Take a picture lady, it will last longer!

I never pretend my left arm is normal.  It's not.  I mean, it's my normal, but that's the limits on how normal it can be.

I've had hundreds of comments probably, but for the most part it's almost always good.  Minus a few well meaning therapists who tell me not to use it.

This morning in my water boot camp the lady next to me kept staring.

And staring.

And slack jawed staring.

The whole damn class!

I'd catch her eye, she'd look away.  I'd see her out of the side of my eye just staring away.  I'd move, she'd move.  Quite honestly it was disturbing!  I'm never self conscious of my left arm.  Not bothered by the scars, the wanky movements don't bother me, but her intense staring made me question if I should be.  It was that off putting.

It's bugged me all morning.

I will say, I didn't restrict the use of my left arm.  I worked it just as hard as I would any time.

But next time, if she's going to stare, I'm going to go out of my way to give her something to look at!

It's been a long, long time

It’s been almost a week since I experienced one of the most interesting nights I’ve had in a long time.  My 30^th class reunion.

I almost didn’t go.  I wasn’t popular in high school.  I had my small core group of friends.  Even then the ones I truly ever let myself be me with were limited.  Looking back I guess I’ve always felt like I needed to protect myself.  Protect my heart.

It’s no secret I was not raised with my self-esteem being boosted very often.  Not that I wanted to be celebrated like today’s youth, I didn’t want a participation trophy for everything I did, but some nurturing and the whole “you can be anything” speech now and then might have helped.  Instead I was raised with shame for being fat.  Fat is bad.  Fat is unlovable.  Fat isn’t even likeable. 

Then on top of that there was my personality.  Too loud.  Too inappropriate.  Too quick to make a joke.  Too messy.  Too much running around.  Too much independence.  Too much of so many things.

Then throw in adolescence and what you have is the fat, yet invisible girl.  You know, the one who longs to just have the ground swallow her up, saving her from embarrassing herself or calling any attention to herself because being noticed allows you to be vulnerable.  If no one notices you then they can’t DIS-like you.  They just don’t even know you’re alive.  When you are teased and made fun of, you accept that your tormentors are just telling the truth.  Subtract the swear words and a lot of the messages are the same at school and home.  You suck.  No one likes you.  You deserve it.  People are nice to you because they pity you.

Somewhere along the journey the fat that torments you becomes the fat that protects you.  Its layers insulate you, keeping people out, keeping away situations and relationships that can damage you further.  Fat also becomes your safety net, catching all the blame for why someone might not like you.  See, it’s so much easier to say someone doesn’t like you because you’re fat than to say they don’t like you.  If you don’t like me because I’m fat, that’s your problem.  If you don’t like me because of the person I am, then that’s my problem.

This was how I’ve felt most of my life and every day I have to fight to not be this person any more.  While so much has been shed, there are still these tentacles that hang on tight.  Kind of like gnarled tree roots, they run deep, they surface every now and then to show little glimpses, but they are the foundation of all that growth.

Over this last joining of Weight Watchers, so about the last six years, things have been changing for me.  I can honestly say I am to a point where I can see, yep, that’s when it started.  I surrounded myself with people who not just accepted me, they accepted me as I am, the good and the bad.  Even more shocking is they consistently worked on pulling out the real me and reassuring me that person was ok to be out of hiding.  Like the tree roots, the me inside would surface, but then they’d go underground yet again.  Slowly I’ve learned to trust these people.  Slowly I’ve let them in.  At points I’ve been scared, because I’ve once again been careless enough to be vulnerable, but as the negative voice has subsided, the idea of closeness being careless has slid away as well.  It’s ok to be me.  It’s ok if someone doesn’t like me.  And this is ok, because the people who love me, love me with a fierceness I’ve never known.

So back to this reunion.  I almost didn’t go.  Had no plans to go and even after buying a ticket I told Michael I’d be home early.  Something happened though.  I can’t put my finger on when it happened, maybe as soon as I walked in, but it was nothing like I expected.  That part of me who’s still that girl, the one who holds on to her fat for safety, figured she’d be quiet.  She’d be ignored.  Then when she had enough she’d go home.

Only that little girl got left in the car and I went in.  The me that my friends now think I’ve always been.  The me that they laugh at when I say “really, I used to be shy and quiet!”  That’s who walked through the door.  I don’t think I was even aware of it, because I didn’t make a conscious statement of “just be yourself” when I went in.  It was more of a “here it goes” attitude.  It was also a result of some newer roots that have been growing.  The ones firmly in place of “good enough just as I am and for who I am. “  Who I am is a varation of who who I have always been inside.  Deep, deep inside.  So deep that for a long time letting that version of myself out seemed like I was pretending to be a character.

