In my high school French class we learned how to say things like "I have headache" and "I twisted my ankle." I thought it was silly we learned it at all.
...Until I spent a summer in France, when I really did have a headache and I really did twist my ankle. J'ai mal à tête et je me suis foulée la cheville. It was a pretty horrible day in what was supposed to be an awesome summer vacation. Since then, I haven't had many opportunities to flash my vocabulary for things like heartburn and broken bones. Mais aujourd'hui, j'ai un rhume. I have a cold.
Last night after work I went to the gym, I managed three miles in 32 minutes. I pushed myself really hard and it was entirely worth it. I was already experiencing the beginning of cold symptoms so I took a brand new box of Kleenex with me and balanced it on a small ledge under the stats monitor on my elliptical machine. I never thought I would be so hardcore to be tending a runny nose while working out without breaking my stride. HARDCORE.
We still haven't gone grocery shopping so food for work was slim pickings yet again. Yesterday I had a bowl of Life with skim, banana, pbj on a kaiser roll, and I pecked at dried cranberries. I had 20 ounces of masala chai, and 2x 20 ounces of green tea with natural sugar to help with the sore throat. For dinner, boyfriend and I went out for half priced pizza, I had four small squares of buffalo chicken pizza and a tall glass of water, no ice. As I was eating I contemplated stopping at three pieces of pizza but I went for the fourth and I'm actually glad I did. This whole weight loss thing (or, more accurately, successfully losing weight) is uncharted territory so I'm not entirely sure where the line is between indulging/healthy eating/caloric restriction/deliberate starvation. In hindsight, I can see that my grocery situation has caused me to eat less during the day and my body is trying to compensate by becoming hungrier at night. I really like the idea of having a small, light dinner, but if my body is saying FEED ME I had best listen. The trick is knowing the difference between want and need.
After dinner I intended to do an hour of Pilates, but boyfriend is still insisting on keeping the heater in our apartment OFF so for now I'm living in 60 degree hell. I crawled under the blankets thinking I would warm up a bit and then do Pilates, but instead I realized I had a pounding headache (emphasis on POUNDING). I took 1000mg of Tylenol and drank a ton of water and hoped that it wouldn't last more than half an hour. Instead of feeling better, the headache disappeared and new symptoms appeared: despite being under two heavy blankets, I was deathly cold. Between the runny nose, the headache, the chills, the terribly sore throat, dry mouth, sneezing, the emergence of the head to toe body ache sent me over the edge. I gave up on functioning and passed out at 8:30pm.
At midnight I woke up feeling worse than before; I stood staring at the innards of the medicine cabinet trying to decide between NyQuil and DayQuil. Since I had to work at 6am, DayQuil won on the side of caution. It must have worked because I didn't wake once to blow my nose, or reapply lip balm or VapoRub, or even take a drink of water, despite having all these items within arm's reach on my night stand (a hilarious menagerie amongst my bears). It worked so well, I slept through my alarm and woke up at 6:07... a full 40 minutes late. I still felt like death but at this point it was too late to call work to find a replacement, so I sucked it up and braved the cold.
The grocery situation is dire. But today, it worked in my favor. I brought plain oats for breakfast... I made 1 cup of dry oats with 1 cup of water and stirred in some natural sugar. I got full with 3/4 of the bowl, so for next time I know to only make 3/4 cup of oats. I stirred in a banana and took 500mg of Diamox (I skipped the 750mg dose last night because the blood in my mucus was starting to worry me). I've had 16oz orange juice, 8 ounces of green tea (plenty more to come, today is going to be a looooong day), I took two more DayQuil gel caps, I have Chloraspetic spray on standby, I'm well equipped to suffer this cold publicly at work.
For lunch, I brought a package of chicken flavored ramen. I am so seriously looking forward to this because ramen is not something I eat often (correction: ever) unless I'm sick, and it ALWAYS makes me feel better. Boyfriend introduced me to the art of mixing Sriracha into a steaming hot bowl of ramen to clear the sinuses and soothe the throat... just thinking about it makes me wish it was lunch time. The best part of this meal is the broth, the noodles are secondary and I don't usually finish them out of preference.
Goals for today:
- I WILL stay hydrated
- I WILL go to the gym
- I WILL go grocery shopping
- I WILL conquer this cold
- I WILL do Pilates tonight
- I WILL buy a Christmas tree this afternoon.
I love the challenge of feeding myself well when there's little food left in the fridge; I love the challenge of managing a cold without letting it get me down; I love the feeling of accomplishment I get from achieving my daily goals and I love having little incentives like Christmas decorations to keep me from getting lost in the seriousness of it all.
TODAY IS GOING TO ROCK.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
cape cod (my heart's a stereo).
I failed to mention in my post yesterday just how much it chapped my ass not being able to tolerate boozing as much over the holiday.
I miss binge drinking. Fo' real.
Today's post is brought to you by the letter C: colds, cranberry, and getting wasted (yes, I realize the last one doesn't even contain the letter C... fuck it).
But firstly... I made a triumphant return to the gym last night -- only to find that a couple had already occupied the machines that my workout buddy and I had planned to use. So we watched them work out on the closed circuit video system until they left... giant waste of an hour of my life. This is the downside of using the small free fitness center at a hotel... but it's where I work and it's FREE so I have a really hard time justifying a gym membership. Once we had the room to ourselves, I realized what a terribly late start it was and I just knew it would be bad news. Sure enough, at 1.5 miles my boyfriend called asking to be picked up from work. I made him wait until I finished 2 miles (22:30) before I left to collect him.
Sad, sad realizations from yesterday: taking almost a week off from exercising = BAD NEWS BEARS.
It felt amazing having my lungs burn (I am seriously in love with that feeling), but my posture was off and I couldn't find good foot position and it threw off my stance. But the good news bears brought me a little present: speeds upwards of 70 RPMs! I was trotting away at 64-65 RPM thinking that I was not getting the workout I had expected, so I dropped my butt a few inches and took a squat placing more emphasis on my upper legs and the 70s were rolling in like nobody's business. I was maintaining 73-75 consistently for short little bursts, usually just a minute or two, but enough to make me feel like I was flying.
Goal for this week: get to a consistent 70 RPM, increase to Level 3 resistance.
Now, onto the letter C:
Cold: I hate this weather. Even worser, I hate being sick. Being rudely thrust back into adulthood yesterday left me with zero energy after dinner. I had every intention of doing an hour of Pilates, but between the 3 hours of sleep I got on Sunday, the full day of work, working out, and cooking, I had nothing left to give and I passed out on the couch at 7pm. I woke up at 10pm with a tickle in my throat so I took a lozenge and drank some water and everything seemed fine. When I woke up this morning at 5:30am, I knew I was in trouble.
My throat hurts and I am congested, thus officially kicking off the start of cold season. FML. I'm afraid I'm going to overdose on benzocaine so I had to lay off on the Cepacol, but on the plus side I've upped my intake of fluids in the form of green tea, which I'm sure is plenty good for me. So yay? Fuck you, cold, for making me... healthy?
Cranberry: I read somewhere that cranberry juice helps increase bicarbonate levels (if only in minute amounts) so naturally I considered buying stock in Ocean Spray avant de commencer my new cranberry regimen. I haven't actually gotten around to buying any cranberry juice, but I've been pecking away at a 5 pound bag of dried cranberries over the last few days. I was foolishly hoping that the internet would give me more insight as to the benefits of cranberries while on Diamox, but sadly I am coming up empty. I have a well documented distaste for pills of all varieties and if I can manage life without vitamins and supplements and opt for the natural route, I'd much prefer it. Even if I go broke buying bananas and cranberries and tea.
Crap I can't get wasted anymore (BAHAHAHAHA, I made it work): I have had limited experience with booze since starting Diamox (Almost 6 months now... holy Jesus) so I don't have much to go off of, but I can tell you with certainty that the little drinking I have done makes me feel like shit. Beer tastes gross, so that's out of the picture. I tried taking the cranberry route and having vodka cranberry cocktails, but the last time I did that I got three drinks in before I felt like I had been run over by a truck. I don't drink any sodas anymore, cider tastes like piss, beer makes me piss, and spirits are killing me. Quelle dommage, I say. But in the spirit of the holidays, I feel obliged to drink (and by that I mean, I WANT TO DRINK). And with the realization that Las Vegas is less than FIVE WEEKS away (34 days in case you're counting) and the wedding festivities following shortly after that, I am desperate for a solution to my boozing problem. The last trip I took to Vegas was shortly after I started taking Diamox, so I simply opted to postpone starting the meds until after my vacation was over. Dr Stern didn't have any outward reaction in any direction to that news so it didn't seem like much of an issue. But now after six months of almost perfect compliance, I struggle with even the idea of not taking my meds. The simple solution would be the one I had before: skip the meds in Vegas, drink to your heart's content. But I'm afraid my dosage is so high that I should consider tapering the dose down first rather than go cold turkey. I also worry that when I do return to normal dosage, the dreaded symptoms will return.
I've been on the fence about calling Dr Stern on the issue because I know that there is no easy answer. Plus, we've already talked about it and she basically told me it's okay to drink as long as I feel comfortable. I guess I just want her blessing to stop the Diamox for a week? Plain weird.
I miss binge drinking. Fo' real.
Today's post is brought to you by the letter C: colds, cranberry, and getting wasted (yes, I realize the last one doesn't even contain the letter C... fuck it).
But firstly... I made a triumphant return to the gym last night -- only to find that a couple had already occupied the machines that my workout buddy and I had planned to use. So we watched them work out on the closed circuit video system until they left... giant waste of an hour of my life. This is the downside of using the small free fitness center at a hotel... but it's where I work and it's FREE so I have a really hard time justifying a gym membership. Once we had the room to ourselves, I realized what a terribly late start it was and I just knew it would be bad news. Sure enough, at 1.5 miles my boyfriend called asking to be picked up from work. I made him wait until I finished 2 miles (22:30) before I left to collect him.
