Kind Determination

I'm not doing so well on my no sugar...um...wait...no carbs...uh...maybe this time it's the 1200 calorie thing?  Shit...I have no idea what I'm not doing well at, I just know that I've gained 10 of the 14 pounds I lost at the end of last year.  So I've come to yet another conclusion.

My eating habits are not going to change.

Okay, I do need to limit my sugar intake, because that's what put the pounds back on, but overall I eat a very clean and healthy diet.  Lots of lean meat - chicken mostly.  We don't fry anything in my house except eggs and we use Pam to do that.  I eat a lot of veggies in my salads (I'm addicted to salads - yay something good for a change.) and I avoid high fat cheese, fatty dressings and the rest of that stuff that can take a perfectly healthy salad and make it a heart attack on a plate. I limit pasta and bread.  I took a look at my portions - they are within the "limits" of what a woman of my age should be eating.  I've been eating this way for 20 years so it's part of who I am which means it's not hard to do.

Well then...what's the problem?

Lack of exercise.  In other words, I need to move my fat ass so it will not be a fat ass anymore.  Simple.

I was such an exercise fanatic up until my drinking got out of control.  I exercised a minimum of 4 nights a week and most weeks I did something all 7 days.  I did aerobics, step aerobics, weight training, spinning (I HATE spinning), Zumba, Power Yoga (and of course regular yoga) and any other things that would burn calories and build muscle.  It got me back in shape after my kids were born.  Anytime over the years that my weight would sneak up, my exercise would shove it back down where it belonged.  It was a lovely relationship.

Until I broke up with it.  Kicked it to the curb.  Dropped it like a hot potato.

After all, I was either too hungover to do anything in the morning or too anxious to pop that cork to do anything in the evening.  It was a lose-lose situation.

Now I've got to get a routine going again.  My biggest problem is that every time I begin a exercise regimen, I try to start where I left off - 50 pounds and 10 years ago.

Wait.  What?

YES!  It seems I can't reconcile myself with the fact that I'm one of the overweight, older women in the group classes that needs modifications and a slower pace.  I swore I'd never be that woman.  I swore I'd be the one telling them they could do it because I was xx years old and still in shape.  I would be the motivator not the motivate-ee.  Fucking alcohol.

I'm competitive.  It doesn't matter if I'm using a DVD at home or in a room full of women jumping around and sweating - I compete with them.  It's hard to back it off when you only remember one speed.  I started working out in my early 20's.  All I had in those days was one speed - full out and I managed to maintain that speed as I got older.  But then I stopped and atrophied so that when I hit that speed now, I end up pulling something, tearing something, unable to walk or feeling like I'm going to have a heart attack.  Three days of that and I'm saying, fuck this shit, I like me the way I am.

I can lie to myself...no surprise there.

So my coworker and I are starting a program.  I printed the one you see above from Pinterest (it actually has a workout for each day of the week).  She's getting married in November.  She's 40 and in great shape but she wants to tone up and lose a couple of inches.  While this is a competition (challenge), I have to be careful not to actually compete with her on how the exercises are done, just that they ARE done.  I have already decided which modifications I will make and promised myself to pretend this is the first time I've ever exercised ever!

Then God weighed in (pun intended).

I was running up the stairs this morning to grab something before I left for work and something in my bad knee just...went.  So now I'm in pain but still committed to this thing.  I'll rest my knee this weekend.  I'll ice it and try to stay off of it.  I'll even modify the exercises even more to accommodate it (wall push ups instead of knee push ups, rear lunges instead of regular lunges).

And I WON'T pretend like I'm 35 or 40 and then beat myself up because it hurts.  I will treat myself nicely.  I will be kind.  I won't judge.  I won't set my expectations too high.  I WILL maintain a positive attitude and accept whatever this body that I've abused and misused, decides it has to give.

Wish me luck.

Namaste

"If I had to select one quality, one personal characteristic that I regard as being most highly correlated with success, whatever the field, I would pick the trait of persistence. Determination. The will to endure to the end, to get knocked down seventy times and get up off the floor saying, Here comes number seventy-one!"

-Richard M. DeVos

I just want it to go away...

I had an experience last week that kicked my ass.  My boss' boss came to town for his bi-annual visit (he's on the other coast) and in addition to his buying my team dinner (on the company of course) he had set up 1:1 time with each of us.  Situation normal.

Except that I had spent some time on his coast a few weeks ago and, after a series of events, I mistakenly thought his visit to my coast would bring good news about my career.  Instead it brought a great big kick in the ego that left me with hurt feelings and a really bad attitude.  It wasn't so much what he said (I can be told no, I'm a big girl) but the way in which it was said.  Condescending and rude are two of the words the hubs used after I relayed the conversation to him.  I hadn't thought of it that way (because I was too busy thinking that the reason the conversation didn't go the way I wanted it to go was because of ME) but after some time - he was right.  The guys was a real jerk about it.