Meeting my classmates as adults was actually a fun evening.  Letting them see the real me was pretty crazy at times.  The shock from classmates who have no memories of me ever speaking, let alone being funny stunned me.  I’ve always been her.  It’s just I’m not afraid to let everyone else know her too.

I also heard how calling my childhood bully my tormentor made her feel.   I never thought of the rawness those words could have, but we talked about that and the past … and our now.  We hugged and cried over the kids we were and I don’t know that I would refer to her as a tormentor now.  I think in her own way she was equally as tormented by life as I was and as messed up with her choices to act out as I was by my attempts to be invisible.

I ended up getting home late that night.  Really late.  Attended the after party late.  There was a satisfaction to seeing smiles come out of conversations with friends.  There was a joy in hugging someone and really meaning it.   People were willing to share stories and feelings, some quite personal.  I learned how alone a lot of us were, not just me.  I was presented with responses to who I am now and how much I’ve changed.  Some even said drastically.

When I was little I just wanted people to like me.  That’s all.  I could never figure out the secret to making people love you.  I know now.  It’s loving yourself.

A bet

Is still a bet even if it was never said out loud right?

I thought last week if the Cubs can win the World Series ...

I can lose 100 pounds. 

Damn. 

Promises to keep and miles to go before I .... give up

Well here we are, another summer over and in the books.  Seems like just yesterday I started a summer with all this hope for the fall.  The new winter coat I'd need because of my weight loss ....

sigh

The snow hasn't come yet, so maybe I will need a new coat.  It's not that I've given up, it's that I've been screwing things up and sabotaging myself yet again.  It's getting better and I'm learning to believe in myself.

This past weekend was my 3rd official paid for the privilege of walking 5k. My first was in Rockford years ago and was quite traumatic.  Blisters ... such pain ... and while I was proud, it just wasn't anything I wanted to repeat.

I did another one in April that I blogged about.  You know, in April.  That was much better.

I tossed in a 3k in August and my friend from the April race did another 10k.  She's silly that way.  Or just likes multiples of 5.  I'm not really sure.

Then there was Saturday.

I did a local 5k and didn't really prepare myself.  Based on that alone I should be beyond thrilled that I'm alive to even type this.  This one sucked.  It sucked because it was hard.  Very hard.  One mile seemed like 34.  Or what I'd imagine 34 would feel like.  At the 1 mile mark I was trying to give myself a pep talk.  "Look, one down, 2.1 to go!  Yeah you!" then I walked another .2 or so miles to find THE ONE MILE MARKER.  I think the words in my head were something like "oh f me."  Only the f had uck after it.

At the 2 mile marker I sent my friend a message.  1.1 left.  I'm spent.  Pray.

She encouraged me.

I replied that the volunteers were cleaning up the course markers and had now passed me.

She said it didn't matter, keep going.

I kept going.

Seems like the last .6 went pretty fast.  Either that or I've blocked out the trauma.  Either way I soon saw the 3 mile marker and the bridge bringing me to the finish and my car, which I'd wisely parked about 5 steps from the finish.

When I got to the car I cried.  I cried because I finished something I didn't think I was going to finish.

I cried because it hurt.

I cried because I was not just last, I was so last I was afraid they'd taken down the finish line and it would be just me walking to my car.

I cried because I realized how much easier this would be with some weight off me.

Then I cried some more because despite all the negatives I did it and no one could take that away from me.

After the race I went to Walmart because I had to.  Really, I had to go.  As I was sliding out of my car this woman was berating her husband about how far he parked away and how much it inconvenienced her.  Now I don't know her health history and I'm making assumptions, but if you made it through Wally World wearing flip flops, chances are you walk just fine.  They snarked back and forth and she swore at him a few more times.

Me being me and me being slightly lightheaded from my 5k efforts, I opened my mouth and said "I just did a 5k and I'm handicapped" then dissolved into laughter.

I hobbled in, got a cart, did my shopping and continued to laugh about the woman complaining about walking.  It did give me the attitude adjustment I needed.  I was doing the whole "poor pathetic me" thing and I'm not usually like that.  That snapped me right back to my reality.  Yes, I was last.  312th I think.  I'm not sure what the last census showed for population of the area, but I'm guessing far more than that.  Point is, I am one of those who chose to do it, versus not.

My soreness was gone pretty much by Sunday night.  I told my Dad about it at the nursing home last night and told him about my last place victory.  He smiled and without missing a beat said "yes, but you finished it."  It was very matter of fact and to the point.