Sad, sad realizations from yesterday: taking almost a week off from exercising = BAD NEWS BEARS.
It felt amazing having my lungs burn (I am seriously in love with that feeling), but my posture was off and I couldn't find good foot position and it threw off my stance. But the good news bears brought me a little present: speeds upwards of 70 RPMs! I was trotting away at 64-65 RPM thinking that I was not getting the workout I had expected, so I dropped my butt a few inches and took a squat placing more emphasis on my upper legs and the 70s were rolling in like nobody's business. I was maintaining 73-75 consistently for short little bursts, usually just a minute or two, but enough to make me feel like I was flying.
Goal for this week: get to a consistent 70 RPM, increase to Level 3 resistance.
Now, onto the letter C:
Cold: I hate this weather. Even worser, I hate being sick. Being rudely thrust back into adulthood yesterday left me with zero energy after dinner. I had every intention of doing an hour of Pilates, but between the 3 hours of sleep I got on Sunday, the full day of work, working out, and cooking, I had nothing left to give and I passed out on the couch at 7pm. I woke up at 10pm with a tickle in my throat so I took a lozenge and drank some water and everything seemed fine. When I woke up this morning at 5:30am, I knew I was in trouble.
My throat hurts and I am congested, thus officially kicking off the start of cold season. FML. I'm afraid I'm going to overdose on benzocaine so I had to lay off on the Cepacol, but on the plus side I've upped my intake of fluids in the form of green tea, which I'm sure is plenty good for me. So yay? Fuck you, cold, for making me... healthy?
Cranberry: I read somewhere that cranberry juice helps increase bicarbonate levels (if only in minute amounts) so naturally I considered buying stock in Ocean Spray avant de commencer my new cranberry regimen. I haven't actually gotten around to buying any cranberry juice, but I've been pecking away at a 5 pound bag of dried cranberries over the last few days. I was foolishly hoping that the internet would give me more insight as to the benefits of cranberries while on Diamox, but sadly I am coming up empty. I have a well documented distaste for pills of all varieties and if I can manage life without vitamins and supplements and opt for the natural route, I'd much prefer it. Even if I go broke buying bananas and cranberries and tea.
Crap I can't get wasted anymore (BAHAHAHAHA, I made it work): I have had limited experience with booze since starting Diamox (Almost 6 months now... holy Jesus) so I don't have much to go off of, but I can tell you with certainty that the little drinking I have done makes me feel like shit. Beer tastes gross, so that's out of the picture. I tried taking the cranberry route and having vodka cranberry cocktails, but the last time I did that I got three drinks in before I felt like I had been run over by a truck. I don't drink any sodas anymore, cider tastes like piss, beer makes me piss, and spirits are killing me. Quelle dommage, I say. But in the spirit of the holidays, I feel obliged to drink (and by that I mean, I WANT TO DRINK). And with the realization that Las Vegas is less than FIVE WEEKS away (34 days in case you're counting) and the wedding festivities following shortly after that, I am desperate for a solution to my boozing problem. The last trip I took to Vegas was shortly after I started taking Diamox, so I simply opted to postpone starting the meds until after my vacation was over. Dr Stern didn't have any outward reaction in any direction to that news so it didn't seem like much of an issue. But now after six months of almost perfect compliance, I struggle with even the idea of not taking my meds. The simple solution would be the one I had before: skip the meds in Vegas, drink to your heart's content. But I'm afraid my dosage is so high that I should consider tapering the dose down first rather than go cold turkey. I also worry that when I do return to normal dosage, the dreaded symptoms will return.
I've been on the fence about calling Dr Stern on the issue because I know that there is no easy answer. Plus, we've already talked about it and she basically told me it's okay to drink as long as I feel comfortable. I guess I just want her blessing to stop the Diamox for a week? Plain weird.
Monday, November 28, 2011
fuck you, cyber monday.
Despite having spent well over $100 at Sam's Club for groceries yesterday, there was slim pickings when it came to packing food for work aujourd'hui. But first, let's rewind:
Thanksgiving was a shit show. Lots of turkey and gravy and rolls (not even wheat, just plain white), and PIE. Bloody fucking pie. I can't ever say no to pumpkin pie with a generous heaping of whipped cream. The closest thing I got to fruit all weekend was cranberry from a can, and in the four days I was at home I managed to convince myself that mashed potatoes count for veggies.
WRECK.
I haven't weighed myself, but my boyfriend says that I didn't really eat that much. I feel like I did, but in retrospect there wasn't ever a time when I felt stuffed so maybe I really did succeed in skirting my appetite.
Hokay, so. Today for breakfast I had a bowl of Life cereal with 1 cup of skim milk and a banana to go with the Diamox. I had 20 ounces of homemade masala chai with a splash of skim and a dash of real sugar. For lunch I had a pbj sandwich on wheat, 1 cup of frozen blueberries, and I'm trying to convince myself to eat the dried cranberries I packed although that's proving to be quite a challenge.
I desperately wanted some celery, but that's just not in the cards until I can get to the grocery store later today. I'm probably dehydrated too, which was a very rude thing to have to realize at 3am when I was dead asleep. I feel like my digestive system is backed up because I've been doing things so out of the ordinary and there doesn't seem to be much room left for water.
I haven't worked out since last Tuesday. I am seriously, lustingly, desperately looking forward to pounding out all my frustrations on the elliptical in a few hours. CAN'T COME SOON ENOUGH.
In other worldly news, I organized my closet last night! My family is trying something different for Christmas gifts this year and mommy let me use her credit card to pick my gifts myself. I couldn't resist Old Navy's Black Friday deals so I had a field day ordering new winter clothes. When I got back into town last night, I took to unpacking which inspired me to reorganize my closet in anticipation for my shipment of new clothes (in reality, I ran out of hangers and I had to make more room). Long story short, I spent the better part of the evening rediscovering my wardrobe.
It was bittersweet getting to see what I had grown out of taste-wise and width-wise. My exceptionally good memory makes it almost impossible for me to forget details such as where I bought a piece of clothing, how much it cost, who was with me when I got it, and the like. I struggled tossing out the things that my mom bought for me, I had no problems parting ways with the things gifted to me by my sister, and there were a few problem items in between.
What do you do with the sweater you lost your virginity in? Especially if your current boyfriend wasn't the one (ha). And the first date dresses? How about the pants you wore to your friend's funeral? The shirt you pitched a fit over because you just HAD TO have it, even at full price... what if it's horribly out of style now, but you know your parents sacrificed a week of their financial comfort in order to buy the things you just had to have?
Tough decisions, all around.
The hardest part of this exercise was two-fold: firstly, seeing all the cute clothes that I USED to fit into that are indeed very much still cute and very much not going to fit over my now-heavier frame; and secondly, the panties.
I've been hoarding clothes over the last three years while operating under the delusion that I'll lose the weight next week, errr... month. At first it was five pounds and I swore to myself I would eat good the next week; then it was ten pounds and I swore to myself I would start running; at twenty pounds I swore to myself I would join a gym once I had the money; before I knew it, I was at 50 and at that point I had already learned to manage with what I had. But in the back of my mind, I was still going to start eating better and go jogging and join a gym... next week. So there was never any need to throw out the clothes that didn't fit, because I was going to start losing weight... next week. Now I have a wardrobe that consists of a series of stages: things I wore at 220 pounds, hazy crossover area, then 240-255, hazy crossover area, then 270-297 pounds. Obviously, I'm in the last stage which is coincidentally the smallest (and saddest).
When going through each item in my closet, there were the things I would never wear again that got donated, the things I wished I could wear but don't fit that got pushed to the back until a skinnier time, the things that fit now but I don't especially like that are taking up room in the middle for the days that I'm low on fresh laundry, and my favorite items that fit now got the prime real estate in the front. That was all well and good, I was always aware of what percentage of my wardrobe was in operation, but it certainly did me some good to remember how great I looked in that sweater that's two sizes smaller than what I wear now.
And then the panty drawer came out to play. Up until this point, I had been conducting myself alone in silence with the bedroom door closed. I think my boyfriend has panty sensors because he walked in just as I started sorting my intimates. I made several piles as I sorted and folded, but it was mainly divisive between panties I can wear now and panties I hope to wear soon. Of course, boyfriend was mesmerized by the hope-to-wear category. "OOH you should wear those, OOH you should wear those...!" Naturally, it was heartbreaking to have to remind him (and myself) that I'm still carrying too much weight for the hope-to-wear category to be a viable option anytime soon.
But I'm hopeful and excited to rediscover the awesomeness waiting for my in my closet! It's better than shopping, because this stuff is already paid for. Not to mention, it'll be like having TWO wardrobes because the stuff I wear now will certainly still fit (maybe with modifications) in the future to mix and match in ways I never dreamed possible.
If nothing else, I at least have a really clean closet now. A bientôt.
Thanksgiving was a shit show. Lots of turkey and gravy and rolls (not even wheat, just plain white), and PIE. Bloody fucking pie. I can't ever say no to pumpkin pie with a generous heaping of whipped cream. The closest thing I got to fruit all weekend was cranberry from a can, and in the four days I was at home I managed to convince myself that mashed potatoes count for veggies.
WRECK.
I haven't weighed myself, but my boyfriend says that I didn't really eat that much. I feel like I did, but in retrospect there wasn't ever a time when I felt stuffed so maybe I really did succeed in skirting my appetite.
Hokay, so. Today for breakfast I had a bowl of Life cereal with 1 cup of skim milk and a banana to go with the Diamox. I had 20 ounces of homemade masala chai with a splash of skim and a dash of real sugar. For lunch I had a pbj sandwich on wheat, 1 cup of frozen blueberries, and I'm trying to convince myself to eat the dried cranberries I packed although that's proving to be quite a challenge.
