Pause...hit Pause!

No, I am not putting my personal growth and development on hold, nor my fitness. Or even my health. Nope.

Maybe just a pause.

It's not totally intentional. Just life and some three hour spans of insomnia, and other things that make me feel like sludge. No, I don't know what sludge really is, but it's a fantastic word.

Other things like fighting with my spouse. No, not real fighting. Just that discussion that is the same one we've had for 15 or 20 years. If one of us had the presence of mind to actually record it someday we could stop at the beginning of a disagreement and exclaim "HEY! Get the recording, we don't actually have to do this, we can go out for coffee while the discussion happens without us!"

I have every confidence that it has nothing to do with the hours there in my bed, waiting to fall back asleep for hours and hours. And having to actually function the next day.

OK, it has everything to do with that.

Sleep is the biggest drug of all, I am totally addicted and if I don't get it, I do go a little bit ballistic.

But I have to pull out the gratitude journal and remember so many things more than the three I make myself write every day. (yes, warm slippers can be on the list 46 days in a row)

Now, the things I eat when I'm in a bad place are things like toast. TWO slices. And the potato soup instead of the vegan chili.

OOOooooo! Trouble!

I remember when it meant fast food drive thru and pints of ice cream and so much food that I really didn't feel anything. Thank God that isn't what this is. This is swimming through fatigue and eating brown rice and spinach and mushrooms for breakfast with a poached egg over the top because I know that there will be BREAD around later in the day. Come on. I rock.

I am grateful that I'm OK. I'm grateful that two days ago it was almost... (shhh, don't say it too loud) easy to run a mile and a half straight through. I only got a little hot. No big deal. I'm grateful that my husband and I can even joke about the recording of our discussions. Grateful for intelligent children, and good friends and jobs and food and firewood outside, just in case. Grateful that I had a wonderful dog for so many, many years. Grateful that I have friends who trust me enough to come over and do their laundry and throw their children in the big bathtub and hang out with me while they deal with their septic system issues.

It's good. It's only a little pause. I'll sleep again someday. It will all be good. And really it's so much better already, I'm wickedly grateful for that.

Spirit First, the rest will follow

Oh I am so sore, who thought that was a good idea to lift all that weight yesterday anyway? Geez.

No, it's good. All good.

I've been wondering why I have been able to stay focused on health and healthful eating through this loss and grief. Today I mentioned my loss of Emmathedog to a handful of my friends at church. Someone asked me when it had happened, and I was so choked up, I could hardly tell them. Maybe I really do need the pity party where you split a bottle of red wine, watch "My Dog Skip" and just give in to the sobbing.

But I keep eating well, really well even. And the workouts continue. I hope it is that good Emma spirit cheering me on. Or maybe I have some weird complex that allows me to do big things when the chips are down? Like going back to school in the middle of huge marriage trauma. Or like the first time I lost a chunk of weight (not the first time it stayed off, though!) my three kids and one of the neighbor kids I was watching all had the chicken pox. And I-- OK get this, I gave away the leftover Halloween candy. In the middle of four kids with mad itchiness.

I should have a psychological evaluation.

Maybe it's that stoic Norwegian blood. Maybe it's just weird. But I am currently pretty centered about the self care and nurturing. The Geeneen Roth book "When Food is Love" is still blowing my mind. I think I had to get this old and this ready before I could have heard the messages about self care for real. And we'll see what happens, but for now it's good.

Next step, I think, is to add back in the morning meditation and yoga. I have been OK about the yoga with the real reason being that my back hurts if I don't get in at least a little yoga pretty consistently. But for a long time I did a small meditation before the yoga and I did it almost every morning. I am a kinder, calmer human if I do this. Sometimes I work my way through a book of poetry or meditations, using the poem or the reading as a place to begin the meditation. I light a candle, open a window to hear the birds and smell the fresh air. And I sit down with myself. It is good. So good.

The other thing I have to add in to this mix is the additional cardio. I was walking the path by my house on the non Y days in early December, but then we had snow and ice and rain rain rain, so much so that Pooh would have had to come and rescue me in his ship "The S.S. Pooh Bear" and the walk would have ended badly. Spring is on it's way here to the Pacific Northwest. I should get back outside. The path winds past a few huge stumps from the days when this area must have been logged, or cleared for farms and they have big rain forest looking trees growing out of them. There is moss, and ferns and lots of bunnies which probably means coyotes. I hear them calling at night. Being out under the big sky is so good for my spirit. But even on the days when I can't walk that path, I can put in 20 little minutes on the stairstepper that I have. I mean, come on! It is not that hard.

