manifesto

During the past decade or so I decided that I was too far in life, too old, to make a positive difference in my health and weight anymore. My body, while not old and decrepit yet, was older, settled, and on its way down the other side of the proverbial hill, so why bother trying, right? Might as well settle calmly into old age, don’t fight it, age gracefully. Accept the wrinkles, the weight, the sunspots… There was actually a side of me that thought like this. Mostly it was fear- it’s scary to commit to changing your life, to looking at your choices critically, to seeing where they got you.
We all have addictions. Some of us lean on alcohol, smokes, most anyone reading this blog probably leans on food. Heavily. I leaned on food. I’m not sure why I thought my husband wouldn’t offer his shoulder to me, but instead of turning to him for support, I turned to him for a ride to the store, as a partner in pastry purchases, as my comrade in complacency. He never had a problem with food and didn’t understand what it meant to me when we went to the store to buy a pizza, reduced priced donuts and strawberry soda for dinner. I had never eaten like that before our relationship and eventually my women’s plus size 30 overalls reflected our food choices.
…But I was getting older, and I thought I was so far gone… I was a victim to my own thinking and my own food choices. At 340 pounds, looking down the scale at trying to achieve a 100 pound weight loss to 240, much less my BMI goal of 142… It seemed impossible.
But I wasn’t old. It wasn’t too late.
I’m not saying that I’m a miracle or a success story or anything like that. I’m a good distance down the path, but months of positive progress don’t add up to a weightloss success story. That will come when I’m in my 70’s and still maintaining my weight, still exercising, still living my life capably and with zest. My greatest fear is my mortality. Why would I succumb to aging and death prematurely if I didn’t have to? Why would I let this finite amount of time I have on this earth be consumed and dictated by food, my weight and my fear of my mortality instead of the love and attachment I have to my kids and husband? So I stood up and started to fight. I turned to my husband for support. What choice did I have? What choice do any of us have? My success story has a solid beginning. While I’m not a success story with a complete ending yet, I do believe that with determination I will, eventually, be a success story. I’m determined to live the best possible version of my life, at 40, at 50, at 70, at every age I have the privilege of living.
You’re never too old to make a positive change in your life. Ever.

This Week in Non-Scale Victories…
Last year I got this jacket for my birthday. I could barely squeeze into it and I could eek the zipper closed. But it was so tight I was sincerely worried that I would bust the zipper. Plus, it would roll up over my tummy unless I kept my hands in the pockets to keep it down. Yeah, tight. Cut to yesterday when I wore the jacket out and realized what a very nice jacket my husband purchased for me! It is going to the best winter jacket, and, lest we forget- it fits!. Non-scale victory… 🙂

I have been really considering, lately, what is up with my New Kids thing? I’ve rejected them for years, then, on a lark, I go to their concert and get hooked back into their world. Suddenly I’m following Donnie and Danny on Twitter, the rest on Instagram and looking up their personal lives online to figure out the juicy details. I wouldn’t say I’m obsessed, but certainly have a greater interest in them than seems appropriate for a 39 year old woman.
I also wrote about Katy Perry way back in February. I wrote about how I love her brand of self expression and wrote about how her music makes me want to move. Firework was the motivator for my first real run. It was with Katy Perry in my ear singing and telling me I could do it and I threw myself an unplanned challenge- to run for the duration of the song. I did and felt terrifically empowered after.
It niggles me, all this pop music making its way into my brain, infusing itself like a much needed and desired earworm.
Tonight when I walked into our living room, Bradley had started something playing on TV. I assumed it would be Star Wars related or a documentary as that is what he picks when he has his choice. I was surprised to see Katy Perry make her way across the screen and, while I did arm curls, crunches, and worked my various muscle families, I watched as Ms. Perry’s fans talked about how inspired they feel by her. They spoke to a feeling of acceptance, love and encouragement. They held her up as a bastion of the American Dream- if you can dream it, it’s possible.