I desperately wanted some celery, but that's just not in the cards until I can get to the grocery store later today. I'm probably dehydrated too, which was a very rude thing to have to realize at 3am when I was dead asleep. I feel like my digestive system is backed up because I've been doing things so out of the ordinary and there doesn't seem to be much room left for water.
I haven't worked out since last Tuesday. I am seriously, lustingly, desperately looking forward to pounding out all my frustrations on the elliptical in a few hours. CAN'T COME SOON ENOUGH.
In other worldly news, I organized my closet last night! My family is trying something different for Christmas gifts this year and mommy let me use her credit card to pick my gifts myself. I couldn't resist Old Navy's Black Friday deals so I had a field day ordering new winter clothes. When I got back into town last night, I took to unpacking which inspired me to reorganize my closet in anticipation for my shipment of new clothes (in reality, I ran out of hangers and I had to make more room). Long story short, I spent the better part of the evening rediscovering my wardrobe.
It was bittersweet getting to see what I had grown out of taste-wise and width-wise. My exceptionally good memory makes it almost impossible for me to forget details such as where I bought a piece of clothing, how much it cost, who was with me when I got it, and the like. I struggled tossing out the things that my mom bought for me, I had no problems parting ways with the things gifted to me by my sister, and there were a few problem items in between.
What do you do with the sweater you lost your virginity in? Especially if your current boyfriend wasn't the one (ha). And the first date dresses? How about the pants you wore to your friend's funeral? The shirt you pitched a fit over because you just HAD TO have it, even at full price... what if it's horribly out of style now, but you know your parents sacrificed a week of their financial comfort in order to buy the things you just had to have?
Tough decisions, all around.
The hardest part of this exercise was two-fold: firstly, seeing all the cute clothes that I USED to fit into that are indeed very much still cute and very much not going to fit over my now-heavier frame; and secondly, the panties.
I've been hoarding clothes over the last three years while operating under the delusion that I'll lose the weight next week, errr... month. At first it was five pounds and I swore to myself I would eat good the next week; then it was ten pounds and I swore to myself I would start running; at twenty pounds I swore to myself I would join a gym once I had the money; before I knew it, I was at 50 and at that point I had already learned to manage with what I had. But in the back of my mind, I was still going to start eating better and go jogging and join a gym... next week. So there was never any need to throw out the clothes that didn't fit, because I was going to start losing weight... next week. Now I have a wardrobe that consists of a series of stages: things I wore at 220 pounds, hazy crossover area, then 240-255, hazy crossover area, then 270-297 pounds. Obviously, I'm in the last stage which is coincidentally the smallest (and saddest).
When going through each item in my closet, there were the things I would never wear again that got donated, the things I wished I could wear but don't fit that got pushed to the back until a skinnier time, the things that fit now but I don't especially like that are taking up room in the middle for the days that I'm low on fresh laundry, and my favorite items that fit now got the prime real estate in the front. That was all well and good, I was always aware of what percentage of my wardrobe was in operation, but it certainly did me some good to remember how great I looked in that sweater that's two sizes smaller than what I wear now.
And then the panty drawer came out to play. Up until this point, I had been conducting myself alone in silence with the bedroom door closed. I think my boyfriend has panty sensors because he walked in just as I started sorting my intimates. I made several piles as I sorted and folded, but it was mainly divisive between panties I can wear now and panties I hope to wear soon. Of course, boyfriend was mesmerized by the hope-to-wear category. "OOH you should wear those, OOH you should wear those...!" Naturally, it was heartbreaking to have to remind him (and myself) that I'm still carrying too much weight for the hope-to-wear category to be a viable option anytime soon.
But I'm hopeful and excited to rediscover the awesomeness waiting for my in my closet! It's better than shopping, because this stuff is already paid for. Not to mention, it'll be like having TWO wardrobes because the stuff I wear now will certainly still fit (maybe with modifications) in the future to mix and match in ways I never dreamed possible.
If nothing else, I at least have a really clean closet now. A bientôt.
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
so yesterday...
Something came up at work and I had to go in early, which seriously cut into my gym time. I had barely enough time to squeeze in a mile (I could have done two but that would have really pushed the time into "unacceptably late"). Lately I've been going for three miles, which has been consistently less than 35 minutes, averaging to somewhere around 11:35-11:40 per mile. Numbers like this make me very very happy since I first started at well over 15:00 per mile.
I remember breaking 15 minutes and feeling on top of the world. I remember breaking 13 and thinking "holy shit, this is really happening."
Yesterday, I broke 11. I did a mile in 10:55 to be exact. I would have kept on going if it wasn't for my work commitments, in fact I'm a tad angry that I didn't have the time because my past history has shown that my first mile is always the slowest.
I almost don't believe it's happening. I don't exactly feel different. I don't look different. I guess if you press me on the issue, I'll admit that my clothes fit nicer but I'm not in a rush to replace my wardrobe. Nothing is hanging or falling off or giving me any indication that big changes have been made.
It's the tiny little things that I notice that put a smile on my face. Like this:
To make up for my disappointingly short workout yesterday, I did an hour of Pilates last night. Conditioning has taught me to hate The Hundred, and rightly so. It's usually one hundred seconds of me begging my body not to poop, and it ends by praising Baby Jesus and swearing I'll never eat another dessert ever again. As if The Hundred isn't torture enough, the fucking Roll-Up comes immediately after. Really, Baby Jesus?! COME ON! But yesterday... yesterday was different. I didn't mind The Hundred so much; in fact, I took the opportunity to admire the changes in my legs (okay, I'll admit, gravity was doing me some favors). And when it came to the Roll-Up, I was surprised at how much it didn't suck. Scratch that, IT WAS GREAT. I haven't done Roll-Ups this good since I took that Pilates class back in college, and I'm talking about the END of the semester.
On a sad note, my Swan variation has suffered considerably since I started. I had always wondered why that exercise was placed in that particular spot in the routine because it was the easiest (and therefore my favorite) and it seemed out of place. But my Swan sucked last night. And the Bridging/Hamstring Stretch combo FINALLY makes sense. I don't think I was doing it wrong before, I was just breaking through the fat to get to unused muscle and now that I've found it I can say I'm getting a workout.
My Quadruped and Crisscross need a lot of work, but I'm happy I have a routine that can grow with me. I like the changes I see. 274.5
PS - the late night pharmacist guy is a giant dick... which is probably why he only works nights. But seriously dude, you spent six measly years in college and you've been getting paid at least $100k each and every year since then to stand at a counter and play chemistry. It's not even REAL chemistry. You count pills and tell people not to mix their meds, and for three months out of the year you have to inject the elderly with the flu. SO FUCKIN WHAT. No need to be a miserable bastard, you dickbag.
I remember breaking 15 minutes and feeling on top of the world. I remember breaking 13 and thinking "holy shit, this is really happening."
Yesterday, I broke 11. I did a mile in 10:55 to be exact. I would have kept on going if it wasn't for my work commitments, in fact I'm a tad angry that I didn't have the time because my past history has shown that my first mile is always the slowest.
I almost don't believe it's happening. I don't exactly feel different. I don't look different. I guess if you press me on the issue, I'll admit that my clothes fit nicer but I'm not in a rush to replace my wardrobe. Nothing is hanging or falling off or giving me any indication that big changes have been made.
It's the tiny little things that I notice that put a smile on my face. Like this:
To make up for my disappointingly short workout yesterday, I did an hour of Pilates last night. Conditioning has taught me to hate The Hundred, and rightly so. It's usually one hundred seconds of me begging my body not to poop, and it ends by praising Baby Jesus and swearing I'll never eat another dessert ever again. As if The Hundred isn't torture enough, the fucking Roll-Up comes immediately after. Really, Baby Jesus?! COME ON! But yesterday... yesterday was different. I didn't mind The Hundred so much; in fact, I took the opportunity to admire the changes in my legs (okay, I'll admit, gravity was doing me some favors). And when it came to the Roll-Up, I was surprised at how much it didn't suck. Scratch that, IT WAS GREAT. I haven't done Roll-Ups this good since I took that Pilates class back in college, and I'm talking about the END of the semester.
On a sad note, my Swan variation has suffered considerably since I started. I had always wondered why that exercise was placed in that particular spot in the routine because it was the easiest (and therefore my favorite) and it seemed out of place. But my Swan sucked last night. And the Bridging/Hamstring Stretch combo FINALLY makes sense. I don't think I was doing it wrong before, I was just breaking through the fat to get to unused muscle and now that I've found it I can say I'm getting a workout.
My Quadruped and Crisscross need a lot of work, but I'm happy I have a routine that can grow with me. I like the changes I see. 274.5
PS - the late night pharmacist guy is a giant dick... which is probably why he only works nights. But seriously dude, you spent six measly years in college and you've been getting paid at least $100k each and every year since then to stand at a counter and play chemistry. It's not even REAL chemistry. You count pills and tell people not to mix their meds, and for three months out of the year you have to inject the elderly with the flu. SO FUCKIN WHAT. No need to be a miserable bastard, you dickbag.
Monday, November 21, 2011
Saturday, November 19, 2011
set fire to the rain.
I didn't workout Thursday (that's a lie, I did an hour of Pilates) or Friday, or today.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I went totally menstrual and I ate everrrrything. Between not exercising, and the poor food choices, and the bloat, I was expecting bad news from the scale. As of this afternoon: staying steady at 274.5.
The reason I mention this at all is so I can calm my internal panic mechanism that has been going CRAZY thinking that if I don't workout ONE DAY I'll gain 100 pounds. Or if I eat five McDonald's fries, it's going to undo the last two months.
I literally counted out 5 fries. Tant pis pour moi.
The truth is, I miss working out. I wish I had more time for it this weekend. But the stresses of my life reached critical mass and I had to make some sacrifices, and since sleep, work, and school are absolute necessities I was left with few trimmings.