So, this week meditation added first, because my goal is mind and spirit first and body will follow. And then we'll see if more cardio can come along after that. Maybe I could even do the little Old Lady Shuffle that passes for my "running" outside. Shocking. Run. Outside?

Time for another bribe, don't you think? Maybe some cute workout pants. Mine are from 1999 when I first worked at the Y.

These are organic cotton from Gaiam.

It IS fun at the YMCA

I've been a YMCA-person for most of my life. When I was a little girl, my dad and I were in a group called "Indian Princesses", what a horrible name, idea and misappropriation, but it was a YMCA group with dads and daughters spending time together which was good. Then I went to a Y day camp called Kici Yapi--again an awful name and misappropriation, but again, a good camp where I learned to swim and canoe had my first contact with good education about nature. Then in high school I went on four Adventure Canoe trips with YMCA Camp Menogyn--the last one thirty some days canoeing across Manitoba, ending in Hudson Bay.

When my kids were little, about 10 years-ago, I got a job at the Y so we could have a discount on the membership, and we've been Y members ever since.

So, I've been working out in one way or another for those 10 years. Even during times when I've gained weight, I've had a pretty consistent routine of working out. I've had a bunch of different trainer sessions, every time we moved to a new Y, I would take advantage of the "free" trainer session and orientation. It's been good, I've learned a lot. Sometimes opposing things, but mostly really good.

But it's funny, when I'm really motivated I can do pretty much the same workout with a hot intensity, I sweat, I hurt afterward, I'm focused. I look like some mad woman. And when I'm on the unfit end, I'll beg off when the family goes, I'll lollygag, I'll go slow, lift less, choose the recumbent bike--OK, not really! But it's the same kind of way I eat; less mindfully, filled with resentment. No fun.

Today I ran a straight mile and a half, I know it's nothing compared to what a lot of folks do, but I haven't run that far straight thru since I was 35, six years ago. I think I lifted more weight than I have in a long time, if not ever. I was focused, intense, driven. I was on!

And it was fun. I love my YMCA. I don't live near one, so split my visits between two different ones, but the one I love best is the older, smaller, funky one in West Seattle right near the church I serve. Today at that funky little Y I saw a board member from my church, and the girl who used to give my kids a hard time about working out when they had had their teen orientation at the OTHER Y. I saw the local UCC minister, the administrator of our school, and faces that I just see there regularly. The swim team has their swim-a-lap fundraiser tonight and I remember working that, and covering the 2am shift on the overnight swim party, too. I remember going to this Y when we first moved to Seattle and my kids had to pass a swim test to go in the pool, now the oldest just finished his lifeguard training in that same pool and was, that day on the spot, offered a job. The kids went to child care when we were first here, and a few years later our middle son took babysitter training in the same room. It's been so much more than a gym.

It's like hanging out with family. It's like working out with family.

A funny world.

And I'm glad I know the Y, glad I have it, so thankful that it's there, that it's been there.

Simple Days

It's been almost a week since the dog has been gone. And yesterday I completed a very competent and orderly grocery shopping with no moments of getting lost in the store. I'm starting to miss her in a less physical way; I'm not looking for her every time I move from one room to the next, or waiting for her on the stairs or expecting to feed her the bits of leftovers any longer. But I am starting to miss her with that inner keening that realizes that she is really now and forever gone.

She was such a good dog. I miss her so much.

And I cannot imagine what I would do if I lost a person from my family. It makes me think that someday I should work as a chaplain. Empathy is me, right now. Sorrow softens me. A wise UU blogger said it better, and I couldn't agree more.

Somehow in the midst of all of this I am feeling pretty healthy. I think it's the pledge to care for myself as Emma would want me to. It's good. I haven't run for a long time, tending to like the high calorie count numbers that come from the same time on a cross trainer, and the meditative walk on the trail. But I know in my heart of hearts that the run does more for me to crank up the muscle mass build and the fat burn. I mean, come on. I sweat more! Isn't that the real test?

So I hit the treadmill and decided I'd just run a mile. It's humbling to be on a treadmill surrounded by my children and husband who can just start right out with a run, no warm up, but it's OK. I muddled through.

