Keeping An Even Keel

May 30, 2012 I thought yesterday might be weigh-in day. But today was the day.

I have learned through equal turns of dark heartache and shiny surprise that the scale is an unpredictable tool in my world.

After I dropped the first 100 pounds, my body became more protective of its mass. And more temperamental about releasing it. I have trained myself into the ground for 30 days and lost not an ounce. I have performed at a tepid pace and the pounds have slid off.  Often, this weight game feels like a crap shoot.

This manic casino effect is not emotionally healthy for me.

To find a steady course, I have become more contemplative about my "number". I no longer predict the outcome of weigh-in day. I no longer carry expectations as I step onto that small metal platform. I no longer score my life by the scale. It's not worth the emotional toll. 

I now keep an emotionally even keel on scale-stepping day. I like to think of it as deadpanning my way through a weigh-in. What will be, will be.

Today, my unruffled self witnessed a 4.5 pound drop in ten days. Not bad. It's a solid way to recharge my journey. The goal here is to build consistency. Steady weight loss over time.

Steady. Drama-free (okay, drama-limited).  Fitter Me.

Clean

May 28, 2012 I have put this off long enough. This is my first post since April 1st. I've started writing it here four times - and another twenty or so times in my head.

In the past three months, I have let myself down in many ways.

While I knew I was becoming more fit by my increased abilities in the gym, my weight wasn't moving. My body wasn't looking any different. I remained big. BIG. I was so tired of being big.

As I wrote in my March 11th blog, I was close to giving up. I decided to keep at it. But I soon learned my mind's decision to buck up and soldier on wasn't being supported by my soul's fire.

For months, this physical inertia pissed me off. It pissed me off every single day. None of the experts I spoke with had a real answer for me. Try this. Try that. How about this? I did. And I did. And I did. And no change.  Just bigness. Anger simmered and turned into heavy defeatism. That defeatism became my roadblock.

It manifested in half ass workouts and completely blown meal plans. I had pushed aside most of my good workout habits, most of my good eating habits. I was off the map.

One of the most devastating things I did?  I didn't reach out for support when I needed it. I let my workouts slide with my trainer - often training just once a week. He didn't call me on it and I didn't connect with him about the frustration. I ate what I wanted to eat. I spent more time on the couch than in the gym. I didn't talk to my friends about it, and I didn't write about it, because I didn't know what to say. I couldn't even explain it to myself, let alone all of you.

I was tired of working so hard for so little. So I punished my body for not behaving the way I wanted it to behave. I know that's not a sound approach but I wasn't feeling logical. I was mad and heartbroken.

All of those bad choices took a toll. I felt crappy. Bloated. Sluggish. Temperamental. Unhappy with the choices I was making, I looked at myself out of the corner of my eye.  I watched my actions and just shook my head.

And I gained weight. I didn't step on the scale. I didn't need to. I felt it.

At the end of April I headed to Hawaii for ten days. Six of those days I spent in solitude at a beautiful resort on the north shore of Oahu. I planned to sit on the beach and engage in some serious thinking to figure my life out.

Instead, I sat on the beach and simply let go. I listened to the waves crash. I breathed. I cleared my mind and heart. I swam in the ocean. I played some tennis. I made no decisions. I just let myself be. In that calm space, I stopped beating myself up. I started remembering what I love about my body. I recalled how far I have come.

I found my compass. I reset my soul.

That doesn't mean I am now content with being big. I am not. I just rediscovered my perspective and my momentum.

Two weeks ago I chose to step back into the gym at full tilt. Two weeks ago I also chose to step back on the scale. I told Eli (my nutritionist) to record the weight but not to tell me the number. I knew, emotionally, I would tailspin hearing how much I had gained. I then embarked on a short, intense ten-day cleanse.  Uber tight meal plan - handfuls of supplements. Yummy.

The cleanse is over. Both for my body and my soul. I am no longer bloated. No longer sluggish. No longer angry. No longer heartbroken. My emotional slate is clean.

I step back on the scale tomorrow.

Rededication Day

April 1, 2012 It's April Fool's Day. Two years ago today, I dedicated myself to cleaning up my diet. The main goal was to reduce as much as possible, if not eliminate, refined sugar.

