Impossible is a typoRunning my pants off and loving myself along the way

I just started a new job in the Wall Street area. I know I should probably be having lunch in the office, getting to know coworkers and being social and what not. But I have this overwhelming urge to be outside and move. I logged 15k steps yesterday with my bodybugg, 10k of which were walking around down town. After sitting at a desk for 4 hours I need to move a bit. I found this spot where I can sit in the sun in the oppressive NYC heat, watch helicopters and and hear the occasional was lap against the deck that is if the traffic isn’t too loud.
I find that I’m sort of a loner. After the forced social interaction of being in an office environment, I find that I need time to myself. No, I don’t need it but I want it. I want to indulge in silence without having to be interested in people. And that is an exceptionally comfortable and a wee bit dangerous place to fall into. I find that my social circle is rather small, and I don’t enjoy meeting new people but it’s just a story I make up to basically save me from failing at making new friends. But for today, I’m just going to enjoy the sun.

Hey look! I can run! I can even run AFTER work!

New job means new lunch opportunities. I’m working in the financial district. I have to say, all the young Wall Street types in their fancy suits are easy on the eyes. This is not my favorite part of town. The streets are jumbled and have names, not numbers so the potential for a critical direction failure is high. I’ve already had to bust out the SmartyPhone with its GPS twice to find my way back to the office.

A hidden bonus is that there are tons of little parks and out door seating areas sprinkled between the skyscrapers and historic buildings. I find myself wandering on my lunch hour to find a new place to enjoy the fantastic weather. There’s tons of food options too, most geared for quick bites so the Number Brunches can efficiently go back to crunching-crunching.

But beware! Hidden dangers lurk in those smart takeout bags!

NYC instituted a law a while back requiring restaurants with multiple locations to post calorie information on their menus. It’s an interesting experience, walking in to a lunch place, your eyes pop. And then you order what you want anyway, taking the calorie hit. I’m just not willing to take the calorie hit on most days. Ok I’ll admit it. There are times I order the fries even knowing the calorie information. Like Michelle Obama, sometimes you just need fires.

So while out on one of my lunch time walks, I picked up a menu for a well established chain and glanced over it while eating a home made (and boring) salad. Holy Heart Attack Batman! 910 calories for a baked potato???? And look at the salad options. Those numbers are worse than burgers. Just more proof that a salad does not always equal healthy.

Lunch carefully my friends!

I’ve gained weight. 14 pounds. That’s what’s so. There’s no judgement in that. That’s just reality. What’s so is I was sick, then sick and tired. Then I got into this space of not caring, of wanting to binge on junk and I did that. And that is completely out of whack with who I am. I’m not really a mopey whiney little girl but I guess I had to visit the Land of Woe is Me for a little while.

So how did I get here? I’ve been playing this game that I deserve to cheat the system, that I don’t need to count the points of the handful of Fritos I just downed. That I’m dissatisfied with my job so its ok to eat my way through it. That I don’t need to work out. That I’ll start again tomorrow.

Well tomorrow is here.

I’ve become very clear in the past few days that what I’m committed to is having an awesome life. I’m committed to me being awesome. And it doesn’t work when I get all funky in the present. The present is so fleeting. See? The preset, just now, became the past and you got a little bit of tomorrow. Hm I think this is another post.

So today, right now, in this moment, I’m committed to living that tomorrow.

Do Not Pass Go

You roll on up to a 4-way stop. What do you do? Driver’s Ed would tell you the person on the right has the right of way. But that doesn’t work when there’s someone on everyone’s right.  Mr. SUV takes his foot off the break the exact same time Ms. MiniVan does and they both surge forward a foot and then slam on the breaks giving BobbySue, strapped in the back, a juice box straw up her nose from the sudden jolt. Then they both wave, surge forward, wave again.  The Dude in the sedan is now raging, spewing expletives and giving the finger to everyone, while he waits for everyone to get their act together. And then there’s me, calmly waiting for it to all work out.