And it wasn't even too hard. Just a mental game. "Yes, you can do this. No you are not going to die. Yes this is how working hard feels. No your butt doesn't look any fatter running than walking. Really, you are not going to die." So, guess I'll go for a mile plus something today. It's bit by bit, little by little. Split pea soup by grilled salmon. Taking care of yourself and being kind, even when you're sad. Mile by mile and all.

One pair of jeans from the "no" pile fits again. I can tell that this is the point when in the past I've had a love affair with losing pounds as noted on the scale. I've rushed to see the latest number, breathless to know. Elated with the new number. Excited to feel good and successful. It feels like no one has ever been so successful or powerful. It's easy, in this flush to keep going, the pounds seem to fall off. It's quite a rush.

But this time, I'm trying to stay away from the scale. No "numbers rush" for me. I want to just be a little slimmer, a little calmer, a little more centered. I'm fine here, just me, just as I am. And I want to fit into my clothes a little better and not stuff feelings down with a nice warm piece of buttered bread. I want to eat buttered bread because it tastes good, and one piece is enough. OK, maybe two.

Oh please, may it be so.

little things sure add up

So, I did Weight Watchers last year after winning NaNoWriMo. This year on November 30th, after not-winning NaNo, I didn't do WW.

Big surprise.

But what I did do was to start trying to be clean with food and activity. And up until about the time round three of our snowstorm hit, I was doing OK. There were two solid weeks of walk on the path alternating with a cardio/weight work out at the Y for six days and then one day off. Food was OK, mostly stuff eaten to feed body hunger and not head hunger or heart hunger.

I'm still recovering from the points and core and good and bad and right and wrong that I internalized, AGAIN, last year doing ww.

In line at the grocery store on Christmas Eve, during trip number three of the day, the new O magazine caught my eye. Hey, yeah. I thought Oprah was looking a little heavier, but then I never trust my eye to be right about weight loss or gain. A friend can lose 50 pounds and I just wonder if they found a really great pair of jeans. But there was Oprah, weight loss maven, talking about how she'd fallen off the wagon, again. Oooo. Me too, me too.

Not that I believe now that there really is a wagon full of thin and beautiful and happy people who have good skin and good jobs and happy and fulfilled primary relationships and always floss their teeth. Or that I fell off that wagon. If there is one, I've never gotten the pick-up schedule down right.

When I lost the most weight, about six years ago, on the day that I hit a size 8, my husband told me he wanted a divorce. Maybe I found the reverse wagon or something. But it ripped off the belief that I had that the only reason I wasn't happy was because I was fat. I wasn't happy because I wasn't happy. Maybe I was even fat because I wasn't happy. OK, there went the wagon tipping over and rolling down the hill.

So since this past fall when I realized that points and all that program stuff had just really served to feed the beast that is my food addiction, I've been reading Geneen Roth, and Victoria Moran, and trying to feed myself with things that don't go in my mouth. In my head I call it "eating clean". I've been trying to be OK with life and OK with the love I have and to be happy without food.

After all food is the craziest addiction of all! I mean, what kind of lame high do we get off food? Not much. At least some of the psychotropics give you a break from reality. Food smacks you down again so fast, you aren't even all the way up before you're down.

Shakin' my head. What kind of crazy thing is this, anyway.

The new O magazine had this great piece about rats. No really, it talks about how rats in a nasty cage would choose to drink the morphine laced water everytime. But the rats in the rat-heaven enlcosure shunned the happy water, instead, making happy lives.

Ahhhhh! Come on, I have to be smarter than a rat! I'm old enough, wise enough, now to make a happy life, and maybe this time just hang out at a nice-happy-size "just right" for oh, I don't know. Maybe life?

Today the Solstice Storm piles of snow are starting to melt. My whole family is headed to the Y and it is their job to finish the cheesy potatoes (damn you Pioneer Woman and your amazing use of butter and cream!) and to eat or disperse the cookies. My dear husband is creating a closet haven for me out of the closet chaos I have right now, and maybe we'll even paint the bathtub alcove a lovely eggplant color this weekend.

Little things, but they can sure add up.

And if I keep feeling sane about it, why not throw a little insanity in the mix and think about training for a 5k or even a 10k. I did a 5k for my 35th birthday, 'bout time to get on to the next distance, right?

OK, now I said it outloud. Better make it true.