I was so crunched for time yesterday, I forgot to stay hydrated. At the end of the day, I had a tingling in my face and hands that was so bad I thought I was going crazy. While waiting for my friendly Walgreens pharmacist to refill my scrip the tingling migrated to my feet and I would have paid a stranger to cut off my hands and feet just to end the pain.
Lessons learned from this weekend:
1. It's okay not to exercise every day. The world isn't ending, JUST DON'T MAKE IT A HABIT.
2. Five McDonald's fries are alright. Eight is probably okay too.
3. Water is your friend. It's calm and patient, it will be there whenever you need it. Let's be honest, you will ALWAYS need it.
4. Life on Diamox is better if you stay consistent! Two in the morning, three at night. No cheating! Because let's be real, IT'S TOTALLY WORTH IT when your neurologist says your eyes look "almost perfect."
5. Shit is going to hit the fan. And you just have to roll with it.
As if that wasn't bad enough, I went totally menstrual and I ate everrrrything. Between not exercising, and the poor food choices, and the bloat, I was expecting bad news from the scale. As of this afternoon: staying steady at 274.5.
The reason I mention this at all is so I can calm my internal panic mechanism that has been going CRAZY thinking that if I don't workout ONE DAY I'll gain 100 pounds. Or if I eat five McDonald's fries, it's going to undo the last two months.
I literally counted out 5 fries. Tant pis pour moi.
The truth is, I miss working out. I wish I had more time for it this weekend. But the stresses of my life reached critical mass and I had to make some sacrifices, and since sleep, work, and school are absolute necessities I was left with few trimmings.
I was so crunched for time yesterday, I forgot to stay hydrated. At the end of the day, I had a tingling in my face and hands that was so bad I thought I was going crazy. While waiting for my friendly Walgreens pharmacist to refill my scrip the tingling migrated to my feet and I would have paid a stranger to cut off my hands and feet just to end the pain.
Lessons learned from this weekend:
1. It's okay not to exercise every day. The world isn't ending, JUST DON'T MAKE IT A HABIT.
2. Five McDonald's fries are alright. Eight is probably okay too.
3. Water is your friend. It's calm and patient, it will be there whenever you need it. Let's be honest, you will ALWAYS need it.
4. Life on Diamox is better if you stay consistent! Two in the morning, three at night. No cheating! Because let's be real, IT'S TOTALLY WORTH IT when your neurologist says your eyes look "almost perfect."
5. Shit is going to hit the fan. And you just have to roll with it.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
on the one hand.
I haven't received a phone call regarding my blood work, which leads me to believe that my results came back normal and I should expect a letter in the mail in a week instructing me to continue at my current dose like normal. Very impersonal, bien sûr.
I don't know how I've done it. This is (according to my calculations) the end of week 6. I seriously thought I had been doing this longer... in which case: OH. MY. GOD.
It's been so easy and I feel so stupid for not figuring it out sooner. But at the same time it's been quite a journey and I don't know how I've survived this long. It's been 5 months and 4 days since my diagnosis.
Today I stepped on the scale... 275.5. After a trip to the bathroom... 274.5. I'm going to average the two and go for an even 275. :)
This is the first time since the beginning of this month that it's gone below 277, and I know that this one is going to stick.
I seriously cannot believe I'm doing this. I'm also insanely proud of myself, and even more excited to get my sexy on in the STACK of VS panties that came for me in the mail today.
!!!!!!!!
I look. SO. good.
I don't know how I've done it. This is (according to my calculations) the end of week 6. I seriously thought I had been doing this longer... in which case: OH. MY. GOD.
It's been so easy and I feel so stupid for not figuring it out sooner. But at the same time it's been quite a journey and I don't know how I've survived this long. It's been 5 months and 4 days since my diagnosis.
Today I stepped on the scale... 275.5. After a trip to the bathroom... 274.5. I'm going to average the two and go for an even 275. :)
This is the first time since the beginning of this month that it's gone below 277, and I know that this one is going to stick.
I seriously cannot believe I'm doing this. I'm also insanely proud of myself, and even more excited to get my sexy on in the STACK of VS panties that came for me in the mail today.
!!!!!!!!
I look. SO. good.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
when you're gone i'll still be bloody mary.
I'm getting really mad. REALLY MAD.
I wish there weren't so many complainers out there;
I wish fewer people would fight their doctors every step of the way;
I wish people would just give things a chance before interjecting with their non-medical opinions;
I get it: pain makes for great art (or at least a great blog, anyway). The amount of interest for a horror story increases tenfold over the interest for a happy ending. There is only a certain number of ways to say "congratulations" or "that's amazing," but a million ways to criticize.
It never occurred to me to ask my doctor if she was interested in handling an IIH case, but at the same time I never got the feeling like I was boring or troubling her. We're following a trial and error method; it's far from being an exact science, but there's a very clear understanding on both our parts that no one knows that much about IIH.
I had my fifth basic metabolic blood panel done yesterday. I found out that each one costs $200 before insurance. Thank god for insurance. I love that my doc makes me have labs done every time I see her, and sometimes even when I don't see her: yesterday marks the second time I've had to have labs done independent of a neuro appointment. But aside from her keeping an eye on my electrolytes and blood gasses, it's also my responsibility to eat right to keep my sodium from skyrocketing and my potassium from tanking. It's ridonculous how many bananas I eat.
To round things out, here are some notes on life:
1. Diamox is going swimmingly. The first ten days at the new dose were a bitch, and now I'm fine. From time to time, I get lazy about drinking water and I'll wake up mid-sleep with a nasty tingle in my foot (always the right foot) but it's nothing 30 ounces of water can't ride me of.
2. I work out EVERY DAY (no exaggerations). Even on the days I give myself permission to take off to rest (like Sunday and Monday, I wanted to avoid aggravating my foot problem), I still manage to exercise. Both says I told myself it would be okay to stay home, and both days I just felt better suffering it out at the gym. Sunday was particularly bad, so I only accomplished 2 miles on the elliptical but I added an hour of Pilates at home.
3. Working out is not enough. And by that I mean two things:
A) I thought I was going to lose all this weight by pounding it out on the elliptical. Seven weeks in, things are slightly stagnant. So in addition to my daily gym habit, I am now aiming to do an hour of Pilates four times a week. Maybe five. Let's see how my abs hold up, first. So far I've done it twice this week and I'm sublimely happy to be back at it -- I MISSED IT.
B) Food, stupid fucking food.
4. To elaborate on 3B: I HAD TO get use to the feeling of being hungry. It's not fun or comfortable. I'm cranky most of the time. But between the Diamox and working out, I've had an easier time than ever learning how to rock the single serving. I cook the same as before, I buy all the same foods as before, almost nothing has changed. The only difference now is that I eat less, and it's doing WONDERS.
Firstly, when I cook, it's in the same quantities that I'm used to. Instead of restricting the amount of food that's around, I HAD TO HAD TO HAD TO get comfortable with being around a bounty of food without feeling the need to eat it all. I NEVER want to feel deprived. That being said, I cook the same as before. When I eat less, my boyfriend tends to eat less (I think it's making him self conscious and he feels guilty), and with the both of us eating less that means we have more for leftovers! I don't do much with leftover meals, but my boyfriend loves taking them to school with him and it saves him the money from having to go out to eat. JEANS SHOULD BE SKINNY, WALLETS SHOULD BE FAT. Duh.
5. I never see people talking in specifics, so here it goes:
A) I do 35-60 minutes on the elliptical 5-7 times a week. Most of the time I go for 45 minutes, during which time I can accomplish 4 miles, burn around 700 calories, and my heart rate hovers somewhere between 150-155. Recently, I've had to scale back due to a foot problem. For the last week I've been doing 36 minutes, 3 miles, 530 calories, heart rate at around 147. This will change since I just bought new shoes.
B) My first and only goal when I started working out was to make it routine, weight loss was at the back of my mind. I figured the first step to getting in shape was to get to the gym. I LITERALLY mean GET TO THE GYM. I added a few incentives along the way, and now I can't go to the gym without them:
I invested in some compression pants from Old Navy. They're not Lululemon by any means, but they keep the jiggles in check and prevent chafing and wick away the inevitable moisture. I've designated these pants FOR GYM ONLY so if I'm wearing them, I had best be on my way to work out. Also in my wardrobe are racerback tanks, I like the ones with built-in bras, sports bras, a short sleeve full zipper hoodie, iPod Nano 6th gen (EVERYONE needs at least 5 good playlists), sweat towels, foldable water bottles (I bring 3 with me to the gym and I keep more scattered around my apartment and in my purse), and THE SHOES.
I recently purchased the Adidas adiPURE barefoot trainer shoes in black/pink. I had contemplated the Vibram Five Fingers a few years back but they just didn't speak to my needs. But the adiPURE were specifically designed for indoor gym training and if you've ever spent more than ten minutes on an elliptical machine you know how important it is to be able to have full toe motion. Now that I have them, I don't know how I lived without them.
C) I feel better on the days that I work. I thought between the symptoms of IIH and Diamox tearing up my insides that my days off would be my refuge, but in fact it's the routine days that keep me feeling best. I think it mostly has to do with diet and activity levels. On days that I work, I have the same meals:
Breakfast:
1 bowl of cereal with 1/2 cup of skim, this week it's Bran Flakes. I rotate Lucky Charms, Cheerios, Frosted Flakes, and Life, depending on my mood. When I run out of cereal, I have plain oatmeal with cranberries. I ALWAYS have a banana at breakfast, I hide two Diamox pills inside a chunk of banana first thing in the morning (~6:30am). I spend the morning sipping on a hot beverage, either 20 oz. of masala chai or apple cider (no coffee!).
Lunch:
Turkey sandwich, 1 slice of cheese (usually deli fresh American or pepper jack) on 2 slices of whole wheat bread. ALWAYS 100% WHOLE WHEAT. I'll have a side of veggies, usually baby carrots and a few sticks of celery, or a string cheese if I'm out of produce, or a handful of chips if my grocery situation is desperate.
