's not my fault you're here. He'd already typed "I hate this place" so I knew where his mind was. I said to type whatever his grievance was with me, and Crystal could read it to me the next day. I said more, but that's the gist. I left at 8 pm and cried my eyes out all the way home.
My sister said he does whatever he has to to make people stay with him. He sure did it the hard way with me. My sister and two uncles laid into him. He texted me an apology. I'll go see him in a few days. Who knows what awaits next time.
There's so much more to all this but you've gotten enough for one post. You're all so great to stick with me. It seems like it's never gonna end. But it has to eventually, right? This is only temporary. I keep telling myself that. But lately I'm having a hard time believing it.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod Touch
Friday, August 06, 2010
Day 1. Again.
Thank you all so much for your supportive & kind words. You gave me exactly what I needed. What awesome, amazing friends you all are.
The rest of this week has continued to go well for Dad, and for my sister. We have a new hospice nurse (because we moved from one county to another, and the nurses don't cross counties because of the miles involved) and this nurse (who is a man) has experience with ALS patients. He's really been a God send, because he knows more about what will make Dad comfortable and what can help deal with his body's changing needs. The nurse told my sister yesterday that the bottom half of Dad's lungs are no longer working, and he'll be surprised if Dad makes it another 3 months.
The nursing director at the nursing home said they've had ALS patients before, but they never get to this advanced stage--they die before they get this bad. But, I think because Dad has lived in his wheelchair for the past 10 months--always in a semi-vertical position--he's been able to continue breathing because there hasn't been pressure on his lungs. ALS patients usually die because of respiratory failure; when Dad is reclined in his wheelchair all the way back, he can't breathe. His lungs will fail completely, eventually, regardless of whether he's horizontal or vertical. It sounds like such an awful way to die. Knowing Dad, he's going to make it as difficult as possible for himself & for us.
But. Things are letting up a bit with him, I guess. At least for now.
Yesterday I declared I'VE HAD IT, once again. I made up my mind, again, to get back on a plan, again. So I went grocery shopping last night and bought the foods I need to do the Wendy Chant plan, only I'm going to try her new one "Conquer the Fat Loss Code." It doesn't have that awful carb deplete week. The last 3 weeks are tougher than the first 5 weeks. This first week has enough carbs that it doesn't make you want to collapse from carb fatigue (if you know her plan.....the first 2 weeks are -- 2 carb downs, 1 carb up, 2 carb downs, 1 carb up, & 1 baseline). I'm sure I won't drop 5 pounds in one week like I would on the "Crack the Fat Loss Code" plan, but that's OK. I have more than 5 pounds to lose anyway. I weighed a mushy 165.4 this morning.
Day 1 is today--yes, a Friday, which is bizarre, but I am done with the "I'll start tomorrow" BS. I just can't take it anymore.
I hope I remember that feeling tonight at 10 pm when the munchies kick in.
If I can be consistent, start running and doing some weights work, by the time the weather cools off around here I could be back in my size 10s & 8s. That would be a lovely, awesome, fabulous place to be.
The rest of this week has continued to go well for Dad, and for my sister. We have a new hospice nurse (because we moved from one county to another, and the nurses don't cross counties because of the miles involved) and this nurse (who is a man) has experience with ALS patients. He's really been a God send, because he knows more about what will make Dad comfortable and what can help deal with his body's changing needs. The nurse told my sister yesterday that the bottom half of Dad's lungs are no longer working, and he'll be surprised if Dad makes it another 3 months.
The nursing director at the nursing home said they've had ALS patients before, but they never get to this advanced stage--they die before they get this bad. But, I think because Dad has lived in his wheelchair for the past 10 months--always in a semi-vertical position--he's been able to continue breathing because there hasn't been pressure on his lungs. ALS patients usually die because of respiratory failure; when Dad is reclined in his wheelchair all the way back, he can't breathe. His lungs will fail completely, eventually, regardless of whether he's horizontal or vertical. It sounds like such an awful way to die. Knowing Dad, he's going to make it as difficult as possible for himself & for us.
But. Things are letting up a bit with him, I guess. At least for now.
Yesterday I declared I'VE HAD IT, once again. I made up my mind, again, to get back on a plan, again. So I went grocery shopping last night and bought the foods I need to do the Wendy Chant plan, only I'm going to try her new one "Conquer the Fat Loss Code." It doesn't have that awful carb deplete week. The last 3 weeks are tougher than the first 5 weeks. This first week has enough carbs that it doesn't make you want to collapse from carb fatigue (if you know her plan.....the first 2 weeks are -- 2 carb downs, 1 carb up, 2 carb downs, 1 carb up, & 1 baseline). I'm sure I won't drop 5 pounds in one week like I would on the "Crack the Fat Loss Code" plan, but that's OK. I have more than 5 pounds to lose anyway. I weighed a mushy 165.4 this morning.
