30 Pounds Ago

I would never walk around Chicago, in 90° heat, without giving up (or dying).

I would never register for, or finish, the Holland 100.

I would never wear bike shorts in public.

I would never consider joining a triathlon relay.

I would never wear skirts, for fear of chub rub.

I would never consider dating.

I was never brave.

I didn't realize my worth.

I was so, so very sad.


Thirty pounds is important. I've been stuck at 30 lbs down for several weeks now, and was having difficulty keeping my motivation. It took yesterday, a dismally bad day, for me to realize what a difference that loss has made in my life. 

As I wandered unfamiliar streets, sweating my ass off, and feeling vulnerable, I realized that I was...comfortable. I was not out of breath. I was not struggling to walk even long distances. I even ran a bit. I was able to imagine how much more difficult my ordeal would have been, had I been carrying a 30 pound weight around with me. 

Funny how that thirty pounds felt like the weight of the world.

TIRED

Man, I’m tired.

Single mom. Full timer. Cyclist (sorta). Workout enthusiast (that’s a stretch). Pet owner. Cook. Chauffer. (Smoker, joker, midnight toker.) I do it all, every day.

I know there are a lot of others out there, right now, who can claim exactly the same resume, and so I’m not having a pity party. However, I can fully admit that I’m damn tired, most of the time. My job is mentally difficult, and often stressful. I don’t sleep well at night, despite the CPAP and the good bed, so I wake up as tired as I was when I went to sleep. I worry a lot. All of these reasons, and so many more, meld together to create one dragging lady (and I use that term loosely).

One thing I tried today was getting up early (5 AM!) and meeting a friend to go swimming. I thought, why not? If I work out in the morning, I’ll have more time in the evening to spend with my kid, get chores done, and relax. Also, school will be starting up again soon, so I’ll have loads of homework to complete. Problems solved, right? The perfect solution, for sure.

You know what, though? 5 AM is EARLY, my friends!

Actual photo of me at work today:

I’m not coming to you today with answers I’ve already found that work for me… simply because I have no answers to give. I haven’t figured this one out, ya’ll. So this time, I’m asking all of you for help. What are your tips for putting a pep in your step? How do you combat those early afternoon drowsies (without caffeine and chocolate)? HOW THE HELL DO YOU GET EVERYTHING DONE? What are you willing to sacrifice in your life to fit everything else in, and still binge watch It’s Always Sunny? I’m looking for help this time, folks. Seriously, help a sister out.

Rise of the Phoenix

So, here’s the scoop.

I’ve lost 30 lbs. I went down an underwear size, and my pants are all too big. I’m stronger, I can walk without wheezing, and I’m faster. People are beginning to notice these little changes, and it’s been great.

HOWEVER, I’ve been stuck at 30 down for a couple of weeks now, and have been getting a bit discouraged. Cue a week of “rest,” which is typical Erin. I didn’t count calories, I spent time in my room watching TV, and I finished some easy projects that were plaguing me. What I didn’t do much of was exercise.

This is the damage that I constantly inflict on myself. I use a million excuses to rest, to let things slide, or to just quit. I am a master of convincing myself and others that I’m still working hard, still plugging away, but in reality, I’m damaging my chances of a lasting life change.

Now wait, before you cry foul, let me assure you that I’m not quitting. I’m like that phoenix in the Harry Potter books, who grows, bursts into flames, then grows again. You all should know by now that consistency is not my strong suit, and I can fully admit that this is a (sometimes) fatal flaw. I am a fallible, inconsistent person… and that’s OK. I grow, flame out, but will grow again. Thankfully I keep learning through it all.

Now that you’re all caught up, I’ll let you know what is on the horizon for me. I’ll be training for a couple of very specific events, and that training starts NOW. On July 15, I’ll be participating in the Holland 100, biking for 18 miles with my buddy Dan. I’m told this is not a race, and that there is a pancake breakfast halfway through the ride, so I’m looking forward to damaging some flapjacks.

Up next is the Shermanator, a triathlon relay in August (http://shermanatortri.org/index.html). I’ve really got to put my game face on for this one, since my sweet friends, my fellow Dusty Dames, will be counting on me to pull out a good performance. I will be doing the cycling portion of the race, which is 10 miles. I have given myself a speed goal, and hope to crush it.

So, I guess if you see me riding on the streets of Barry County, please don’t honk, but feel free to wave. I would like to say that I hope to make you all proud, but I really don’t care so much about that. I want to, and will, make myself proud; only then will I rise.

I Love the Smell of Camphor in the Morning

So, I’m 41-years-old.

I’ve heard that 40 is the new 30, and I guess mentally that is probably correct. However, I still have a 40+ year old body; one that I abused in my childhood thru early 20’s when I was dancing. (Did you know I was once, ages ago, a professional dancer?)

So here I am, 41-years-old, pushing my body to produce the results I know I can achieve… and my body is pissed about it. Right now I’m experiencing every ache and pain this vessel can throw at me. My foot hurts badly enough that it’s painful getting out of bed, my thighs aches after Spinning, and my knees hurt from riding my bike.

Every night I find myself lubing up with balms, and using all manner of pain relieving patches. Seriously, if they made a suit out of Tiger Balm patches, I’d buy three. Many of these salves for aches and pains contain camphor, which smells DELIGHTFUL, is soothing, and cooling. I’ve just discovered that this delightful substance comes from a tree, which hails from Asia. SIGN ME UP. I want exclusive, on-demand access to this glorious tree and its menthol-ly goodness.

According to the webpage, http://besttreestoplant.com/trimming-trees/the-camphor-tree/, the camphor tree is the official city tree of Hiroshima, Japan. After the city was destroyed at the end of WWII, this fast-growing tree helped bring the city back to life.