I have one apple between 1-3pm as a snack, and a plum for after my workout. I'm picky about fruit, but apples and bananas are ALWAYS on my shopping list. I'll add a third and sometimes fourth fruit depending on what's seasonal and what's on sale. Plums were 50 cents a pound last week, I've been waiting for frozen blueberries to drop in price before I jump on a 5 pound bag.
D) Dinner is always, quite literally, whatever I f**king feel like having. AB-SO-LUTE-LY ANYTHING. Last Friday, I was desperate for nachos so cheesy that the chips get soggy. So I made it. But even when cooking up a plate so inherently unhealthy as nachos, I was mindful about a few things: it couldn't just be a plate of chips and cheese. I cooked some lean ground turkey for protein, I threw heaps of vegetables into the cheese sauce (petite diced tomatoes, fresh jalapenos, cilantro, onion, garlic), held back on adding salt, and I limited the size of my serving.
And that's exactly how I live my life at dinner -- I can have whatever I want, in moderation.
6. Honesty is the best policy. Despite my absolute dedication to the gym in the last month-and-a-half, I knew that I wasn't giving it my all, but spending more time at the gym wasn't an option. So I picked up another activity! And now I'm very very happy I did, but I almost cheated myself of this awesome revelation. Blogging keeps me honest, it keeps me sane, and it helps me sort the good days from the bad.
I wish there weren't so many complainers out there;
I wish fewer people would fight their doctors every step of the way;
I wish people would just give things a chance before interjecting with their non-medical opinions;
I get it: pain makes for great art (or at least a great blog, anyway). The amount of interest for a horror story increases tenfold over the interest for a happy ending. There is only a certain number of ways to say "congratulations" or "that's amazing," but a million ways to criticize.
It never occurred to me to ask my doctor if she was interested in handling an IIH case, but at the same time I never got the feeling like I was boring or troubling her. We're following a trial and error method; it's far from being an exact science, but there's a very clear understanding on both our parts that no one knows that much about IIH.
I had my fifth basic metabolic blood panel done yesterday. I found out that each one costs $200 before insurance. Thank god for insurance. I love that my doc makes me have labs done every time I see her, and sometimes even when I don't see her: yesterday marks the second time I've had to have labs done independent of a neuro appointment. But aside from her keeping an eye on my electrolytes and blood gasses, it's also my responsibility to eat right to keep my sodium from skyrocketing and my potassium from tanking. It's ridonculous how many bananas I eat.
To round things out, here are some notes on life:
1. Diamox is going swimmingly. The first ten days at the new dose were a bitch, and now I'm fine. From time to time, I get lazy about drinking water and I'll wake up mid-sleep with a nasty tingle in my foot (always the right foot) but it's nothing 30 ounces of water can't ride me of.
2. I work out EVERY DAY (no exaggerations). Even on the days I give myself permission to take off to rest (like Sunday and Monday, I wanted to avoid aggravating my foot problem), I still manage to exercise. Both says I told myself it would be okay to stay home, and both days I just felt better suffering it out at the gym. Sunday was particularly bad, so I only accomplished 2 miles on the elliptical but I added an hour of Pilates at home.
3. Working out is not enough. And by that I mean two things:
A) I thought I was going to lose all this weight by pounding it out on the elliptical. Seven weeks in, things are slightly stagnant. So in addition to my daily gym habit, I am now aiming to do an hour of Pilates four times a week. Maybe five. Let's see how my abs hold up, first. So far I've done it twice this week and I'm sublimely happy to be back at it -- I MISSED IT.
B) Food, stupid fucking food.
4. To elaborate on 3B: I HAD TO get use to the feeling of being hungry. It's not fun or comfortable. I'm cranky most of the time. But between the Diamox and working out, I've had an easier time than ever learning how to rock the single serving. I cook the same as before, I buy all the same foods as before, almost nothing has changed. The only difference now is that I eat less, and it's doing WONDERS.
Firstly, when I cook, it's in the same quantities that I'm used to. Instead of restricting the amount of food that's around, I HAD TO HAD TO HAD TO get comfortable with being around a bounty of food without feeling the need to eat it all. I NEVER want to feel deprived. That being said, I cook the same as before. When I eat less, my boyfriend tends to eat less (I think it's making him self conscious and he feels guilty), and with the both of us eating less that means we have more for leftovers! I don't do much with leftover meals, but my boyfriend loves taking them to school with him and it saves him the money from having to go out to eat. JEANS SHOULD BE SKINNY, WALLETS SHOULD BE FAT. Duh.
5. I never see people talking in specifics, so here it goes:
A) I do 35-60 minutes on the elliptical 5-7 times a week. Most of the time I go for 45 minutes, during which time I can accomplish 4 miles, burn around 700 calories, and my heart rate hovers somewhere between 150-155. Recently, I've had to scale back due to a foot problem. For the last week I've been doing 36 minutes, 3 miles, 530 calories, heart rate at around 147. This will change since I just bought new shoes.
B) My first and only goal when I started working out was to make it routine, weight loss was at the back of my mind. I figured the first step to getting in shape was to get to the gym. I LITERALLY mean GET TO THE GYM. I added a few incentives along the way, and now I can't go to the gym without them:
I invested in some compression pants from Old Navy. They're not Lululemon by any means, but they keep the jiggles in check and prevent chafing and wick away the inevitable moisture. I've designated these pants FOR GYM ONLY so if I'm wearing them, I had best be on my way to work out. Also in my wardrobe are racerback tanks, I like the ones with built-in bras, sports bras, a short sleeve full zipper hoodie, iPod Nano 6th gen (EVERYONE needs at least 5 good playlists), sweat towels, foldable water bottles (I bring 3 with me to the gym and I keep more scattered around my apartment and in my purse), and THE SHOES.
I recently purchased the Adidas adiPURE barefoot trainer shoes in black/pink. I had contemplated the Vibram Five Fingers a few years back but they just didn't speak to my needs. But the adiPURE were specifically designed for indoor gym training and if you've ever spent more than ten minutes on an elliptical machine you know how important it is to be able to have full toe motion. Now that I have them, I don't know how I lived without them.
C) I feel better on the days that I work. I thought between the symptoms of IIH and Diamox tearing up my insides that my days off would be my refuge, but in fact it's the routine days that keep me feeling best. I think it mostly has to do with diet and activity levels. On days that I work, I have the same meals:
Breakfast:
1 bowl of cereal with 1/2 cup of skim, this week it's Bran Flakes. I rotate Lucky Charms, Cheerios, Frosted Flakes, and Life, depending on my mood. When I run out of cereal, I have plain oatmeal with cranberries. I ALWAYS have a banana at breakfast, I hide two Diamox pills inside a chunk of banana first thing in the morning (~6:30am). I spend the morning sipping on a hot beverage, either 20 oz. of masala chai or apple cider (no coffee!).
Lunch:
Turkey sandwich, 1 slice of cheese (usually deli fresh American or pepper jack) on 2 slices of whole wheat bread. ALWAYS 100% WHOLE WHEAT. I'll have a side of veggies, usually baby carrots and a few sticks of celery, or a string cheese if I'm out of produce, or a handful of chips if my grocery situation is desperate.
I have one apple between 1-3pm as a snack, and a plum for after my workout. I'm picky about fruit, but apples and bananas are ALWAYS on my shopping list. I'll add a third and sometimes fourth fruit depending on what's seasonal and what's on sale. Plums were 50 cents a pound last week, I've been waiting for frozen blueberries to drop in price before I jump on a 5 pound bag.
D) Dinner is always, quite literally, whatever I f**king feel like having. AB-SO-LUTE-LY ANYTHING. Last Friday, I was desperate for nachos so cheesy that the chips get soggy. So I made it. But even when cooking up a plate so inherently unhealthy as nachos, I was mindful about a few things: it couldn't just be a plate of chips and cheese. I cooked some lean ground turkey for protein, I threw heaps of vegetables into the cheese sauce (petite diced tomatoes, fresh jalapenos, cilantro, onion, garlic), held back on adding salt, and I limited the size of my serving.
And that's exactly how I live my life at dinner -- I can have whatever I want, in moderation.
6. Honesty is the best policy. Despite my absolute dedication to the gym in the last month-and-a-half, I knew that I wasn't giving it my all, but spending more time at the gym wasn't an option. So I picked up another activity! And now I'm very very happy I did, but I almost cheated myself of this awesome revelation. Blogging keeps me honest, it keeps me sane, and it helps me sort the good days from the bad.
Monday, November 14, 2011
la deuxieme fois.
Because it's Monday, and because I'm highly productive today, here's a second post.
My Christmas Wishlist:
1. Adidas Adipure Trainer for women, any color. ($90, here)
I desperately need these. My best workouts have come from wearing ballet flats, but my feet sweat and make my pretty shoes stinky so it's not a sustainable plan. BUT THESE WILL CHANGE MY LIFE. I swear it.
2. Nike + iPod Sport Kit ($28, here)
The iPod Nano 6th gen that Ross gave me for my birthday last year has changed my workouts forever, and if things continue at this pace I'll have to reintroduce running sooner rather than later.
3. Wireless, waterproof, headphones that AREN'T bluetooth. I haven't found any yet, probably because they don't exist.
4. Heart rate monitor ($?, this pretty Garmin piece is my dream)
I'm concerned that the heart rate monitor on my favorite elliptical isn't working properly, plus I'd love to have something I can take outdoors with me. And as an added bonus, any monitor that will allow me to upload workout data for evaluating is an uber plus.
My Christmas Wishlist:
1. Adidas Adipure Trainer for women, any color. ($90, here)
I desperately need these. My best workouts have come from wearing ballet flats, but my feet sweat and make my pretty shoes stinky so it's not a sustainable plan. BUT THESE WILL CHANGE MY LIFE. I swear it.