Day 1 is today--yes, a Friday, which is bizarre, but I am done with the "I'll start tomorrow" BS. I just can't take it anymore.
I hope I remember that feeling tonight at 10 pm when the munchies kick in.
If I can be consistent, start running and doing some weights work, by the time the weather cools off around here I could be back in my size 10s & 8s. That would be a lovely, awesome, fabulous place to be.
Tuesday, August 03, 2010
Dad's ok. Me? Not so great
So Monday went better than any of us could have dreamed. Dad is adjusting just fine to the nursing home. So far anyway. He's eating more than ever--every meal they've served so far. He's still had family with him all day - it's only day 2 - but no one at night. And my sister doesn't have the stress of running his household and doing everything, and I think that's helping everyone.
I was there yesterday and today until 8 pm. Monday I got there at 2, when he arrived in the wheel chair van the VA sent to pick him up. Today I set up his Internet with a Verizon hotspot wireless thingy. I was there 3 hours tonight. Not planing on visiting tomorrow because Sophie has voice lessons, and I need a night off.
Today I was in a terrible depression. I can't explain it really. I'm glad dad is doing well and not shutting down. But I'm afraid he could live like this for many months or even years. I don't know if I can handle that. It's still so hard to deal with it all.
And I'm angry with him. He's seen what his care needs have done to my sister and uncle. Yet he let them feel guilty and grovel over the nursing home. He was supposed to have 6-12 months. This is month 11 and I see no end in sight. I know he can't control when he dies but I feel like there was an expectation that's now blown out of the water, and he has fought to stay alive, preferring a paralyzed existance to heaven.
Which is a big issue for him, I think. He says he believes, but I think he has just enough faith to slide under the pearly gates. Of course, lots of people are afraid of dying. I don't blame him for that.
I blame him for putting himself first before everyone else for the past year. Like his illness has given him carte blanch to treat so many people like crap, and take advatage, and not give in return.
I feel horribly guilty about felling and thinking all of this.
The past 10 months I've not made myself a prioprity. At all. And now I'm in tight size 12s and dropping to the floor in front of my closet this morning, in tears because I'm terrified I'm going to be the girl who lost a bunch of weight and 3 years later is Fat Again.
I just can't go there. I can't.
I talked with Mark about it today. He said he'd support my time to exercise. He understands and thinks I'm being too hard on myself (I am). But I'm still afraid of the speed train to obesity that I'm on.
It's only been 2 days and my involvement with dad hasn't decreased yet. It will though, hopefully. The emotonal issues that are a big part of my eating problems aren't going anywhere. How am I going to fix myself this time? I don't know yet. I just don't know.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod Touch
I was there yesterday and today until 8 pm. Monday I got there at 2, when he arrived in the wheel chair van the VA sent to pick him up. Today I set up his Internet with a Verizon hotspot wireless thingy. I was there 3 hours tonight. Not planing on visiting tomorrow because Sophie has voice lessons, and I need a night off.
Today I was in a terrible depression. I can't explain it really. I'm glad dad is doing well and not shutting down. But I'm afraid he could live like this for many months or even years. I don't know if I can handle that. It's still so hard to deal with it all.
And I'm angry with him. He's seen what his care needs have done to my sister and uncle. Yet he let them feel guilty and grovel over the nursing home. He was supposed to have 6-12 months. This is month 11 and I see no end in sight. I know he can't control when he dies but I feel like there was an expectation that's now blown out of the water, and he has fought to stay alive, preferring a paralyzed existance to heaven.
Which is a big issue for him, I think. He says he believes, but I think he has just enough faith to slide under the pearly gates. Of course, lots of people are afraid of dying. I don't blame him for that.
I blame him for putting himself first before everyone else for the past year. Like his illness has given him carte blanch to treat so many people like crap, and take advatage, and not give in return.
I feel horribly guilty about felling and thinking all of this.
The past 10 months I've not made myself a prioprity. At all. And now I'm in tight size 12s and dropping to the floor in front of my closet this morning, in tears because I'm terrified I'm going to be the girl who lost a bunch of weight and 3 years later is Fat Again.
I just can't go there. I can't.
I talked with Mark about it today. He said he'd support my time to exercise. He understands and thinks I'm being too hard on myself (I am). But I'm still afraid of the speed train to obesity that I'm on.
It's only been 2 days and my involvement with dad hasn't decreased yet. It will though, hopefully. The emotonal issues that are a big part of my eating problems aren't going anywhere. How am I going to fix myself this time? I don't know yet. I just don't know.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPod Touch
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