The Dream Crusher & The Latin Rock Band that Made it all Better

Lots on my mind tonight. First of all I have to confess something. I made cookies yesterday, just enough for the kids and thier friends to each have one of my homeade buckaroos. It’s my grandmother’s recipe, cocnut, chocolate chips, oatmeal, and I add some coarsely chopped almonds, yum. There was one that happened to be left over, I tried to get my friend to eat it and she declined. So there it sat, all day log, alone, on the cold glass stovetop.

Later, I came home from dinner and a movie with my family, and there it sat, still alone, rejected… scrumptious. So I took it, into my hand and gave it a home, in my tummy, with all the other bad food from the night. Later, I invited acai dark chocolate berries to the party. It wasn’t a good feeling, to go to bed full. I am getting used to going to bed hungryish. Breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a pauper. I am still having trouble with the big breakfast thing. I would rather do meals this way; price, king, pauper.

I went on a ride to the community center tonight, ready to swim some laps and ride home. My brick workout, where you stack two types of exercises from the tri. Being the newb that I am I forgot a lock for my bike and the silver headed rule follower working the front desk was under no circumstances going to let me bring my bike in. I all but begged, but no, said she didn’t want to be yelled at being new and all. That, and I suspect it gave her great pleasure to crush my dreams. Why do some people roll like that? I pictured her later that night eating her pot pie watching wheel of fortune feeling quite satisfied with herself, as if she’d done some great favor to the universe.

I ended up riding twenty miles and loving it! Tomorrow I will try to swim and run, but the best part about tonight was my new clip-less pedals and shoes. It felt a little like wearing tap shoes and bike riding but it was great! I don’t know if it was the coffee, or the shakeology I mixed with it, or maybe even the shoes but my ride was phenom. The hills were cake, I had no problems with them. I’ve been told that the shoes would help on hills and they must have, it was an entire different riding experience. Kudos to they guys at Epic bike and sport in near Parkville, Mo. Those guys are certifiably the best crew and bike shop I’ve been in so far. Which is why I pass two other bike shops and go all the way over there from Liberty to shop them. Service, it still works.

So I rode and rode and could have ridden another ten easily. I made myself go home because it was getting dark. Oye Como Va, the Santana rendition not the Tito Puente version, is now my official last song of the ride, it’s perfect. I’ve fallen in love with cycling.

Tom Dooley and the Obesity gods

Guess what I did yesterday? I weighed in on the hospital scale, and can you guess what it said? 222 pounds. That’s still three pounds higher than a few weeks ago. Ah, bummer, right? Poor me, I should go weigh on another medical scale because this one, it’s wrong.

Cut to me sneaking into an alcove of the emergency room that holds the most often used scale, slip off my scrub coat, my badge, my stethoscope, my shoes, try not to look conspicuous and pray like crazy an ambulance doesn’t arrive and someone comes to get the scale.

222…f..u..d..g..e.

I wan’t some, NOW!

Really? Last week I rode forty-two miles on my bike and  ran 6 miles. I cursed. Oh yes I did girl, yes I did! For the past two weeks I have been lax at work, eating what I wanted but trying to portion things out. I was giving myself a little… breaksy. I had hoped against hope that someone, anyone would bring in doughnuts…no one did. I have passed up the doughnuts for three months and dadblastit I was going to have some. No one brought anything unhealthy.

This weekend I was serious again. No cheating, just good old-fashioned healthy vittles! I had packed my lunch with tomato bisque, salad, peppers, chicken sausage, oatmeal with almonds for breakfast, shakes ready to go for supper and then promptly left it at home.

Then 222 hit me. All that exercise. 222.

Again, cue me, head hanging like Tom Dooley, feeling sorry for myself, I round the corner and like the gods of obesity were in command I see SEVEN $#$@% BAGS OF DOUGHNUTS sitting on the trough.  That’s what we call the place people put food to share with the entire ER. Here’s the best part, the doc that brought em’…sitting in a chair eating her perfectly portioned bag of almonds. Bitch.

Sorry.

Well, I lifted up my head and walked straight by those little nuggets of evil sent by the obesity gods, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and had the best weekend of eating yet! 