2. Nike + iPod Sport Kit ($28, here)
The iPod Nano 6th gen that Ross gave me for my birthday last year has changed my workouts forever, and if things continue at this pace I'll have to reintroduce running sooner rather than later.
3. Wireless, waterproof, headphones that AREN'T bluetooth. I haven't found any yet, probably because they don't exist.
4. Heart rate monitor ($?, this pretty Garmin piece is my dream)
I'm concerned that the heart rate monitor on my favorite elliptical isn't working properly, plus I'd love to have something I can take outdoors with me. And as an added bonus, any monitor that will allow me to upload workout data for evaluating is an uber plus.
resorting to bribery.
I was upset. My workouts haven't been going my way due to my foot issue, and I'm afraid that super awesome food side effect thing from Diamox has run its course and my appetite is back and swinging. Despite all my work this week, I gained a pound.
But in retrospect, I don't think I did.
On Thurs 11/3, I was at 284. Dr Stern wrote in her notes that I had lost 8 pounds.
On Sun 11/6, I weighed myself at 277. Of course, I was thrilled to have that miracle.
But the more I think of it, the more it makes sense. There is NO WAY I lost 7 pounds in less than 4 days. My boyfriend was out of town and my eating/drinking/sleeping habits were way out of whack. I was most likely dehydrated.
This week, I have most definitely stayed hydrated, which is probably why the scale has been fighting me. But over the last few days I've consistently weighed in at 277 or 278, depending on food and BM and water intake.
Today is Mon 11/14. So between 11/3 and 11/14, I've lost 6-7 pounds. NOT TOO SHABBY.
The point of this demonstration is to show myself that 7 pounds over the course of the weekend is a lovely thought, but 1) it's not healthy, 2) it's not likely, and 3) it'll only set you up for disappointment down the line.
To celebrate my cumulative TWENTY pounds, I ordered new panties from Victoria's Secret. People keep asking me if I feel different. I can't say I do. I notice little things here and there, but nothing that makes me feel like I'm in total control. Every day is definitely a struggle.
But the one thing I have noticed is that my panties fit better. And since I'm not likely to be dropping panty sizes any time soon, I figured that was the best way to reward myself for a great deal of progress. It's an investment in my future outlook! Ha.
Other great news: I washed my favorite jeans this weekend. Washed AND dried. Normally, that would make me want to kill myself having to peel them back on and pray to Jesus that they stretch before I lose consciousness. But today when I put them on, they slid PERFECTLY, and doing the zipper was EASY and not painful.
These jeans fit they way they were supposed to... without me having to spend three days stretching them out first. LIFE WIN.
But in retrospect, I don't think I did.
On Thurs 11/3, I was at 284. Dr Stern wrote in her notes that I had lost 8 pounds.
On Sun 11/6, I weighed myself at 277. Of course, I was thrilled to have that miracle.
But the more I think of it, the more it makes sense. There is NO WAY I lost 7 pounds in less than 4 days. My boyfriend was out of town and my eating/drinking/sleeping habits were way out of whack. I was most likely dehydrated.
This week, I have most definitely stayed hydrated, which is probably why the scale has been fighting me. But over the last few days I've consistently weighed in at 277 or 278, depending on food and BM and water intake.
Today is Mon 11/14. So between 11/3 and 11/14, I've lost 6-7 pounds. NOT TOO SHABBY.
The point of this demonstration is to show myself that 7 pounds over the course of the weekend is a lovely thought, but 1) it's not healthy, 2) it's not likely, and 3) it'll only set you up for disappointment down the line.
To celebrate my cumulative TWENTY pounds, I ordered new panties from Victoria's Secret. People keep asking me if I feel different. I can't say I do. I notice little things here and there, but nothing that makes me feel like I'm in total control. Every day is definitely a struggle.
But the one thing I have noticed is that my panties fit better. And since I'm not likely to be dropping panty sizes any time soon, I figured that was the best way to reward myself for a great deal of progress. It's an investment in my future outlook! Ha.
Other great news: I washed my favorite jeans this weekend. Washed AND dried. Normally, that would make me want to kill myself having to peel them back on and pray to Jesus that they stretch before I lose consciousness. But today when I put them on, they slid PERFECTLY, and doing the zipper was EASY and not painful.
These jeans fit they way they were supposed to... without me having to spend three days stretching them out first. LIFE WIN.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
feel like i'm on top of the world (with ur love)
Okay so.
I'm stuck at work and this abundance of energy is killing me. As usual, I went for my 4am trip to the exercise room to make nice with the elliptical. Less than a minute in my feet were killing. BOTH. I had to stop in under ONE MINUTE.
Maybe I'm sick masochist, but I've never not been able to last a minute. I've never not been able to last ten. So what gives?
It was so bad, I cut my losses at 25 minutes when I reached exactly 2 miles (12.5 minute mile average.... fucking seriously?? disappointing). I came back to my desk to start googling what might be causing foot pain (again) because my self-diagnosed bursitis might not be the culprit. On the second link I clicked, a person had posted a response about someone else's numb toes (thanks for nothing, I already solved that problem) but I saw that she listed herself as an IH sufferer in her user tag, complete with a link to her blog and a link to another IH support blog.
Firstly, I hate that they call it IH. The first I Is Incredibly Important (ha, see what I did there?). Idiopathic. Doctors and random strangers off the street need to know that. GET IT RIGHT.
Secondly... either I really am a sick masochistic fuck, or I am seriously abnormal. Or both. My mom would definitely put her vote in for both.
When I was first diagnosed I was bombarded with questions about headaches and seeing things and a possible whooshing noise and a million other weird things that made no sense to me at the time. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. But, as my lovely neurologist will tell you, nothing has changed for me.
I guess I have fewer headaches now, but the headaches I had before were NEVER of the caliber that would keep me from work, or from functioning at all. Thinking back on it now, I guess I did have a little tinnitus, but only ever after strenuous activity or bending over and it would last a few seconds before it went away. I have a random collection of short little memories that, at the time, I believed to be normal for everyone. Clearly, I was wrong.
On the flip side of that same coin, I'm annoyed with my fellow IIH counterparts who assume that everyone suffers from a debilitating brain condition just by being labeled IIH.
That leaves me with two options: either my case is mild, or I'm a sick masochistic fuck with an unusually high pain tolerance.
I'm going to forgo a definitive answer to that prompt, because I'm much more comforted by the idea that I'm abnormal. In this case, abnormal is good. At least this way I still have more than just the illusion of a shot at normalcy.
I'm struggling to decide if this morning's two miles is enough to satisfy a "workout" or if I should try again later tonight. Perhaps barefoot? I know I should probably give my body a break since I have been ESPECIALLY good lately, but I hate the idea of knowing that I'm skipping a workout when I so desperately need to be trying harder. It's not even so much about losing weight, I just feel useless not working out. Bah humbug.
Cher Lloyd is changing the way I workout. cause they know that you own it
I'm stuck at work and this abundance of energy is killing me. As usual, I went for my 4am trip to the exercise room to make nice with the elliptical. Less than a minute in my feet were killing. BOTH. I had to stop in under ONE MINUTE.
Maybe I'm sick masochist, but I've never not been able to last a minute. I've never not been able to last ten. So what gives?
It was so bad, I cut my losses at 25 minutes when I reached exactly 2 miles (12.5 minute mile average.... fucking seriously?? disappointing). I came back to my desk to start googling what might be causing foot pain (again) because my self-diagnosed bursitis might not be the culprit. On the second link I clicked, a person had posted a response about someone else's numb toes (thanks for nothing, I already solved that problem) but I saw that she listed herself as an IH sufferer in her user tag, complete with a link to her blog and a link to another IH support blog.
Firstly, I hate that they call it IH. The first I Is Incredibly Important (ha, see what I did there?). Idiopathic. Doctors and random strangers off the street need to know that. GET IT RIGHT.
Secondly... either I really am a sick masochistic fuck, or I am seriously abnormal. Or both. My mom would definitely put her vote in for both.
When I was first diagnosed I was bombarded with questions about headaches and seeing things and a possible whooshing noise and a million other weird things that made no sense to me at the time. Hindsight is a wonderful thing. But, as my lovely neurologist will tell you, nothing has changed for me.
I guess I have fewer headaches now, but the headaches I had before were NEVER of the caliber that would keep me from work, or from functioning at all. Thinking back on it now, I guess I did have a little tinnitus, but only ever after strenuous activity or bending over and it would last a few seconds before it went away. I have a random collection of short little memories that, at the time, I believed to be normal for everyone. Clearly, I was wrong.
On the flip side of that same coin, I'm annoyed with my fellow IIH counterparts who assume that everyone suffers from a debilitating brain condition just by being labeled IIH.
That leaves me with two options: either my case is mild, or I'm a sick masochistic fuck with an unusually high pain tolerance.
I'm going to forgo a definitive answer to that prompt, because I'm much more comforted by the idea that I'm abnormal. In this case, abnormal is good. At least this way I still have more than just the illusion of a shot at normalcy.
I'm struggling to decide if this morning's two miles is enough to satisfy a "workout" or if I should try again later tonight. Perhaps barefoot? I know I should probably give my body a break since I have been ESPECIALLY good lately, but I hate the idea of knowing that I'm skipping a workout when I so desperately need to be trying harder. It's not even so much about losing weight, I just feel useless not working out. Bah humbug.
Cher Lloyd is changing the way I workout. cause they know that you own it
Saturday, November 12, 2011
the one that got away.
I guess I don't talk about this enough: I have turned into a gym rat.
When I wake up I think about my workout, at work I'm thinking about my workout, during my workout I'm obsessing about my workout. After my workout, I'm thinking about the next one. Before bed, I'm packing and getting ready for tomorrow's workout. When I'm bored or have extra time and energy, I think about working out. Even if I've already gone once that day.
