New Years Resolutions

"Why am I soft in the middle now when the rest of my life is so hard?" from Call Me Al by Paul Simon

I try not to make a lot of resolutions, generally, because I don't want to mess up and have to pick up the pieces by May, but this year is different. I am certain that there are great things on the horizon in 2009, and I feel a sense of optimism in the air after the long dark night of the soul (and wallet) that was 2008.
So herein are my 2009 Resolutions, to whit:

1)As the song says, I need a little less hard times, I need a little more bliss. I intend to do things this year that are purely for pleasure and fun, regardless of whether or not they fit in with the rest of my plans. I need to get out of mourning and into the joy of living. I don't know what it will take, whether it will be some travel to Scotland, some serious canoodling with my hubby, a few visits to Book It Rep Theater, or just a few more stacks of good books to read (and the time to read them in), but I will do whatever it takes to ease the frown lines on my face, the hollow point in my heart where my best friend used to be, and the eternal ache in my colon and lower back. Even teatime with my friend Janine will be more of a priority on my joy list this year. I want to laugh, sing and do my thing!

2) 53 pounds are coming off this upholstered belly, if I have to kidnap a liposuctionist to get it off! Seriously, I have the food plan in action, I have the work out schedule down to a science, now all I need is for my fat cells to cooperate.

3) I will try to be more loving and patient with my family. My husband is not an easy man to live with, and my son is just as frustrating, especially when it comes to doing his homework or getting to bed on time or getting up in the morning, or brushing his teeth...you get the idea. When I get frustrated with lack of cooperation, I get mad. Granted, I don't have a hair trigger temper, but once my ire is roused, I'm told I go off like Mt Vesuvius. I need to learn to chill out, take a deep breath and try to put it in perspective...will it matter in 10 years?

4) I will get my Crohns under control. So far its been a rough year for my intestines, but I insist that they get back to being quiescent and not forcing me to sit in the bathroom for hours on end. I am tired of staring at the broken tiles on the bathroom floor, and trying to read some excellent SF magazine stories to keep my mind off the pain. I am tired of pain pills that make me groggy and emotional. I want to be normal, or as close to it as possible. I want to do an ab crunch without breaking wind!


5)I want to see my mom and Lloyd this year, along with Jim and Nick, because they've not seen Nick for 5 years, and that's too long to not lay eyes on your only grandchild. He needs to connect with his grandparents before they pass away, and Lloyd is 90 years old. My dad is 76, and in poor health. I worry that they won't get a chance to see how Nick has grown if they don't do it soon.


That's about it! Remember, we'll all be fine in 2009!

Holiday Work Outs

This has been a difficult holiday season for working out.
The weather has been unusually atrocious this year, with snow up over our rumps for an entire week!
Cabin fever was rampant at my house, as my husband, son and I couldn't get out of the driveway, let alone go to work, get to the store, or do much of anything else. The day before Christmas eve I tried walking into town and discovered that the side of the road (there are no sidewalks on Witte Road, which is a main thoroughfare in Maple Valley) was piled high with filthy brown snow that had a layer of crunchy ice on top, just to make it that much more difficult to walk through. But, as I was wading along, a nice guy in a Humvee stopped, insisted on taking me the rest of the way to the grocery store, and then told me I should find a friend with an SUV to drive me back. (I actually met up with a member of the MV Library Guild while in line at the store and she and her husband kindly agreed to take me and my groceries home..what a relief!) But when we could get out, I did my best to get to the Work It Out gym and use the elliptical machine for 45 minutes to an hour and then use the weight machines to keep building upper body strength. Yes, after working out for two years, I do have "guns" but they're still pudgy guns.
I also tried to keep from gorging on sweets, but I failed at least four times. I had vegan oatmeal raisin cookies over my birthday, then I had vegan lemon cookies, then I had a tofu cheesecake (though I didn't eat all of any of these dishes, I made sure I shared with neighbors, friends and family) and on Dec 26th I went to see "The Tale of Despereaux" with my son and he insisted we get popcorn and root beer, in addition to a box of sour patch kids for him to eat during the movie. I ate probably a couple of cups of popcorn and drank around 14 ounces of root beer, but lordy, did I feel sick all night afterwards! Popcorn has a lot of fiber, and root beer has too much sugary fizz, so I spent the night with my colon smacking around my insides and my stomach feeling like I'd swallowed a live badger...ouch! Next time I go see a movie, I am getting a very small bag of popcorn and drinking water with it, no matter how my son begs for soda!
Yet, despite all the holiday sugar noshing, I've lost 11 pounds in the last 8 weeks, which isn't too bad, especially considering the abbreviated workout schedule due to weather and holiday closure.
I will, I admit, be thrilled to get back to my usual schedule of Monday balls and weights class, Tuesday walking, Pilates and spin classes, Wednesday spin class, Thursdays off and Friday elliptical machine and weights, followed by Sunday spin. I am supposed to make it to Saturday morning cardio lift, but I often skip it because I love to sleep in on Saturdays. Once the pressure to make sweets is off, hopefully I will be able to keep them out of my weekly diet plan. I am on SparkPeople every day, writing down everything I eat and trying to keep to 1,500 calories or below and 210 grams of carbs a day. I often read the Sparkpages of others and read the message boards about how hard other gals have struggled to lose weight. It's always inspiring to read their accounts and realize that I am not alone.
I got a brand new pedometer for Christmas (we still haven't figured out how it works, however) to replace the one that I got for my birthday that I washed in the washing machine, which doesn't work too well anymore.
The snow is slowly melting, and with it my excuses for not taking a 3 to 4 mile walk with my Zune tuned to all those great songs from the 80s and 90s. One of my goals for the new year, besides losing another 53 pounds, is to walk more often and drink at least a liter of water a day. I need to find a walking buddy to go with me, or a diet buddy to discuss all the trials and tribulations of weight loss. I need to be more patient with myself, and try not to see my flaws as readily as I do, and to celebrate my successes, even though they're slow in coming, and often one or two pounds at a time. Every time I turn down a sweet snack, I need to learn to praise myself for being tough and looking at my long term goals.
Anyway, I got a new purple coat that is warm and waterproof for my birthday (size 1X, three sizes smaller than I was a couple of years ago) and I also got a pair of warm boots, so now I can walk without fear of inclement weather...huzzah!