And I did just that for a solid 18 months. Over time, I also eliminated, or decreased, a few other nutritional boondoggles:
* Cheese - and most other dairy.
* Bread and most sources of refined flour.
* Chips, crackers, pretzels -  most of that nifty, crunchy food group.
* Plus lots and lots and lots of processed foods.

Despite what you might think, it isn't difficult to follow those kinds of guidelines. In fact, it's liberating.  It's as if you have de-cluttered a part of your mind to free yourself for other decisions. I'd go so far as to say it's electrifying.

Once you've truly made the choice to eat well, it isn't difficult to walk by the ice cream case. It isn't tough to pick fish over steak. It isn't hard to ask the waiter not to include the cheese on your entree. That's not the difficult part.

The difficult part is making those choices every damn day - for YEARS. Years of living up to your decision to treat your body well. To not become a nutritional junk heap. Honoring that commitment long term? Making the right choice twenty times a day for years on end? Being consistent over the long haul is what takes bad ass dedication and killer fortitude.

In the last few months, I had turned a blind eye to my nutritional commitment to my body and soul. I lost my dedication to my current and future self. But that's over. In the past two weeks, I've turned to face my choices. I looked my decisions square on and realized those choices are not who I am.  Where was the redheaded bad ass?

So I took action.

Last night I cleared my home of all processed foods. Except two: peanut butter and protein bars.   In time, I'll bake my own protein bars but for now, I'm good with the options I have at hand. The peanut butter? Well, it's okay to have that around once in a while.

Today is April Fool's Day.

Today, I rededicate myself to my cause - a healthy and fit me. A bad ass me.

Retraining Oneself Is Tough

March 31, 2012  You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.You can't out train a bad diet.

You CANNOT out train a bad diet.

Stephanie Kaye Anne Marie Elizabeth Wright - back out of the cracker aisle now.

Right now.

Good.

Getting It ALL together.

March 25, 2012  A wise woman once said to me "You can't out train a bad diet."

Yesterday, I ate french fries and Chex Mix.

You can't out train that kind of nutritional crapfest.

As I feel my power once again exploding in the gym, it's time to turn my tenacity back to my diet. Before I became ill in February, I had become a very clean eater.  No refined sugar, no refined flour, limited gluten, limited alcohol, no cheese and hardly any other dairy.

I didn't feel trapped by these self-imposed limitations. I felt incredible. 

I've certainly slipped since then. My diet has pockets of all kinds of craptastic things. On Friday, I ate an entire soft pretzel at Bravehorse Tavern. It was a brilliant pretzel, mind you, but I felt ill afterward. Bloated. Sluggish. All churned up inside. Nutritionally ugly.

Ill is not how I want my food to make me feel. No matter how tasty it is.

I want to feel as energized from my diet as I do from my workouts.

I know this feeling is possible - I've been to that land before. It's not a very forgiving land. The entry fee is steep. The terrain is rugged. The borders tight.  And yet, it's time for a return ticket.

It's time to get my act together again. ALL of my act.

Part of my issue has been this double-damned plateau. I tried a very strict diet and it hardly moved the weight needle. And that diet was brutal. I have worked my body into a quivering mass time and time again. And that bloody needle remains stalwart. So, why try so hard? Why not just let go? Give in? Probably because, as I wrote in a blog a few weeks ago, this isn't my final bodily destination. I'm not done yet.

But there's more here. Part of my issue is much deeper than this current unplanned, unwanted rest stop. I have an entrenched workout/diet pattern. One I don't like. A pattern of excelling at one area and letting the other sort of live in mediocre-ville. Kicking ass in the gym? Well then I can slide a bit in my meal plan. Perfection eating? Okay - I'll skip the gym today...and tomorrow.

Enough of that self-defeating cycle of stupid. So what if I am living on what feels like a plodding,  Escher-esque treadmill plateau? This place is a just a moment in time. I plan to move out of this frustrating neighborhood - sooner rather than later. But at least while I'm stuck here, I can feel good. Eating clean in conjunction with working out strong is the best way I know how.

So, Stephanie Kaye Anne Marie Elizabeth Wright, suck it up. Put on your big girl panties and go conquer it all.

A New PR. A New World View.

March 18, 2012 Thursday was a brilliant day. It was a pivotal day... It was a mighty day. Thursday was the day I hit a new personal record for lifting. And then immediately broke it.