OUT OF CONTROL.
I'm motivated by results, so naturally, I'll be stuck on this obsession for a while.
Other notes on the day:
I think I'm in love with my neurologist. Maybe.
I opted not to go to the university due to a previous experience there, and I chose Mercy because of my super awesome treatment for my super emergency tonsillectomy. Plus, (don't tell my boyfriend) I like the idea of a hospital with faith. In all my years of living here, Mercy has been good to me.
One of the best ophthalmologists in town is a doctor at Mercy and she ended up being the one I first came to see. She specializes in glaucoma, so I'm her youngest patient by about 40 years (no joke) but she is hands down ah-may-ZING. She is the one who referred me to Dr Stern. This is where it gets interesting.
The administrative staff there aren't the most accommodating bunch, there was lots of confusion about scheduling my first visit, then they wanted to reschedule on the days we were in Vegas, then we picked a day we all agreed on and the doc was nowhere to be found. On my very first visit, she showed up a bit late, wasn't expecting me, spent 5 minutes with me before she scheduled an MRI for two weeks later.
NOT COOL, BRO.
After much teeth pulling, we got the MRI for that same afternoon and set up the lumbar puncture for two days later. Yeah... let's talk about that lumbar puncture.
I was in agony for almost an hour, she went through two kits playing pin the tail on my spinal cord before my blood pressure spiked and they took a break. She left to get another kit and when she came back I was crying uncontrollably, which seemed to make her very uncomfortable. And then she went MIA. My nurse asked where my physician went; of course we had no idea. There was a hustle, then a group of three doctors in green scrubs came to save me. I wish I remembered their names because they were awesome.
My most recent appointment I was nervous, mostly due to my obvious issues with authority. Not to mention, she's skinny and pretty and a fucking neurologist for christ's sake. I want to impress her... but sadly, I'm just me. But this time she was really nice! We chatted and for a brief second I thought to myself, I can actually see this working in the long-run. The sad truth of IIH is that I need to get intimately familiar with my neuro, even if it's her.
She was so responsive and supportive that for the first time I felt REALLY GOOD about my condition. And then I got the voicemails of doom. Truth be told, I've probably listened to them 50 times collectively. What really gets me is how human she is. She is an attractive lady, but without the visuals it's a different story.
I can do awkward and gawky.
I got so caught up in the entire package, a young and pretty neurologist, and I was seeing green that I never stopped to realize what kind of person it takes to specialize in this field: nerds. So my young, pretty, genius neurologist, she's just a geek.
And that is definitely something I can learn to love.
When I wake up I think about my workout, at work I'm thinking about my workout, during my workout I'm obsessing about my workout. After my workout, I'm thinking about the next one. Before bed, I'm packing and getting ready for tomorrow's workout. When I'm bored or have extra time and energy, I think about working out. Even if I've already gone once that day.
OUT OF CONTROL.
I'm motivated by results, so naturally, I'll be stuck on this obsession for a while.
Other notes on the day:
I think I'm in love with my neurologist. Maybe.
I opted not to go to the university due to a previous experience there, and I chose Mercy because of my super awesome treatment for my super emergency tonsillectomy. Plus, (don't tell my boyfriend) I like the idea of a hospital with faith. In all my years of living here, Mercy has been good to me.
One of the best ophthalmologists in town is a doctor at Mercy and she ended up being the one I first came to see. She specializes in glaucoma, so I'm her youngest patient by about 40 years (no joke) but she is hands down ah-may-ZING. She is the one who referred me to Dr Stern. This is where it gets interesting.
The administrative staff there aren't the most accommodating bunch, there was lots of confusion about scheduling my first visit, then they wanted to reschedule on the days we were in Vegas, then we picked a day we all agreed on and the doc was nowhere to be found. On my very first visit, she showed up a bit late, wasn't expecting me, spent 5 minutes with me before she scheduled an MRI for two weeks later.
NOT COOL, BRO.
After much teeth pulling, we got the MRI for that same afternoon and set up the lumbar puncture for two days later. Yeah... let's talk about that lumbar puncture.
I was in agony for almost an hour, she went through two kits playing pin the tail on my spinal cord before my blood pressure spiked and they took a break. She left to get another kit and when she came back I was crying uncontrollably, which seemed to make her very uncomfortable. And then she went MIA. My nurse asked where my physician went; of course we had no idea. There was a hustle, then a group of three doctors in green scrubs came to save me. I wish I remembered their names because they were awesome.
My most recent appointment I was nervous, mostly due to my obvious issues with authority. Not to mention, she's skinny and pretty and a fucking neurologist for christ's sake. I want to impress her... but sadly, I'm just me. But this time she was really nice! We chatted and for a brief second I thought to myself, I can actually see this working in the long-run. The sad truth of IIH is that I need to get intimately familiar with my neuro, even if it's her.
She was so responsive and supportive that for the first time I felt REALLY GOOD about my condition. And then I got the voicemails of doom. Truth be told, I've probably listened to them 50 times collectively. What really gets me is how human she is. She is an attractive lady, but without the visuals it's a different story.
I can do awkward and gawky.
I got so caught up in the entire package, a young and pretty neurologist, and I was seeing green that I never stopped to realize what kind of person it takes to specialize in this field: nerds. So my young, pretty, genius neurologist, she's just a geek.
And that is definitely something I can learn to love.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
dodged a bullet.
Dr Stern called on Friday and left an ominous voicemail. I called back within an hour but she had already left. Receptionist told me she would be back on Tuesday.
Today's Tuesday. I woke up to my phone ringing, and I had every intention of answering, except my boyfriend was still in bed. And if this was at all what I was thinking it was, I wanted him nowhere near me.
So she left another voicemail. This one even worse than the first.
I had to wait what felt like hours for boyfriend to leave for work, at which point I jumped out of bed and called back. She was with a patient.
I left a message with the receptionist asking that the doc call me back.
40 minutes later, my phone rang. Before I could cry (or die), I answered.
"Hi Ana, this is Dr Stern. How are you today?"
Fucking great, let's get this out of the way, mmkay?
My sodium bicarbonate levels are the the lowest of the low end. Meaning that the last five days I spent thinking I was pregnant... NOT FUCKING PREGNANT.
So my bicarbonate... low, but acceptable. At least for my previous dosing levels. But now that I'm up 250mg a day, the doc is concerned. She's asked that I come in for another blood test next Tuesday or Wednesday so that my body will have time to adjust to the new dosage and she'll have a better picture of what's going on.
Sodium fucking bicarbonate.
Apparently, sodium fucking bicarbonate (yes, that's its scientific name) is pretty important. This is the beginning of the icky side effects of being on Diamox. Exactly what I was trying to avoid. My pharmacy-minded boyfriend told me it's most likely that my recent weight loss/workout routine may be the cause, which naturally I am unwilling to abandon, so I'm in a bit of a pickle.
For now, I stick to my 500mg in the morning and 750mg at night. Drink water like crazy, eat bananas like its my job, work out like my life depended on it. So basically, the norm.
Hasta miercoles.
Today's Tuesday. I woke up to my phone ringing, and I had every intention of answering, except my boyfriend was still in bed. And if this was at all what I was thinking it was, I wanted him nowhere near me.
So she left another voicemail. This one even worse than the first.
I had to wait what felt like hours for boyfriend to leave for work, at which point I jumped out of bed and called back. She was with a patient.
I left a message with the receptionist asking that the doc call me back.
40 minutes later, my phone rang. Before I could cry (or die), I answered.
"Hi Ana, this is Dr Stern. How are you today?"
Fucking great, let's get this out of the way, mmkay?
My sodium bicarbonate levels are the the lowest of the low end. Meaning that the last five days I spent thinking I was pregnant... NOT FUCKING PREGNANT.
So my bicarbonate... low, but acceptable. At least for my previous dosing levels. But now that I'm up 250mg a day, the doc is concerned. She's asked that I come in for another blood test next Tuesday or Wednesday so that my body will have time to adjust to the new dosage and she'll have a better picture of what's going on.
Sodium fucking bicarbonate.
Apparently, sodium fucking bicarbonate (yes, that's its scientific name) is pretty important. This is the beginning of the icky side effects of being on Diamox. Exactly what I was trying to avoid. My pharmacy-minded boyfriend told me it's most likely that my recent weight loss/workout routine may be the cause, which naturally I am unwilling to abandon, so I'm in a bit of a pickle.
For now, I stick to my 500mg in the morning and 750mg at night. Drink water like crazy, eat bananas like its my job, work out like my life depended on it. So basically, the norm.
Hasta miercoles.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
revolution, you say ha.
I discovered the single serving today. It's rocking my world.
Last night I accidentally skipped dinner but a guest had given me these 140 calorie breakfast trail mix things and I nibbled on one throughout the course of the day. It wasn't until Mr Ryan asked me at 9:30pm if I had had dinner that I realized I hadn't. He gave me $5. This, in addition to the $6 from my boss, would have been plenty to take to any of the restaurants surrounding my work, and I wholeheartedly intended to grab some grub before the end of the night but hunger never struck me.
Seriously. It just never happened.
When I went home at 6am I realized that there was a rumbly in my tumbly, so I made myself an egg sandwich (un oeuf, half a piece of turkey, 1 slice of cojack cheese, and a hunk of baguette sliced into 2 pieces with a squirt of ketchup and spices). For the tailgate, I brought a nalgene of hot chocolate and 5 ounces of peppermint schnapps, and I munched on some chips, celery and buffalo chicken dip, although I must express my pride at the amount I consumed.
It wasn't that I was showing restraint, at no point did I limit myself in quantity, I simply lost interest after a few nibbles. I never felt stuffed or deprived, it was a perfect balance!
I walked home two miles in the cold, the whole time I was expecting for my legs or ankles or knees to give me problems, or to be panting beyond comfort but instead I felt like there was pep in my step even all the way up to my apartment door.