{Me at 17- I’m the one with the unzipped graduation gown. I had just lost about 80 pounds.}
Somewhere along the way, between exiting teenagerhood and the onset of middle age, I think I forgot about possibility and dreams. Instead, I settled into what was and what was supposed to be. I looked to the futures of my children as my own dreams. I looked for models of what fiancés did, what newlyweds, young parents, homeowners and college students did to guide my own life. I forgot about looking at what I wanted, I had already decided: Wife, Mom, Teacher- those titles were in the plan. Done, done and done- the planning was over. I didn’t need to dream or be inspired. I was an actualized adult without need of a pop star to guide and inspire me.
Cut to my daughter’s first year of life and one day I found myself driving down the road bawling my eyes out. Earlier, I had been laying on the floor while she climbed all over me and I felt like a boulder- huge and immobile. I could do little more than pick her up over my head, rolling over was a challenge and I could hardly get off the floor when she finally crawled away. It just felt like a compromise of life. When I left the house I turned on the radio and 100 Years came on, reminding me how precious life is, how very brief it is, how quickly my daughter would grow up and I couldn’t help but realize that I was piddling my life and her babyhood away by being morbidly obese. So I took action. The rest of the story is pretty obvious, but if you want the whole story you can visit here.
Tonight I sat there watching as Katy rose to fame, went on a concert tour, got married, divorced, awarded, dressed, undressed, made up and more. Throughout it all she kept talking about living the dream, living your best life, doing what is important. She gives creedence to being playful, romance and silliness. She kept saying she loves her fans, loves people and was so kind as she met them, included them in her shows and into her heart. The New Kids do the same thing- they tell their fans they couldn’t do it without us, that they love us Blockheads, they’re glad we came, they appreciate our dedication and we can be whatever we want. Even still- after 25 years.
We stop listening, as adults, to all of those voices that are out there telling us we are a firework. We buy into ‘reality’ and stop dreaming, instead settling for nights on the sofa in front of someone else’s imagined life. We let the young’ns take center stage and defer those ‘follow your dreams’ statements to them. Instead we get ‘live, laugh, love’ which is nice, but not very proactive. Not very fun. We forget that even though we are almost 40, we are still capable of changing. We are not limited to only living, laughing and loving. Dreams are still very much alive! We are still allowed to reach for the stars.
I think that is why I’m engaging with my cream-filled pop-star center. The last time I let myself buy into pop music I was 16, full of hopes and dreams. I was planning my life still, looking forward to following this path. Well, guess what? I reached the end of my path- I have my babies, the best husband, a wonderful career, a home, Im left wanting for nothing- and suddenly I find myself in the same place I was at 16. What next? I have a few choices, primarily to settle into my easy chair with the remote or to continue to live this life to the fullest. I’m sure you know which path I’m choosing to walk. Just like at 16, I’m still dreaming and making plans, thanks to my heart being reopened and I’m hearing the message. The Whisper…
It seems ridiculous, but Katy and the New Kids are reinvigorating my sense of adventure and the belief in myself – it never left, necessarily, but it certainly faded. Adventure is still out there, my life has 50 years of possibility left, and I’m going to do it as healthily as possible.

I saw a quote a few weeks ago that said:

And I just keep coming back to it, considering it, pondering it.
Being fat was hard. I had to sacrifice a lot to be heavy- most obviously, quality of life, if not years of life altogether. Not to mention my fertility, watching my family skip events because I was over sized, lying to myself about what I was eating and how much I was moving. It hurt, my back, my muscles, knees. It was really hard being really heavy.
Losing weight is also really hard. It is hard to say no. It’s hard to make life changes that are so long term. It’s hard to go work out, to run every day. It’s hard to bend over and touch my toes because I’m ridiculously stiff. It’s hard to look at the clock and realize that you still have weight reps and it’s 10:00 PM. It’s hard to have PMS telling me to stick everything in my mouth and have to battle that craving for weeks at a time. It’s hard to circle the track once again.
Maintenance is going to be hard. Success stories are rare and percentages are not on my side. I’ve read that only 5% of people who lose weight keep it off (though this is disputed). It’s hard to look at the next 40 years with the awareness that I will never again go through a weight gain binge of just not worrying. It’s hard to think that I have to maintain a high level of fitness for always – even when I don’t want to. Hard.
Pick your hard. It think it’s obvious which hard I’m working on now.
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You know that feeling you get when you’re dieting and all of the sudden you fall off the wagon? Then you spend the next week or so making deals and promises to yourself, setting timelines and making excuses and lying to yourself to cover up poor behaviors? This is where I’ve been over the past week.
Then, if all goes truly horribly offroad you find yourself, two months later, with 20 pounds regained and an oppressive sense of defeat. It’s terrifying, seeing your determination take a break, looking for motivation, inspiration and nothing reveals itself. And then you’re an island without the crutches you desperately lean on to keep moving forward and all that’s available is yourself, but you feel so weak. It is much easier to just chill on the couch with (insert yummy food here) while watching The Biggest Loser while also feeling your ability or desire to be The Biggest Loser ebb away. Yeah. Every time I step outside of this rigid eating plan I have for myself I flip out that I’ll never get it back. That I’m on that path to losing it.
It’s times like these that I fall back on just being a really honest cheerleader to myself. One that reminds me of the things I told myself in the beginning:
– It’s up to me to do this. It’s my willpower and determination that will decide my success in this project- not the ‘right’ feeling, the right time, finding the motivation, being on a roll or having good habits- it’s me. I can do it or not, but if I fail, that was a decision I made and I can only be upset with myself. If I fail it will be my fault. It all comes down to me.
It was hard to get back on track. Hard, but not as difficult as the first few times. Those times I was determined and willing to try based on the blind faith that I had in myself to do this for real this time. Now I have experience on my side that proves I’m capable of stopping the snowball and getting my food back under control. This time it just took a day and I was stepping back into better habits. It feels so good to be in control again. So good to fall asleep without hating the choices I made. It’s amazing to believe in myself. It’s like I’ve kinda beat this monkey that has been on my back for years. I know I’m still early on, but if faith and determination have brought me this far, why wouldn’t I just keep on using them to believe in this for a lifetime?
It’s good to feel in control again. Phew!