 Or…I walked over to those doughnuts and scooby-doo’d more than I care to share on the very public blog. I then went on to continue the self loathing for lunch by having a mystery meat cheesy grilled sandwich, chips, and later ate some of the best little fruit tart cookies off the trough again. Three or four I can’t remember, but at this point, none of it really  matters. I came home and had pizza and salad and ate a pop-tart later when no one was looking.

Shaking head back and forth. Not a good day in the old play book Ro.

About today, what did I do about today? I shook it off, I bounced around in my corner, I pulled out all the no excuses language, I got mad at the obesity gods, I refused to die today. Today I ate:

  1. Two hard-boiled eggs
  2. Spring mix salad, avocado, chicken sausage
  3. I had FOUR tortilla chips from the trough with guacamole I made for one of our docs who is leaving.
  4. Chocolate Shakeology shake before meeting my family at Hunan Garden for Father’s Day dinner.
  5. Three pieces of honey chicken, small serving combo fried rice, one crab rangoon.
And a side of peace and restored self-respect tonight. Feeling sorry for oneself is a dangerous cancer. If I hadn’t been so consumed with silly little numbers I would have been able to keep perspective. Like, it’s a very bad time of the month, for me to weigh, I was still fully clothed and had a huge cup of coffee, and numbers are just numbers. I can’t let them control me that much. I am in this to win this. I cannot allow myself to jump ship because the scale doesn’t move.
Tomorrow I ride and I really can’t wait.
I need some extra accountability and I might try to start a Shakeology 30 Day Challenge and see if anyone wants to join me. I am still proud of how far I’ve come and how far I WILL go. I believe in me. 
Have a blessed night.


These Gloves $uck!

I went on my second group ride tonight, I think it was around twenty-two, twenty-three miles. It was good, I wasn’t at the very back of the pack and worked hard to stay with some guys in the middle. I did pretty good on the way but on the way back there are so many hills and they finally had left my @$$. Which is fine, I didn’t expect them to wait for me, that’s annoying, but I did get lost and have to ask some woman in suburbia land for directions. As luck would have it I was only about two blocks from the rendezvous point.

I did not puke tonight, probably due to the energy bars I ate just before the ride and no extra exercise today. It was also a night and day difference between the hybrid and the road bike. The road bike is so smooth. My only regret about biking thus far is that I didn’t start sooner, I hate that I have missed this for so long. What I love about biking is that I rode tonight with twenty-somethings and sixty-somethings, and it was a work out for all. It’s really my exercise of choice, and quickly becoming a favorite pastime as well.

As I drove home tonight I rolled down the windows, ok not literally but I don’t think that expression will ever die, but I noticed how beautiful it was and I felt recovered and had to talk myself out of getting on the bike again when I got home. I think I’ve found my new vice. And in the words of Martha Stewart, it’s a good thing. 

I’ll leave you with a little newbie humor. On my first ride I got to try out my new biking gloves, red, white and black, like my bike. I sported those babies and felt like the enthusiast. The next few rides I was in Oklahoma and I continued to wear them, but much to my chagrin my hands continued to go numb. I kept having to shake them out and not only was it perplexing, but irritating. Irritating because I paid thirty-five bucks for a pair of gloves that weren’t doing $hit for me. Then I started to check them on the side of the road, I thought to myself; self, why did they make these gloves with all the padding on the anterior surface, one would think the padding would best serve a rider on the palmar surface to ease the pressure?  Then it dawned on me…maybe, I have them on back wards. I peeled them off and flipped them over and traded hands and voilà! You can imagine my embarrassment but then I realized there was no one there to witness my cycling faux pas…smile…except the thirty or so riders at my first group ride, some of whom (insert sarcasm) are a schosh above novice. Hardy, Har, Har. 

Schosh: adj. meaning a tiny bit. (Brought to you by, made up words from Ro)

Sleep well friends.

A Cat Story


In high school we used hang out with some boys who always made fun of a particular cat they saw once. Real quality guys, I know. I was a bit off myself back then. But anyway…they would imitate it walking and hissing, they contorted their arms and made this odd clicking noise as they hissed and batted their arms. They’d say, “Ahhh it’s the crippled cat, the crippled cat.” By the time I met them they’d perfected this dramatization and the cat was only a distant memory, but any given night at some house party you could rest assured someone would bring out the crippled cat character and make everyone squeal with laughter.