But most importantly, Thursday was the day my world view shifted.

I hit the gym after work feeling all kinds of revved up. I was in attack mode. Beast mode. Kick ass mode. And it felt brilliant.

All hopped up, I started training with John. We worked lower body and abs mostly. In the second exercise circuit, John included dead lifts. I adore dead lifts. They are very challenging but oh so cool. I love being strong and dead lifts highlight that part of my fitness.

I warmed up at 145 lbs. (my personal record - PR - being 175 lbs.) and completed the set easily. John moved me up to 165 lbs and I completed that set, too. He then asked if I wanted to try 185. Hell, yeah!

I stared at the bar and reminded myself that a weight had yet to defeat me. The beast within churned and snapped. With my weaker left hand in an underhanded position, I lifted the bar once, twice...the third time I moved too slowly, became wobbly and almost let go.  But the beast pushed on. Four, five...drop! I was done.  The beast howled and I grinned. This was a new PR. I felt monster good.

John looked me over and said - Wanna try 200? I stared back. Looked at the weights, looked at John. Assessed the state of my back. Pondered. I listened to the beast's low growl. Felt it pacing in anticipation of the effort.

John said the rule of thumb is if you can lift a weight five times, you can lift the next weight up. I kicked the bar. Grinned. And he added the weight.

As I wrapped my hands around the bar, settled my weight back into my heels, I paused. Could I do this? The beast's sudden snarl drowned out any doubt. It was time. I pushed from the sole's of my feet into my calves, and felt the energy ripple through my ridiculously powerful thighs. I sensed my big old glutes kicking into action. Felt the strain of all that metal engage my back - the effort sliding up into my shoulders. One clean lift!

I dropped the bar. I was a bit stunned by what I had just achieved. The beast yowled - and I started to beam.

 I dead lifted 200 lbs. on Thursday. It's an accomplishment most women will never achieve.

Me. Stephanie Wright. A 47-yr-old woman. A woman who four years ago had trouble walking up a big hill. Trouble climbing stairs. I dl'ed 200 lbs.

In the past few years, I have fostered a beast within. A beast that, when I chose to engage it, is almost impossible to defeat. I am not a deft enough writer to explain the magnitude of that moment for me.  I felt like - for just that moment - the universe paused and took notice.

The action itself - while howl worthy, is not the world altering bit. The dead lift is a stunning reminder that when I unleash the beast, I can do most anything I set my mind, heart and soul to accomplish.

I have been glowing ever since.

What's another 100 lbs. to lose? This woman can lift 200 lbs. And, I'm betting I can do a whole lot more.

Giving Up

March 11, 2012   I am a processor. I need to think things through. Figure out the next move right in front of me. Understand where I am headed in the long run. That doesn’t mean I can’t be spontaneous. I’m just a planner and thinker by nature. I could write half a dozen blogs on the pros and cons of living my life this way.

Lucky for us all, that’s not the point of this particular blog.

Given all the angles I have pursued and all the play books I have followed in the past eight months to push my weight loss forward, I have yet to move the needle very far. Or very fast.

Which got me to thinking - why am I trying? I didn’t come to this thought in an exasperated way. Or a dramatic way. Just in a logical, process-driven one. I have been out there seeking answers for my excruciatingly long, drawn-out, snuggle-in-cause-I’m-staying-awhile weight loss plateau. I have been processing all of the expert information. I have been applying all of the expert advice.

I have upped my exercise. I have decreased my exercise. I have re-jiggered my supplements three times. I have modified, re-modified, re-re-modified and re-re-re-modified my diet until I feel like a new Monsanto seed product.

Maybe this is just where my weight is supposed to land. Maybe.

And with that maybe softly pacing back in forth in my grey matter, I stopped pushing so hard. Even though I am mostly over my virus symptoms, I’m only working out three days a week. I haven’t re-employed my high protein, 6-meal-a-day plan. In fact, I’m eating rather poorly by my standards. Why? The maybe wanted to be heard. It wanted its turn. It asked me to slow down and ponder.

So, the maybe paced. And I listened. And I processed. For several weeks.

On Friday the processing was complete. I realized I’m not ready to let the maybe take hold.

I’m still up for the fight.

This body is not my final destination.