It seems totally contrary to what I should be doing: running. Running is notoriously hard on your knees, the slamming impact bursts your joints, not to mention the discomfort of flopping skin and burning lungs… And I am not a tiny person to be running around the block at 250 (or now, 240).
At first it was the bad-assery of it that made me want to run. People who are serious, run. None of this pansy assed walking or sauntering, or machine exercise – as if?! Run on the street, run for a goal, no walking – it’s hardcore and romantic, right? So at first, it was just to see if I could. Guess what? I can.
After I established that I can do this running thing, I started noticing a side benefit: calories burned! When I ran, I could come home and eat a giant sub sandwich and STILL not have met my calorie allowances for the day! Running burns calories like nothing else! I run for 20 minutes and I’ll burn over 600 calories. Usually I run for about 40 minutes, so I’m really burning a lot! As I lose weight and my chassis is weighing less, I’m also burning fewer calories, but running is far superior to any other activity that I could find. Then I found this little graph:

[I have to be honest and say I don’t know the original source for it – I found it at another running blog, so please A. don’t take this to your doctor as scientific fact or B. sue me for copyright. I’ll take it down if you ask.]
The numbers align somewhat with what I supposedly pull and comparatively it makes me feel like I’ve made a smart choice in exercise to assist the rapidity with which I would like to shed the pounds. Remember: 40 before 40!
Which brings me to my last point… My obsessiveness with weighing myself has turned into my obsessiveness with burning calories. I have to run. I MUST run. Back in the day when I walked and Bradley ran, he would walk with me often but never officially count it as his exercise. It always seemed somewhat insulting- unintentionally, of course. Now I understand. According to this graph walking burns less than half the calories as running. Unless I run, I feel like I haven’t worked out for real. The stationary cycle seems too simple, walking seems too unsweaty and the Wii fit, while fun, seems mostly just fun now. I must run every day, it seems like. That drive is exciting, but I need to keep it in check so I don’t injure myself.
Yesterday I just had to run and forced Bradley out the door with me. I needed to burn some calories or I was going to pace like a panther all night. Because we were going for a shorter run,* I asked Bradley to push me to a better pace. He did. My second mile was at a 10:30 pace, but the first mile was in the 9:40’s! Both miles kicked the booty of my previous miles, telling me yes, you can, girl. Yes, you can!
***
With that run, I hit 10.75 towards my goal of 12 miles this week. If I take a 5K on Saturday I’ll exceed my goal. How proud would I be?
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I’m tweeting my runs these days if that sounds like something you’re interested in. Follow me, if you want to know my mileage and splits and all that good stuff.
Twitter
@tamarashazam
(Someday we will activate the twitter button, but for now you can play it old school)
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*I laugh inwardly all the time about how I call half a mile ‘easy’ now, how a short run is ‘only’ running a two miler. TWO MILES?! Who am I? Sorry, but what the hell is happening with me?! Ha ha ha!!!