I feel like I’m at a 4-way stop with my life right now. Plans are surging and stopping. Other things aren’t moving at all. I’ve tried every trick in the book I know, and I still feel stuck. I’ve put on about 15lbs. And I’m super not happy about it. I’ve been eating out of frustration and not running. I know what to do in that area of my life, track points, wear my bodybugg and actually pay attention to it, run my pants off. My sense of frustration comes from “OMG can’t I just be done with weight loss?”. Other area of my life are not so simple. I don’t know what to do. What I’ve been doing hasn’t been successful, obviously, but I don’t know what new action to take except to be mopey and eat and that’s a terrible action.

I wrote two different Fitbloggin recap posts. Everyone else was doing it so I figured I should too. I’m a joiner like that. Neither post really speaks to me about what Fitbloggin was and wasn’t. You want a nuts and bolts recap of what happened? Go here. Read away.

What Fitbloggin was in my eyes was the creation of a community.

FitBloggin was Tara, compelting a 5K and then walking The Mile with Jess, not because he needed, but because she wanted to be part of the journey.

FitBloggin was DubyaWife running a 5K and realizing she CAN.

FitBloggin was about realizing that YOU make a difference in the world and maybe THE difference.

FitBlogging was about putting names to faces and accepting yourself just as you are

FitBloggin was about learning that you, just as you are, are enough.

FitBloggin was about being accepted and loved where ever you are in your life for who you are and what you do.

Oh and yeah, FitBloggin was about tutus!

The secret to FitBlogging success was not the panels or the food or the sponsors, but the people and the experience of love and acceptance.

Day one of FitBloggin!

I feel like I have a lot to catch up on this blog after my Month o’Blahs. I have half-written posts and notes all over the place. I have successes to celebrate, failures to laugh at and never ending nonsense from the Crazy Fat Girl that lives in my head to share.

But before I get to that, I guess I should hit the gym huh?

Fat Girl, in Secret Agent mode, scans the terrain for hostiles. The buffet table is at 6 o’clock. Deserts staged at 4 o’clock. Nut bowl at 3.

Alert! Alert! Aunt Betty is circulating with a platter of pigs in blankets. Repeat! Pigs in blankets on the move!

Side stepping the incoming bogey, Fat Girls slides stealthily into the den. She’ll deal with the Weapons of Waistline Destruction (AKA Thanksgiving Dinner) later. A trickier and deadlier foe lies in wait ready to pounce and unleash the fury of hell itself in a quick snap and flash.

As cool and trained as she is, tension pulls Fat Girl wire tight. A bead of sweat forms at her temple. She knows the stakes. This ain’t her first rodeo. She’s failed in the past. The thought of getting tagged instantly and publicly sends a shiver down her spine. Fat Girl steadies herself with a piggie, and clicks on the HUD display in her sexy librarian glasses.

Red warning lights explode like Christmas lights. No, wait, with a peak over her glasses, those are just plain old Christmas lights. My bad. A scan of the room produces 2 iPhones, a Blackberry, a smart phone of undetermined make, an Olympus FE-280 8 megapixel 3X optical zoom. Eep. Small, quietly and deadly. But manageable given the target rich environment of couches and arm chairs to hide behind. Fat Girl’s eyes backtrack to the desk.

For the love of all that is good and fattening. It can’t be. Fat Girl pales, the blood draining past her knees that turned to jelly. Warning alarms explode in her head.

Mayday. Mayday. Code RED! Repeat Code RED! Implement anti-camcorder protocols STAT. Get out of there Secret Agent Fat Girl. Abort. ABORT! Get OUT! Dear God, save us!

The alarm shrieks in her head dull to a low rumble. She grits her teeth to quell the shakes. She reaches for a cocktail napkin to dab at the rivulet of sweat now running from her temple (after eating the 2 pigs in blankets of course as they were deployed upon the needed napkin. She’ll need her strength for the coming battle of course. There no time to count points now). Coolly, despite her heart thundering in her chest, Fat Girl assess her resources and tactical options.