Dad's simple words made me realize something.  Finishing something you started is to be acknowledged.  It doesn't matter how pretty or ugly it was, I did it.  I finished the race.  As my friend Jen pointed out I crossed the start line, I crossed the finish line, and I did the work in between.

This past year has been one of such mental growth for me.  The physical part is coming along too, but the mental part has changed.  Oh there's a shit ton of work to be done, but I can honestly say I am a different person today than I was this spring.  I can also say that it's the result of some great people in my life.

I have people who know how to make me push me.  I have people who see strength in me when I don't think I have any and give me the nudge I need to keep going.  I have people who make me open my mouth and agree to try things, to be accountable for things, to make promises to myself, and to keep them.

Keeping promises is huge for me.  Making them is easy. 

Keeping them is new.

Hate and love, all wrapped together

Mom called this morning, Dad is bad and wants me. 

I of course came as fast as I safely could. 

He is having a really bad day. The kind of day that you do not see any light at the end, or more so you don't want that kind of light, you want peace and release from your physical bonds. 

He asked me to hold him. I held him and Mom and I told him it's ok to go. We told him how much we love him.  I told him how proud I am of his fight. I told him that it was ok to stop fighting. He said he's tired of fighting. 

I told him that he's stubborn and everyone who knows me knows where my stubbornness.  He laughed about that and said "I'm stubborn!"

He fell into a peaceful sleep. We did get him to eat a bowl of ice cream. I fed it to him and he ate every bite. 

He's sleeping again now. He just said he's feeling a little better. He's still tired, but he's responsive. 

I love my Dad. I love that I can comfort him. 

I hate this disease. I hate watching Parkinson's rob him of so much!  I hate not being able to make him better!

But I love and treasure that when he needs it, I can be his strength. 

Karen the destroyer

So yesterday was not a good day.  Not in the sense of the days I've been having, but in hindsight, better than the old days.

I had pain that was beyond my normal level and it was rough.  It was preventing me from doing anything, walking, sitting, getting up, the usual things a person likes to do even on their laziest days.

The pain made me tired.  The pain made me isolate myself.  Pain ... it makes me crawl into my shell and not come out.  I'm not sure why I feel so guarded when I have intense pain.  When I had the car crash I can remember trying not to let others see how badly I hurt, because I didn't want to upset them.  I'm sure I did a poor job of hiding it, but I tried.

Even now I try to hide it.  I don't know if I'm afraid I'll be seen as the weakest in the pack and taken down?  I haven't felt like someone's hunting me ...

I think in some ways it's a PTSD thing.  Severe pain takes me back to the worst times in my life.  Yes, I'm aware that in general people try to avoid long sessions of intense pain.  There are those who *ahem* may enjoy that in their lives, but for the most part I think it's a universal dislike.  Otherwise there would be toe stubbing competitions.

When the pain is a constant, jarring reality I think part of my brain instantly reflects on my time in the hospital.  The pain, the loneliness, and pulling away from the world because I don't want to bring anyone else down with my blues ... all of it comes back naturally and effortlessly.  I think there is also a part of me that realizes everyone has their own pain and to each of us it's the worst, so just, yeah, shut up about it.

Yesterday it felt like someone was shoving a screw driver into my knee.  It's been bugging me a week, but Tuesday's workout made it flare up something fierce.  It was enough that I went to biting my lips and cheeks again.  (I always did that so no one would know how much pain I was in.  I won't scream if I do that.  Great trick if I'm ever being tortured ....)  I wanted to scream.  Oh how I wanted to wail.  The closest I came was to hide in the bathroom at home and let a few tears of frustration come out.

Last night I met up with my new physical therapist, Amanda, for my first session of warm water therapy.  I talked to her about the pain, where it was, what I hoped it was, and thankfully see agreed that it wasn't my worst fear (joint degeneration) but a painful, but less damaging issue of scar tissue.

The water therapy is nice and not nice.  Moving and working out in warm water feels great, the buoyancy is amazing, but you get so tired and warm that at some point you feel like the main course cooking at a cannibal dinner party.

After my workout she gave me a few suggestions to try to alleviate the pain and this morning I gave the most drastic of the options a go.

She suggested if I could, grab the offending section of tissue, dig my fingers in, and try to scoop and pop it out like I was working on a giant pimple.

So while in the bathroom this morning I got a good grip and I pinched.  And I pinched.  And the scream in my head would have woke the neighborhood if I'd let it out.

The spot is still tender.  I won't be shocked if I have a bruise.  Most important though (besides the fact I can inflict THIS much pain on myself) is that it's better.  Like instantly better.  No more wimpering when I get up!