IF THIS ISN'T A METAPHOR FOR MY LIFE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS. 

Whether I'm biking, lifting, swimming, weeding, or just walking, the sweet camphor tree (in a roundabout way) is bringing me back to life; helping me to recover for the next workout, and the next adventure. I love the smell of camphor, because it means I've done my best during the day, and pushed myself to a new level of fitness. Therefore, I embrace the aches and the pains, and the lovely smell of healing, because it means I'm changing, and coming back to life. 

By the way, I do have a birthday coming up. (Hint, hint.)

This Ain't for Sissies

It’s turning out to be a rough week for me. Perhaps I’m tired, maybe I’ve been pushing myself too hard, or maybe it’s because the 11^th of May is my mother’s birthday, and I miss her deeply and terribly. Maybe it’s because Mother’s Day is on the 14^th, and I just want to pull the covers up over my head.

Seems like it doesn’t take much to push me off-kilter. And damn if I’m not the most insecure person… that when I’m in one of these “moods,” I start to question myself, my friends, and my purpose. So I start to take drastic measures. I start trying to correct the things that are wrong, even though nothing is really WRONG. I turn into a blithering idiot and a big sissy.

I fabricate, I deprecate, I abdicate.

So this time around, rather than hiding in my room, eating a ton of fattening goodies, and drinking lots of beer, I’m changing it up. I’ve been riding my bike. Weeding hops. Taking walks. Eating LESS. The weird thing is, I still feel like I’m hiding, because I’m following relatively solitary pursuits. The difference it, being alone on my bike doesn’t make me feel like a jerk. Walking through the woods on my own doesn’t allow me to eat four donuts, and weeding in the quiet whisper of tall grass, and the rustle of hops doesn’t feel BAD. I’m alone, but it feels GOOD that I’m blessed to be so.

Please don’t get me wrong, or misunderstand – I still love my son, and love spending time with him. We still watch FaceOff on SyFy, go to movies, and even exercise together. We are still a team… but sometimes you don’t need a team to get shit done. Sometimes, when you’re having a rough time, and are trying to avoid pitfalls, you just need to man up on your own. 

I don't really know what else I can say right now, other than to assure you all that I'm holding firm. I've lost weight, and I feel too good to screw up again. I have inspiration and determination like never before. I'm holding firm. I may be holding firm by the fingertips, but that's OK. 

F#@k Quitting

The title of this post is a direct quote from my sister, when we were discussing a day when I was under my calorie total, but I had eaten a bunch of crap. Not fast food crap, but gummy bears, chips, no lunch, and a thrown-together meal of cereal and an apple. It was just one of those days when I didn't prepare the night before, and was too tired / lazy / whatever, to make an effort in the morning. Here is part of our conversation (and I hope my sis isn't mad that I'm sharing):

My sister is my partner in crime, and my support in the journey to weight loss. We are both active on My Fitness Pal, we encourage each other, and we push each other to reach our highest potential. Even when I told her I was going to Spinning on Saturday, and she told me I was crazy, she still texted me later to find out how it went. I also have three very dear friends who I see every week (and sometimes every day) that ride with me, lift with me, and walk with me. I have another friend who messages me all the time, to keep track of my cycling goals and to cheer me on. 

I am very, very lucky.

I think today, if you don't take anything else from this post, you will at least remember how hard it is to lose weight on your own. Remember, always, how hard it is to work out on your own. Remember, today, that quitting is easy when you have no one to whom you are accountable. 

Find a friend. Get a buddy. Pick a partner. 

Whatever you do, don't go it alone, and don't quit. Cause quitting is easy when you're alone. And if you need a friend, buddy, partner in crime, please give me a ring, cause you can never have too many of each.

#fuckquitting

Slow Your Roll, Butthole

"Slow your roll," per the Urban Dictionary (which everyone knows is the only dictionary worth considering), is something you say to your bro when they are getting out of control, or acting obnoxious. There have been times when I've said this to Jameson, when he's getting ahead of himself, or a coworker, when he's asking too many questions without giving me time to answer. Recently the statement has taken on the new and sassier addition of "butt hole." It just rolls off the tongue, and it's classic Erin. 

I have a coworker who recently started Weight Watchers. He is 55 (ish). He does not work out. A large majority of every day is spent behind his desk. Yet, he has lost 58 POUNDS in only a few short months. Did you read that right? YES - 58 FREAKING POUNDS. Doing nothing but counting points. I love the guy, but every time I see him I say (under my breath), "slow your roll, butt hole." I called him today to compliment him on his tux at a recent black tie event. He laughed and went on to explain that it "hardly fit me, because I've lost so much weight." Ugh. Keep it to yourself, bro.

We all know that there are times when it is SO HARD to be patient. I'm finding myself feeling this way more and more often. You see, when a commitment is made, the follow-through should be immediate, right? I mean, when I decided to lose weight and get in shape, it should happen overnight, to my mind. I've changed my diet, my lifestyle, and my outlook. I work out, I spend all possible hours outside. The pounds should be practically melting away... in theory. Whoever came up with the healthy way of losing only two pounds a week was full of shit. 

Having said all this, folks, I'm starting to think that maybe I'M THE BUTT HOLE. My whining, complaining, self-flagellating behavior is getting old, even to me. My friends were kind enough to cheer me on during a 10-mile gravel ride yesterday, and I told them at one point to SHUT UP. I was only mostly kidding. When they were cheering, I was all like:

Damn it, it's true. I am the butt hole that needs to slow her roll.  

I need to stop making excuses like, I'm just starting, or I'm still too fat, or I'm too old to do this. I need to be patient and let this training happen; let this weight loss just happen. I need to shut my mouth, work hard, and work often, because nothing in this world happens overnight. I need to slow down and just roll...butt hole.