Anyway, I came home in a very depressed and sour mood.  I was trying very hard not to cry while still trying to "let myself feel the feelings" as we're told to do in recovery but all I could think was "I just want it to go away!"

Ah-ha!  Gotcha!

THAT is exactly the feeling that used to send me running for the wine bottle.  Running to numb the feelings and make them go away.  Knowing full well that it wasn't going to solve anything but that, for a little while, I could escape into that isolated world where everything goes my way and I'm okay and everyone who doesn't think so is a jerk.  What a spoiled brat I was.

I've been through a lot of feelings these last 41 months but I have never, in all that time, stepped back and seen that moment as clearly as I did then.  It was a feeling that you'd do just about anything to stop feeling.  I knew, intellectually, that I just had to sit with it and then sleep on it and it would go away; but that gnawing in my gut kept wanting me to make it go away.  Force the issue.  Just escape. 

It was really fucking with my zen.

So I just sat in my big green chair and pouted.  Then I did some yoga, tried to meditate (unsuccessfully) and finally just gave in and let myself feel like shit.  I even indulged my inner prize fighter and let her beat up on me for a little while.  Then I went to bed.  And when I woke up I felt better.  The feelings hadn't disappeared but they were at least manageable and in better focus.  I could see them for what they were, not my perception of what they were.  Wounded pride.  Bruised ego.  Disappointment.  Anger.  Frustration.

That's all.  Big deal.  They were not insurmountable.  They were not going to kill me.  They did not impact the kind of person I am and were not a result of anything I did or didn't do.  They were not going to kill me.

And most importantly, they were not, under any circumstances, a reason to drink.

Namaste

Now where did I put that backbone?

Some of our friends threw us an impromptu anniversary celebration this weekend.  Just two other families and us.  They did all the cooking and cleaning even though it was held at our house.  We had an amazing time.  It was so good to just be together.  We hadn't done it in so long and I was just soaking up being with everyone.  One was a very old friend whose husband seldom accompanies her when she comes over because I'm sober and he's...well...not.  But they came and he relaxed and I loved on him to let him know that I had absolutely no judgement in me at all and I just want him and his family back in my life.

My other friend and I have been having some issues and every once in a while I would catch her looking very depressed.  It tried to make her feel comfortable but I can only go so far.  It was enough to have her and her family there.  For the first time I felt like her fiance really enjoyed himself.  At least his hug was warmer this time which made me feel good.  Plus his daughter didn't want to leave and I loved that.

During our conversation, my one friend reminded me of something I said to her many, many years ago after her first (or was it second) child was born.  She was waffling about where she should go with her career, what she should and shouldn't do and apparently I said, "What's wrong with you?  Did you leave your backbone on the delivery room table?"  That apparently snapped her out of her funk and she got herself in gear.  (I'm so tactful sometimes!)

Well it must have worked because she now a pretty high level executive at my old company and she's kicking ass.  I love that.  In reality she would have done that with or without my big fat mouth but the fact that she remembers it as something significant in her life makes me feel good.  Plus, I'm just so damned proud of her I could bust.

That phrase has been stuck in my head since Saturday night.  I'm not sure if she said it to spur me on (we had just been having a conversation about my career and what I was going to do about it) but that's what it did.  I realized that, somewhere along the way, I'd left my own backbone laying around somewhere.  The fact that my confidence has suffered over the last eight or nine years as my alcoholism got worse and I got sober and into recovery is no secret.  I didn't have the time or energy to worry about self esteem or confidence.  I was too busy digging deep into my psyche to try and figure out why I was the way I was and what I could do about it.  Trust me when I say that it was my full time job for a long time.

But the time for regret and beating myself up about all of the mistakes that I made has got to end.  It's time I collected my backbone, grew a pair and got my shit together.  It's time I took control.

I don't want to go back to being the know-it-all ball buster I was in my past life because I actually like the kinder, gentler self I've cultivated in recovery.  That old person was so full of bravado born of insecurity that she was like a big, ugly McMansion built entirely on sand.  I was always one good hurricane away from disaster. 

Rather, I'd like to dig down deep and grasp on to what little confidence I have left and begin to rebuild the structure.  Not as an ugly McMansion, but as a very sturdy bungelow complete with character, hardwood and granite.  Built on bedrock and beautiful and strong and old enough to be recognized for her period details and all the wisdom that lies within her walls.

Especially when it comes to work.  I'm good at what I do.  I'm a talented learning professional.  I'm also extremely smart.  I'm a great manager and an even better leader.

Maybe this is just another stage of recovery.  Maybe you go through the darkness, find the light and rid yourself of all the ugliness, resentment and darkness that hides in your heart and soul.  Then, and only then, can you let the light fill you up and return you to a better version of who you were in the first place.

Whatever it is, I like the way it feels and I'm moving forward with this feeling.  I feel more in control than I have in a very long time.  It rocks.

Namaste