So yesterday was filled with not as great choices as I would like to have made.  Still, I didn't drown my emotions in hot fudge or chips.  I just ate more points than I'd planned to eat.  Today I'm reinvested, not just counting my points, but making the points COUNT.

Only two more sessions with Diablo, tonight and Tuesday.  I'm going to miss the little devil ....

whine with no points for cheese

Today is not a good day.

I hurt.

I've taken tylenol, aleve, and arthritis medicine.  Burning a hole through my stomach doesn't matter.

I'm tired.

I'm whiney.

I'm over emotional.

My period started.

I've eaten more points than I need to today.

Hopefully the warm water therapy tonight for my fibromyalgia will put me in a better frame of mind. 

Either way, tomorrow is new day.

The chosen people ...

Every once in a while someone comes into your life that makes such an impression on you that they become a vital component of who you are and who you can become.  I've been so fortunate this way. 

There was Lori, my nurse at Rockford Memorial after the car crash. She was the one who helped me through the hardest, darkest times.  We had so many heart to heart talks and her friendship still means so much to me. She gave me faith to believe that the crash wasn't where my story ended. 

Many years later, about half way through this go at Weight Watchers, we were informed we were getting yet another new leader. I was frustrated and said to a friend "if this turns out to be some leader who's all 'yeah! I lost 30 pounds and look at me now!' I am quitting."

I've told her the story, but I'll share. When she stood in front of us I saw her name tag and a very large number on it. Followed by the words "I lost."  I believe the number was about 220. I remember leaning over to my friend Megan and saying "well there goes all my f-ing excuses!"

Nothing beats God dropping proof right in your lap. I said I would quit if it was someone I couldn't relate to. Not only did I relate on a weight loss level, but since we have a similar sense of humor, I was thrilled. I considered her the cool kid, so getting to know her was a bonus. Now she's my friend who used to be my leader. Apparently God knows I needed a force like Jen!

Then came Diablo. Okay, Chris. And maybe he's not the love child of Satan and Hitler (maybe!). I've worked with some wonderful therapists and trainers (shout out to Kay) but this ... this isn't something I can explain except that God knew I needed Chris AND I was ready for his message. 

I've worked with Chris five times. Not even five full hours, but his effect on my life will last as if I was branded. 

Tonight we worked and talked. I have three sessions left and he's leaving soon, so it's become this crunch to show me enough stuff to keep me challenged and to help me reach my potential.  It was amazing to hear him talk about where he expects me to be in four years. 

Never once did the thought "four years?? Are you nuts??!!!??" go through my head. Instead I saw this vision he had for me and realized four years, hell yeah!

Going in tonight I told him about my week, my Independence Day, and the baggage I let go of. His response was to bounce around the room, arms raised like Rocky, with the biggest smile I've seen from him. 

He said he was so happy that my attitude caught up with the confidence he's seen in me. 

Me? Confident?  

Then he told me who he sees when he sees me. 

Then he told me what everyone else who watching me is thinking. I said I always say what's the worst thing they can say?  Look at the fat woman working out?

He said to hell with anyone who thinks negative. He said those who are athletic and do these effortless workouts are worthless as inspiration.   He said anyone who is afraid can watch me and see their own possibilities and anyone else who's busting their ass sees me as one of them. 

All these people ... and others... brought into my life exactly when I was open to receiving their messages.  

All of them strong people. 

Each of them so different. 

Each of them so priceless.  

Boom boom boom, even brighter than the moon moon moon!

So this happened ....

For many years I've wanted to add to my piercings.  Many.  Like over 6 years at least.  But something has always held me back.

Yesterday I figured out what was holding me back.  It was my worry about what everybody else would think!  Would they think it's stupid?  Silly?  Inappropriate?  Ugly? 

I realized something very important.  All these years I've cared more about other people's happiness more than my own.  I finally had the comprehension that I was caring more about other people than I was caring for myself.

This especially was brought to my focus after swallowing my fears about posting to FB about my goals and intentions.  I was so afraid to share that post.  So afraid to open myself to judgment.  Doing it was liberating and exhilarating.   Many people have no idea how guarded I am with what I share and who I trust.

I wasn't sure what I'd get in response to that post.  As expected, my girlfriends who always have my back chimed in.  I know they are there for me, but baring my soul a bit and having them love me just the same was awesome.  There are some others that I hoped might give me the thumbs up, but didn't.  I could have felt sad about that, but that's not what I took from it.  Instead I took the insight that doing what makes me happy and healthy is what matters, not what other people think or don't think.