So I guess working out really is working :)
For dinner I heated up a tupperware of leftover soup and ate half of its contents. It was enough for half a bowl, which is 1/4 of what I normally eat in terms of soup. I made one grilled cheese sandwich (2 slices cojack, 2 slices whole wheat bread) to accompany the soup. With some struggling, I finished them both, but I'm glad I ate it all because I knew I had a long night ahead of me.
I weighed myself after my nap today... 280.5!!! It's tremendous to think that I'm less than a pound away from saying au revoir to the 280s forever. I've been stuck at this ten pound stretch for long enough that I'm thrilled to see it go.
Today, I can say I'm proud of myself. I love the way my body is changing, the way my clothes fit and the way I feel moving around.
It. Feels. Great.
Last night I accidentally skipped dinner but a guest had given me these 140 calorie breakfast trail mix things and I nibbled on one throughout the course of the day. It wasn't until Mr Ryan asked me at 9:30pm if I had had dinner that I realized I hadn't. He gave me $5. This, in addition to the $6 from my boss, would have been plenty to take to any of the restaurants surrounding my work, and I wholeheartedly intended to grab some grub before the end of the night but hunger never struck me.
Seriously. It just never happened.
When I went home at 6am I realized that there was a rumbly in my tumbly, so I made myself an egg sandwich (un oeuf, half a piece of turkey, 1 slice of cojack cheese, and a hunk of baguette sliced into 2 pieces with a squirt of ketchup and spices). For the tailgate, I brought a nalgene of hot chocolate and 5 ounces of peppermint schnapps, and I munched on some chips, celery and buffalo chicken dip, although I must express my pride at the amount I consumed.
It wasn't that I was showing restraint, at no point did I limit myself in quantity, I simply lost interest after a few nibbles. I never felt stuffed or deprived, it was a perfect balance!
I walked home two miles in the cold, the whole time I was expecting for my legs or ankles or knees to give me problems, or to be panting beyond comfort but instead I felt like there was pep in my step even all the way up to my apartment door.
So I guess working out really is working :)
For dinner I heated up a tupperware of leftover soup and ate half of its contents. It was enough for half a bowl, which is 1/4 of what I normally eat in terms of soup. I made one grilled cheese sandwich (2 slices cojack, 2 slices whole wheat bread) to accompany the soup. With some struggling, I finished them both, but I'm glad I ate it all because I knew I had a long night ahead of me.
I weighed myself after my nap today... 280.5!!! It's tremendous to think that I'm less than a pound away from saying au revoir to the 280s forever. I've been stuck at this ten pound stretch for long enough that I'm thrilled to see it go.
Today, I can say I'm proud of myself. I love the way my body is changing, the way my clothes fit and the way I feel moving around.
It. Feels. Great.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
OH. MY. FUCKYESSSSS.
So I had my three month (actually, it's been four months now) follow-up with my neurologist today. I've been nervous all week, falling just short of dread, thinking that I wasn't making enough progress. I wasn't consistently taking my meds (I'm an entire bottle behind schedule) and I feel like my weight loss has been slow, which is silly because it's not like she said anything about needing to lose weight. This one was all my own.
So I walked into the hospital a few minutes late, took a detour to the restroom, and walked out to find that I was only a few steps behind her! I had to wait less than a minute after checking in with the receptionist before I was in an examination room.
We chatted about holiday travel plans and discussed headaches (which wasn't much of a discussion since I was first referred to her office lacking this single telltale symptom of IIH). She took her fancy tool and turned off the lights to take a look at my optic nerve after doing a quick visual field exam. This was the part I was worried about.
Her words: Almost perfect.
ALMOST PERFECT! I've never been so happy to be slightly abnormal. I had my Diamox dose increased slightly, now I'll be taking three pills at night instead of two, and the doc expects that I will be NORMAL come February when I have my next appointment.
My weight loss calculator also suggests that I'll have lost an additional 20 pounds by the day of my scheduled appointment, meaning that my total weight loss will be 10% of my starting weight, which was the original goal and the point at which IIH starts to be cured.
CURED. I expect to be off these meds by next summer. !!!!!
I took a minute to taking in the gravity of these words before I called all the people I love to let them know the news. And then I took my ass to the gym.
I did 46 minutes, 4 miles, 705 calories, my heart rate was consistently between 150-156 the entire time, averaging 59 RPMs. Oh, and I stepped it up to level 2 and I didn't even notice.
Oh. My. Fuck. Yesssssssss.
So I walked into the hospital a few minutes late, took a detour to the restroom, and walked out to find that I was only a few steps behind her! I had to wait less than a minute after checking in with the receptionist before I was in an examination room.
We chatted about holiday travel plans and discussed headaches (which wasn't much of a discussion since I was first referred to her office lacking this single telltale symptom of IIH). She took her fancy tool and turned off the lights to take a look at my optic nerve after doing a quick visual field exam. This was the part I was worried about.
Her words: Almost perfect.
ALMOST PERFECT! I've never been so happy to be slightly abnormal. I had my Diamox dose increased slightly, now I'll be taking three pills at night instead of two, and the doc expects that I will be NORMAL come February when I have my next appointment.
My weight loss calculator also suggests that I'll have lost an additional 20 pounds by the day of my scheduled appointment, meaning that my total weight loss will be 10% of my starting weight, which was the original goal and the point at which IIH starts to be cured.
CURED. I expect to be off these meds by next summer. !!!!!
I took a minute to taking in the gravity of these words before I called all the people I love to let them know the news. And then I took my ass to the gym.
I did 46 minutes, 4 miles, 705 calories, my heart rate was consistently between 150-156 the entire time, averaging 59 RPMs. Oh, and I stepped it up to level 2 and I didn't even notice.
Oh. My. Fuck. Yesssssssss.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
refreshing departure.
I had my second full-hour workout yesterday. I was having a bad day and I had forgotten my iPod at home, so I was feeling pretty dismal about the workout even before I had gotten started. I thought for sure I wasn't going to make it past 30 minutes.
Somewhere along the 18 minute mark I started having problems with my toes going numb, at 29 minutes I loosened my laces. Two minutes after that, I kicked off my shoes entirely. I finished the last half hour of my workout barefoot save a pair of thin ankle socks. Two things I noticed:
1. I can't go as fast without shoes. While I had the shoes on, I was consistently doing 57-59 RPMs. Barefoot, I couldn't break 54.
2. With shoes, I am significantly less aware of what's going on with my feet. That being said, I appreciate not having the distraction. It was annoying spending the last thirty minutes being hyper aware of the ridges and grooves of the pedals etching their shape onto the soles of my feet. Also, I was more prone to gradual slipping wearing only socks which was throwing off my stance.
Problems abound.
Progress has been slow, as expected. But I'm not discouraged! Quite the opposite, really. I feel better after I workout, it makes me feel happier and stronger and (dare I even say it?) sexier. I haven't lost much weight, but I feel different. Sure, my weight is still up there, but NOT FOR LONG! I feel like I'm well on my way to changing.
But still, things have been slow. So I've been doing some research to see if there's something I'm missing (like patience) or something I should be doing more of (exercising) or something I should cut back on (everything that enters my mouth). And instead, I get this shit from the Mayo Clinic:
"For most healthy adults, the Department of Health and Human Services recommends:"
Blah blah blah, I'm not a healthy adult. I'm 25, really overweight, and on a diuretic. Yes, I get the whole "diet and exercise" thing. But how much, how often, and how do you know you're doing it right?
Don't say weight loss, don't say weight loss, don't say weight loss.
Look, I'm not competing on the Biggest Loser here, I don't expect to lose ten pounds a week. I don't want my stomach stapled, and I don't want to develop an eating disorder. I'm too young and pretty to have to deal with saggy skin issues. Slow and steady wins the race, non?
But slow and steady is about to kill my drive if I don't get some affirmation from someone, somewhere... I just need to know that this is going to work.
I really need this to work.
Somewhere along the 18 minute mark I started having problems with my toes going numb, at 29 minutes I loosened my laces. Two minutes after that, I kicked off my shoes entirely. I finished the last half hour of my workout barefoot save a pair of thin ankle socks. Two things I noticed:
1. I can't go as fast without shoes. While I had the shoes on, I was consistently doing 57-59 RPMs. Barefoot, I couldn't break 54.
2. With shoes, I am significantly less aware of what's going on with my feet. That being said, I appreciate not having the distraction. It was annoying spending the last thirty minutes being hyper aware of the ridges and grooves of the pedals etching their shape onto the soles of my feet. Also, I was more prone to gradual slipping wearing only socks which was throwing off my stance.
Problems abound.
Progress has been slow, as expected. But I'm not discouraged! Quite the opposite, really. I feel better after I workout, it makes me feel happier and stronger and (dare I even say it?) sexier. I haven't lost much weight, but I feel different. Sure, my weight is still up there, but NOT FOR LONG! I feel like I'm well on my way to changing.
But still, things have been slow. So I've been doing some research to see if there's something I'm missing (like patience) or something I should be doing more of (exercising) or something I should cut back on (everything that enters my mouth). And instead, I get this shit from the Mayo Clinic:
"For most healthy adults, the Department of Health and Human Services recommends:"
Blah blah blah, I'm not a healthy adult. I'm 25, really overweight, and on a diuretic. Yes, I get the whole "diet and exercise" thing. But how much, how often, and how do you know you're doing it right?
Don't say weight loss, don't say weight loss, don't say weight loss.
Look, I'm not competing on the Biggest Loser here, I don't expect to lose ten pounds a week. I don't want my stomach stapled, and I don't want to develop an eating disorder. I'm too young and pretty to have to deal with saggy skin issues. Slow and steady wins the race, non?
But slow and steady is about to kill my drive if I don't get some affirmation from someone, somewhere... I just need to know that this is going to work.
I really need this to work.
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