But I need a new game plan. What I am doing now still isn’t working - and a simple change in attitude will not make my current game plan any more effective.

I’m turning my plan on its head.  I’m exploring how my body uses, stores and manages its energy. And I’m bringing in new experts to help me do so. To that end...

* I’ve consulted with an acupuncturist.
* I’ve met with a chiropractor.
* I’ve signed up for a meditation class that starts in April.
* I’ve made an appointment with my primary care doctor for April to review my thyroid status.
* I am going to track down a homeopath. 
* And as the cherry on the new energy outlook sundae, I am going to start taking yoga in May.

This is a brand new game. And it’s on.

March and The Mantra

March 2, 2012 Thank the gods for March.  I have never been quite so happy to usher in a new month and see the past twenty nine days move on by. February was a hell of a month. And not in the good way.

I spent most of the month being uncomfortable - body, mind and spirit. I was exhausted, sluggish, sad, angry, frustrated, put out,  - and on top of it all,  terribly cranky about the entire affair. There were many days when the effects of my virus had me feeling fat and pathetic. Words that seldom cross my mind - let alone wedge themselves into my consciousness.

As I came out of my exhaustion, I readily jumped back into my life. Go, go, go Stephanie! The universe quickly kicked my ass and pushed me back in line. Slow, slow, Stephanie.

When I wasn't being a couch slug, I was mentally raging against the machine that is my body. Finally, after several weeks of this behavior, I took a few deep breaths, put on my big girl panties and accepted my temporary illness. Other people would call it taking care of myself. I felt like I had succumbed.

I mostly worked decent hours. I came home at night and hung out in the quiet. Reading, watching movies or TV, writing, meditating. I dropped my social life down from 4 nights a week to no nights a week. Or maybe one.

My workouts were the most trying. Every exercise felt hard. Like I was pushing through tar. Knowing how little I could do had my blood boiling. I spent so much energy focusing on what I couldn't do that this self imposed mental burden stymied my efforts. I struggled physically and emotionally.

However, this struggle gave birth to my new mantra. The mantra to help me see that where I was, where I am, is okay. Whether that's while I am staring down a barbell or closing out my office computer at 5:00 instead of 6:00.

"Let it go."

Stop the chatter. Stop the pressure. Stop the sky high expectations. Breathe and let it go. Let go of the need to, the love of, pushing to the next level. Of being one of the best in the room. No matter what room it is. Right now, it's not important.

What is important is my recovery. I am happy to report that I'm at about 85% energizer me - 15% sluggy me. I'll continue to "Let it go" as I creep toward 100% great me.

And hey, this mantra could still prove useful when I'm fully back in the game. You never know when I might need a reminder to slow down the machine. Just a wee bit.

Back To It

February 16, 2012  "There's no crying in the gym. Even if the crying is out of frustration. Just Keep Moving." That's what I told my cranky brain 10 minutes into my workout tonight. As I executed lunges across the gym floor, I felt my legs wobble and work hard. Too hard for the little exertion I was making. 

Tonight was my first night in the gym since I became ill. I loved being back at Excellence. It felt exhilarating to be in that space, being with John, seeing so many supportive people. That was, until I started my very easy workout. A few minutes on the treadmill followed by just four sets of lunges, modified pushups and sit ups.  Normally, that would be my warm up.

Tonight is was my entire workout. And it wasn't easy. Either mentally or physically. I tried to focus on the fact that I was at the gym - which was an accomplishment in itself. I tried not to focus on the fact that my impressive thigh muscles were whining after just a few rounds of lunges. I tried not to roll my eyes at all my efforts to be collected and focused.

John knew I was working hard to maintain a sense of calm. He was gently supportive. He tried to cajole me out of my mood. He tried to distract me with questions about my day. Then John asked me if I could just look at this workout as fun. No pushing, just a good time. For me, a good time in the gym is pushing past an old barrier. Sweating hard. Punching hard. Lifting big weights. Being a beast.

This feeble workout was not my idea of a good time.

But John had a point. Relax - enjoy the moment. You're here - not splayed out on the couch, exhausted. Be happy for that. That was a much better mindset than the thoughts coursing through my neural net. I simply want to be all better. Now. I want my old life back. Now. I want to feel all kinds of shiny again. Now!