For what ever reason some people didn't acknowledge my post and it doesn't matter.  Maybe they didn't see it or didn't like it or maybe they don't even care or they do care, but don't know what to say.  That's OK, I didn't need their permission or approval to make my declaration.  At the time I failed to see how it applied to the rest of my life.  You know, until that moment it hit me.

I've spent most of my life putting other people's happiness over my own.  If you hurt me with your actions and your words, I will hide and cry, but I will never ever treat you the same way back because it might hurt your feelings.  I'm not changing myself in that way.  I'd rather be nice to someone than cause them pain, but I'm letting myself be happy first.  I've been told this many times, but it never truly sunk in with me, but who cares what other people think?  Really, who cares if they are even thinking anything about me, because they might not be.

How sad that I've wanted to pierce my ear for well over 6 years, but didn't because I didn't want to hear the comments.  How sad that I denied myself something based just on someone's comfort level.  How sad that I didn't .... well, how sad for a lot of things.

But that's not my message here.  This isn't about sadness, it's about empowering myself.  I said that yesterday was my Independence Day.  Yep, my personal one.  It clicked yesterday.  I said to myself "self -- let's do it!"  OK, I didn't say that.  It was more a "ooooo I'm doing it!" and off I went.  

It made me happier than I thought it would!  I smile when I see my ear in the mirror!

My celebration of my independence.

Didn't know all those fireworks were for me now, did you?

Declaring my intentions

I am going to get stronger. 

I am going to get leaner. 

I am going to crush my goals. 

20 questions

So for the last few weeks I have been working my way through 20 questions in the book “The Big fat truth” by J.D. Roth.  (Available on Amazon)  To give a little background, J.D. is the person responsible for creating Biggest Loser and Extreme Makeover.  Not only were the concepts his, but he became involved in the process of vetting, choosing, mentoring, and supporting the show’s contestant/selected players.  After many seasons and dealing with thousands of people, he has a valuable insight to what can help or hinder you in the weight loss process.

Pretty early in his book he talks about two BL contestants.  On the night before the final weigh in one went out to dinner with friends and family, enjoyed a moderate but wonderful dinner (and the company) and the other one worked out like his life depended on it, purging water weight and consuming pretty much nothing.  As expected the guy who went out to dinner lost.  I think it was by an obscenely close margin too.  At first he was upset and mad at himself, but then he took inventory of what he won.  He was able to live with the program and live a happy life.  Big deal, the other guy won a quarter million dollars.

Guess who still has the weight off?  The one who DIDN’T play the game…

Yep, the winner gained all his weight and more back.  Why?  His motives weren’t right for sustainable weight loss, they were right for winning the BL.

That story made me think quite a bit.  Since it’s been well over 10 years since these two went for the prize and looking from where I stand, it’s clear to see who the real winner is. Keeping the weight off 10 years?  I’d take that!

So that brings me to the toughest question for me to answer.  Other questions were emotional and brought up things I may not want to face, but that final one has slowed me down for over a week. "Because" is not a complete answer.  It took about 5 days for it to really hit me.

I’m worth it.

It … what’s it?  The work.  The fight.  The struggle.  The rewards.  The results.  I am worth it all and I deserve it all.

Working with Diablo has altered my world quite a bit, not just from a physical standpoint.  He has pushed my body harder than I thought I could go.  After what he said Tuesday night, I had to really face that food is the last tether I’m holding on with my “I can’t do this" logic.  Before I had working out AND food.  Now I don’t have working out.  Not only do I not have it, he’s crushed my views on what I can do.  I have always put the qualifier on myself of being handicapped, because I am.  It’s always been “that was a good workout …. For a handicap ….”

I was trying to explain my screwed logic to him after our workout and he stopped me short.  “Do you know why this is hard for you?  Because it’s hard for EVERYONE!  You are no different!!!”  I’ve been told that before, but for some reason (ok, I’ve watched him beat other people up) this time it stuck.

After talking to someone else who trains with him, it really did hit home.  This was a conversation with someone that is very fit, works very hard, and I’ve called “insane” many times.  I was lamenting on the fact that Diablo doesn’t give me any breaks and I swear I have seen him give others a break.  Her reply was “he doesn’t give me breaks either, he doesn’t give any of the people who can really do it breaks because he knows what we can do better than we can.  He knows who has it and who doesn’t and you have it!”

There’s that it again.  It.  I want it.  But I have it.  But I want more it.  And I will get it.  And I will let go of the past that keeps me from getting it and embrace the past that pushes me to get it.

So that’s why this time is different.  Because IT is.