 

I have an extraordinary cat named Louie. I found him in Atlanta when he was but a wee little feline. We took him in and quickly realized that he was a gem. He was cool, laid back, and had a mellow swagger that everyone loved. Even people who said they hated cats loved this guy. Ol’ banjo we used to call him. Well he’s about fifteen years old now and a few weeks ago he was sunning on our front porch when a new dog in the neighborhood got off leash and made a beeline for Louie. When I saw him attacking Louie I could tell he meant to kill. It was awful. Worse yet, I froze. I couldn’t do anything but scream, thank God my daughter rescued him and beat down the dog. $2000 later, I have my Louie back, my very own crippled cat. He’s only got three legs now and is adapting, but I can’t help but chuckle when I see him hopping and recall the antics of my former friends.

 

He’s a good little companion. He sleeping with me now and will probably be an indoor cat from here on out, either way, I’m glad he’s alive. Animals can teach us a lot about overcoming adversity. He is my furry, little ball of inspiration tonight.

 

The Ensemble to End All Ensembles

In second grade I have this distinct memory of wanting to be fit. We lived at the back of a trailer park right by the Rio Grande river in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I lived with my mother, I was an only child, and had quite the active imagination, that helped pass the time. I was also very fat. Not freakishly fat, mind you, but just enough to make it the bane of my 7-year-old existence.  Besides being nicknamed Rolaids, being fat was not fun in elementary school. But here’s where the good laugh comes in and every time I recall this memory I smile.

I remember seeing healthy people running, walking, exercising, mostly on television. I watched a lot of television, even back then when we only had…say five channels on a good day. So one day, seven-year-old me decided it was time to get fit. I promptly outfitted myself in the appropriate attire for doing so and set out along the gravel trailer park road that lead to Ultimate Physical Fitness.  A stones throw from my front door I hear a roaring belly laugh that I cannot seem to locate. I stopped dead in my tracks and again, heard the laughter. The sixth sense is very a real sense and mine was telling me this laughter was directed at me, and it was probably coming from an open window where my neighbors lived. I couldn’t see the evil from whence it came but I had an uncanny notion, yes, this sinister laugh was  meant for me. You see, I must have been quite the sight, tight black leotard, white chubby legs, some sort of off brand tennis shoe, and to make the ensemble complete,  a large white towel draped around my neck. That was the image and picture of health I knew would help me get into the best shape of my life, but the mocking laughter sent that seven-year-old me right.  Back.  Home.

Sad as this story may seem, it cracks me up but it encourages me at the same time.  Today is Easter, the holiday I celebrate Jesus overcoming death and giving us forgiveness of our sin. I am spending the day with my family where we are at my Dad’s with my brothers and their families.  This afternoon, I decided to grab the Insanity DVD, isolate in the game room and get my workout on, for Jesus.  As I was stretching,  balancing, hopping and sweating I realized, that even at 70-80 lb. overweight, I am incredibly flexible and have great body control and balance. The thought occurred to me, I was made for this.  From a very young age I have had a desire to be active, even as a young awkward seven-year-old girl with very little fashion sense, this is what I wanted.

My workout is over, initially I did it for a piece of carrot cake tonight, but now I don’t even care.  With all the food and candy around all I can think about is keeping my eye on the prize and how a little pleasure isn’t worth the distraction.  Let me be clear, this is not a declaration of cake abstinence tonight, by no means, I’m just thought-vomiting into the blogosphere.  The cake situation remains to be seen, but for now, I think I’ll head out to Wal-Mart and grab some veggies and put my Grandmother’s juicer to good use.  I’m going to teach her how to make a mean-green taste like a treat.

Have a blessed Easter.