Sports and politics are always handy diversions. You could always stir up Yankees vs. Mets drama in a NY household with out too much collateral damage. Popping another piggie, Fat Girl chews over the alternatives. She mulls the ultimate fail safe option – ‘Accidental’ Breakage. Could she go there? Would all her training fail her at the last moment? “Tactical success in the field is often the result of exploiting moments of chance and happenstance.” At the very moment Fat Girl resolves to break her uncle’s camcorder on purpose rather than face seeing images of herself plastered on Facebook, Aunt Betty glides into the room with a platter of cookies so tall the Colossus would turn green. Diving through this window of opportunity, Fat Girl springs into action by re arranging the desk to clear space for the cookies. The camcorder is now neutralized behind the poinsettia and the framed picture of Rufus the cat with Santa. Two celebratory cookies later and Fat Girl gears up for the Annual Battle of the Pies.

For 30 years, I’ve come up with super creative, Ninja-like ways to not be photographed.

“No no, it’s fine. You get in there. I’ll take the photo.”

“Here. Come stand in front of me. I’m taller.”

“I’m having a bad hair day, take the picture later!”

“What if I peeked around the corner of this wall and just my nose was peeping out. That would be so artistic!”

You’d think I was a spy, hoping to erase all photographic evidence of myself. Seeing myself in photographs pushes ever self conscious button I have. I’ve lost 6 dress sizes and I still want to throw up every time a camera is pointed towards me.

A few months ago I visited a friend up in Boston. He owns a photography studio (Shameless plug, if you need pictures, ImagineNext.com are the people to contact!) and he’s tried to convince me for years to get in front of his camera. I have always slipped out of that, never giving an out right no. You see, to me, the image of who I am and what I look like in my head is radically different from what I see in photographs. So when I’m confronted with what I see in a photograph, I’m shocked back into reality and go to “Not-Enough-Land” where I’m not thin enough, or pretty enough, my hair is not straight enough. It never occurs to me in that moment to call up an image of what IS enough. It never occurs to me that I’m comparing myself to completely fictional image that doesn’t exist and isn’t defined. All I know is that it’s not enough.

I got an email with the pictures in it and it took me a full 5 days to open it. All this work I’ve done on myself to get comfortable with who I am right now, in this moment, in this reality, splintered apart with a single mouse click. I downloaded the pictures and was instantly horrified by how fat I looked and walked away from my computer.

It took me 2 more days to really settle in and look at the pictures. And I do look fat in those pictures. Those pictures were taken 20 pounds ago. Those pictures are not what is so in this reality, in this moment in time, they are a wee slice of the oh so recent past. It both amuses me and saddens me that all I could see upon first glance were my chubby arms and my poofy tummy. I look great in these photos despite the 20 lbs and the chubby arms and the tummy poof. My crazy inner Fat Girl has to learn how to get a grip on what is the actualy state of affairs in this moment in time. And for now, I’m going to take a break from photography. Whew. Oh, yeah, here’s the pictures..

OM

The Grass IS greener on the other side

I should have put the flowers in my hair

I’ve been down lately and very quiet, not just on this blog but in my life. Phone calls are un-returned, emails aren’t even opened. I’d start writing a post and delete it rather quickly knowing that the crankiness flowing from my fingertips didn’t serve me, or my readers, or whatever it is I’m trying to do here. These posts were pure woe-is-me that didn’t even make me feel better.

A good portion of the blahs are fueled by the Holidays and the cold (oy, I hate the cold). Let’s face it, when you’re single, you don’t have kids AND you work in retail, the holiday season loses its sparkle and magic. The holidays morph into something to endure, to survive, to get through.

And that’s been my life for a while now. Surviving. Getting through it. Waiting for X to happen -

“When I lose the weight I’ll…”

“Why bother doing X when I’m going to be moving at some point?”

“When I get a new job, I’ll…”

It’s like I’m in a holding pattern, stuck in some cosmic airport lounge waiting for my indefinitely delayed flight and the batteries of my laptop have died and I’ve run out of knitting. There’s nothing to do but wait for that flight for the adventure to start.  And I’m not sure how to change that.

I get that I don’t have to wait to lose weight to be the person that I want to be when I lose weight. Happiness is not contingent upon a number on the scale. I get that I don’t have to have a boyfriend to experience love in my life.

That all takes work and effort. And frankly, I’ve been pooped. There have been days that I’ve been too crazed and cranky to find matching socks, so generating creative energy  was a bit of a stretch. But I’ve had enough of the blahs. This year is going to be about sidestepping that and getting to where I want to be.