Well, I don't get to be there - not now. Soon. But not now.
My "now!" mode can propel me to great heights. It can also push me into a frustration cycle. Like the one that almost had me in tears at the beginning of my workout.

It's time to accept that I am not in control here. That my path to better health is incremental instead of immediate. The "now!" won't work on a virus. It won't work on a tired body that needs quiet nurturing. It certainly won't help me accept that my body needs me to slow down for a spell.

However, my new mantra will...as soon as I create it...

The mantra will come. Until then, I will work at being easy on my working out self. I'm back in the gym with John on Saturday. Hopefully, I'll be a wee bit stronger. If not, I'll know it's not "now!".

Pardon the Interruption

February 13, 2012   So, it seems I disappeared again for a short spell. I actually disappeared from more than my blog the past few weeks. I disappeared from my normal life.

Three weeks ago I started feeling a bit tired. And then pretty sluggish. And then drained, followed by fatigued. I noticed the downward shift but paid the symptoms no never mind. I had things to do.  Places to be. Workouts to sweat through.

The universe disagreed. And was telling me so, in a crowd of little ways. But I pushed the message aside and continued to plow on. Feeling a little worse each day. The thing is, you can't push the universe aside. It always gets through - one way or the other.

The day it got through to me was on January 30th. That Monday morning I awoke after ten hours of sleep feeling just as exhausted as when I laid my head down. I sat up, leaned over on the edge of my bed and cried. Something was quite wrong.

I walked around the apartment feeling like King Kong was standing on my shoulders, pushing my body down with every step I took. I rested on the couch and felt pinned in place. Every bit of me  pressed into the cushions - leaden.

I went to see my doctor - who listened to this tale of exhaustion as tears streamed down my face. I felt like tepid hell. I was too tired to work up to a hell that was more than lukewarm.  My doctor told me I was undoubtedly fighting off a virus and needed a good deal of rest. She placed me on medical leave from work for a week. The normal Stephanie would have fought off such a wild request. But this Stephanie? Gratitude washed over me as I thought of going home to lie down. Lie down for as long as I liked.

I slept for most of the next three days. Throughout those murky days, King Kong remained my ominous sidekick. Smothering me in over-sized monkeyness if I did more than venture to the kitchen for water or a bite to eat. My brain was about as functional as an overcooked s'more.  I didn't care much for food. I didn't read anything that wasn't overloaded with pretty pictures of expansive homes or overly enthusiastic starlets.  When I was semi-alert, I watched TV or facebooked about my pathetic energy level.

But amidst all the lethargy, there were micro improvements. By Thursday, the excessive rest was healing me. My body now felt like it had been pummeled by a lackadaisical silverback gorilla. A marked improvement over the Hollywood hairy giant.

Last week, I re-entered the world but took it slow. I was back to work on an abbreviated schedule - and I kept my social life curtailed to the bare minimum. People visited me at home. I went on one supervised field trip to a restaurant. And came home ready for a nap. By this time, the silverback had moved out only to be replaced by a feisty gibbon who sat on my head and took a pot shot at me every once in awhile.

In those two weeks, I didn't step foot in the gym. I barely spoke with my trainer. As I started feeling better, I suffered minor workout withdrawal. So I went on a few good walks. I also had no functional meal plan. At first, I was sleeping so much that even if I was hungry, I would have slept through my meal times. Then, I was just too tired to care much about eating consistently, or well. The idea of consuming all that protein turned me green.

In the last few days, my appetite has returned. My energy level is ratcheting up to my normal exuberant self. I'd say I'm 80% old me. All in all, the last two and a half weeks have been off diet, off workout, off my real life. But what they have also been is on message.

This King Kong visitation gave me space to look at my choices. And I have discovered that my lifestyle needs a little revamping. I need to cull a bit.
* Yes, I can work hard - but I don't need to work long hours.
* Yes, I can workout strong and often - but not every workout needs to be aggressive. Maybe it's time to bring in yoga or pilates?
* Yes, I can have a solid social life - but I can also get 7 hours of sleep a night. 
* Yes, I can fill my life with all sorts of incredible people and events - but I don't need to be busy 5-6 nights a week.

The mission now is two fold: First and foremost continue to heal. Secondly, carefully redesign my life so that I can continue to be me, but not burn quite so hot all the time.

And that calls for a new mantra. I'm working on it... slowly...