Excited to be Obese

Well here goes. I weighed in this morning, lost roughly 12 lb. since February 28. I say roughly because when you hop on and off the scale the way I do, leaning one way, then another, weight on your toes, then on your heels, feet to the outside, then more to the middle, it’s a dance that I do on weigh in morning and I got a difference of 2 lb. between them all, so I’m taking the average. I have done Insanity Mon-Fri, religiously, tracked my calories, and had shakes to replace one meal…most days. I am one month into this process and I am seeing changes. Not only in my body, which is probably where I am seeing the least changes, but also on the inside.

I keep asking myself, is this something you are really willing to do on an ongoing basis?? The first few weeks trudging down to that basement was a chore, it was a grueling, frustrating, all caps, sharpie written task at the top of my to-do list. Now, it’s beginning to look a little more like the rest of my to-do’s, penciled in but still near the top, just under COFFEE.  That’s a good thing for me, it’s not so much this huge change, this exception from the norm, it’s more EDL. (Every Day Life) It’s like a part of the process, getting my day done, I say to myself, Time to go sweat a little lot, and then on to what’s next. So…in that way, I’ve changed. I think, I can actually make exercise a part of my life, maybe not Insanity, forever…but real movement, real exercise. If I were honest, I would love to run. I’m 38, running is probably not the sport a morbidly obese severely obese thirty-something should start, but I feel like I have a few good years left in me, I could probably run out a few of them. I would LOVE to train for this in late October, Zombie Survival Dash.(Nodding head like ahhhh-yeaaahh) 

About other changes. Anxiety. I am seeing someone. Not like seeing seeing but seeing a therapist. Wow, that’s sounds intriguing and this little voice inside my head says with a raised eyebrow and devilish grin, Tell me about it.  Okay, I will, here’s the scoop. One day I was talking to a friend of mine that I love dearly, she’s been a friend since my college days and she sees a therapist and is always talking about what they talk about. So one day I’m like: Hey! Why don’t I have a therapist?! So, I go out and get one, that’s what I do. I figure I might as well do it when I am trying to better myself, trying to let go of this ridiculous obsession with chips and chocolate. I’ve been on this path before, I’ve started this whole go me movement, and I always bail, always quit, this time, it has to be different, it has to stick. So, I did what any self-respecting woman would do, I got a therapist.

Let’s talk about her. Monday I drove up to the office like a bat out of hell, no kidding. I was late because I squeezed in my workout and left myself with 10 minutes to shower and drive 3 miles away, didn’t work out so well. I leapt out of my mini-van I swore I’d never drive and bounced up the steps to the office. I knew we’d have great things to discuss, I was on plan, working out, feeling great! I walked into her office, sat down on the comfy couch and right into her big brown, inviting eyes. Her soft relaxing music played and as she asked me how my week was going I could feel them…yep, the tears, welling up like a little 7-year-old girl who lost her puppy dog. I don’t even know why, she just has that effect on me. I went in to lament about my husband, and didn’t end up saying a word about him. It was all about me. I found myself at the end of session wanting to cry out, “WAIT! YOU HAVEN’T HEARD MY COMPLAINTS ABOUT MY HUSBAND YET!!” I didn’t. It was good, we talked anxiety, my past, why I deserve to do this, and how God wants to heal me for the sake of healing me and nothing else. I walked away feeling whole. I’m glad I got a therapist. I bet my husband is too.

It’s weird putting myself first. I feel like I am really trying to make my life and my quest to eat well and exercise first a priority. I make time for it, if I don’t get the whole house vacuumed and dusted but I got my workout in, so be it. No one outside my perimeter will know and those inside, frankly probably don’t care. The only one who puts extreme pressure on me to have an immaculate home is me, and that’s pretty freaking unfair of her. She’s relaxing a bit.

So, on to month two. Really, my next goal date is 6 weeks from now, that’s my best fren’s wedding, and yes I did spell friend, fren, because that’s the way I like to say it. I really would like to feel comfortable in my own skin and I feel like losing 30 lb. would do that for me. It would enable me to feel empowered and proud of myself when I go back to the ATL. I’ll still be 60 lb. away from goal, and 30 lbs away from being morbidly obese. STOP THE PRESS!!! I just looked up the weight charts for obesity and it seems I have some rather interesting news (there’s that raised eyebrow and devilish grin me again saying do tell!) I’VE NEVER BEEN MORBIDLY OBESE!  (Dripping with red-neck twang) Well…hot damn if this ain’t a reason to celebrate! I’ve only been severely obese ladies and gents, that’s nothing to “Step right up for!” I couldn’t have even been a money-maker in a side-show and that’s something to be right proud of! Seems they added the severely obese cater-gory and I never knew it… (end red-neck twang)

If I lose the additional 18 lb. by May 12, I’ll simply be…Obese. Hallelujah, I can work with that, and who ever thought I would be excited to be “Obese.” Have a blessed day.

Late Night Snacking

I just got back from seeing Jim Gaffigan, that was awesome. Love a night of good old fashioned gut busting laughter, cures what ails ya, that’s what Gramps used to say. Who am I kidding? I didn’t have a “Gramps” and if I did he wouldn’t have said that. I had a Granddad and a Grandpa and neither of them really talked to kids. So there. Just kidding, they talked to me all the time, “Hey kid, go get yer ol’ Granddad another beer would ya? And no that’s not a question.” Oh, I’m a liar. My Granddad didn’t even drink beer. He drank whisky. My mothers going to kill me. Whatever, I just wish she read this blog, she’s too busy watching American Idol to care about my WLW. You know, weight loss wows. Mom, you know I love you, and Granddad was a fine man, a farmer, and I loved it when he would scare me by sticking his falsies out at me.

Anywho, I digress. JG was redonk, that’s suburbia cool mom speak for off the chain. What’s that mean anyway? My point is this; I’m eating an apple, which is my entire reason for this entry.  I wanted to update the masses, and by masses I mean the two people following this, that I am making good healthy decisions at 10:20 pm. I am Huunngeerie. So, I grabbed an apple. Yes, I want a medal, or at least some kind of certificate of achievement, complete with a gold embossed seal of authenticity from Michaels craft store. It would mean a lot, if either of you get the hankering.

That’s all for now. Sweet Dreams.

THIS JUST IN—–>

Liberty woman who is said to have joined a “30 day challenge,” with a local trainer by the name of Mendy Shriver, has just been detained inside the Red Robin restaurant in Liberty. Witnesses say she was seen leaving the hostess store at 5:30 this evening with 10 boxes of ho-ho’s in her arms shouting, “Baabababaababbabbabaaaba.” She then sped away and was seen entering Culvers. Workers there describe her as, “disheveled” and “disorderly.” One employee said she shouted obscenities at her when she refused to make her a turtle sundae in the 64 oz cup. She demanded four #4 meals and then left with out paying. The manager says she did offer to have her husband come back and pay later, but she hurriedly left in a frenzy of french fries and chocolate. Eventually, the woman ended up at Red Robin when authorities were called because, “A customer was in the kitchen making her own double decker onion ring tower.” When apprehended the Liberty woman was hunkered down inhaling the “Whisky River BBQ Burger” (add bacon.) She was covered in ranch dressing and had steak fries in her hair. Witnesses say that as police escorted her off the property she was yelling something about a to-go box. A very sad, sad scene in Liberty tonight, ladies and gentlemen. John is next with a story about how eating out can alleviate stress, John?…

That sounds like the diary of a mad dieting woman. I weighed in this morning. I didn’t lose. The scale said I gained 1 lb. I shouted an obscenity at the scale. Really. I’ve worked…hard. But, I’ve had a few slip ups, and, I’m also…shall we say right in the middle of The Blessed Week. So tonight was supposed to be my free night. I give myself a free night after my weigh ins. Lately they haven’t felt so “free.” There is a lot of pressure to indulge, but not too much, but definitely to indulge, and hope the guilt doesn’t carry over to the next day. So tonight I decided to abstain, from my “free meal.” I ate the hell out of some salad, some über-healthy salad with vinegar and red wine. I made myself eat the, less than decadent spread, knowing that when hunger staved, the desire for palate drowning foods would subside. And it did.

So here I am. Reaffirming that another successful day is done, and counts big time mentally for me. That I am alive, and well, becoming less fat and more happy. There’s a cup of Aveda calming tea calling my name and maybe even a late movie. Life is good…without all the crap.