My birthday gut feelings

Tomorrow, December 12, is my 48th birthday.
Baring a midlife crisis, I am trying to actually reflect on where I have been, where I am going, what it all means and how I am doing right now, scorecard wise, on the human, parental, career and life scales.
First up for consideration, my weight loss this past year. While not stellar, as it was when I was 28, (100 pounds in a year) 45 pounds is nothing to sniff at. My legs, thighs, butt and hips are all looking pretty good. My face has slimmed down, too, and my arms aren't as wattled as they once were. Gravity has had its way with me in the last 20 years, however, and my sagging breasts and drooping belly are a testament to that. I am trying to accept them with as much grace as possible, but its still difficult to face the lack of firmness on my torso when I bust a gut with ab exercises 4 times a week or more. I know there are muscles under that chub, I can feel them when I work out, but they're not going to be evident until 60 pounds fall off my person. And I am impatient enough about that to have daydreams of liposuction.
Which brings me to why those daydreams will stay just dreams; the death of my career in journalism. In case you've been hiding under a rock all year (and I can't say I'd blame you if you did, this year has SUCKED, big time) you might not have read the gruesome daily reports of newspapers and magazines closing, downsizing staff, cutting paper size and frequency of print runs, and publishing houses going under with alarming regularity. In short, the economy stinks, we're in a lousy recession that feels more like the second 'great depression' and there are a LOT of people out of work, broke and without prospects for employment any time soon. So I should be grateful (and I am, really) that my husband has a job, that we have managed to hang onto our house by our fingernails, and that we are able to eat regularly. My Crohns medications are costing us a fortune each week, and our crappy insurance won't cover them for more than a month, so unless the pharmaceutical company decides to have mercy on us and allow us a deep discount on Pentasa, that financial hemorage isn't going to change, unfortunately. At any rate, this has been my worst year yet as a freelance writer/reporter. I have only worked on brief projects and one-time articles that have yielded me all of maybe a thousand dollars over the course of the year. The year prior I was able to get a couple of larger projects that saved the day, financially speaking, but this year legitimate freelance work has been hard to come by, though there have been hordes of scam artists and sleazy web publishers willing to manipulate writers into working for free, or worse, working for rates so low they are insulting. I have had more than one web magazine/page publisher tell me that I should be grateful they offer to pay me $20 or $30 for an article at all, when there are so many writers out there willing to work for 'the publicity' and 'exposure' alone. Poppycock! Any writer dumb enough to work for non existent publicity isn't really a professional writer anyway, and the web site will get what it pays for, which is horrible, sloppy, error-filled copy that isn't worth reading. I have gotten a little work with a marketing company, and that has proven to be a nice learning experience, as I was able to learn to write press releases and gain some knowledge into that industry. And the woman I've been working for is a lovely person who pays me on time, which is refreshing, since I've had to beg editors of magazines to pay me for work I completed 6 months ago. The stress of sending out queries, resumes, letters to editors and soforth, and only getting a response one time out of 100 has been tremendous.
Which leads me to the state of my Crohns Disease, which is not good. I've been having bad Crohns flares now since May, at least 4 times a week, more when I stopped taking Nortryptaline at night because it causes heart palpitations. Without Nortryptaline, I had Crohns flares every day, twice a day, and that got old really fast. I don't like having to spend hours in pain, in the bathroom, tied to a toilet. So now that I am on my specialized food plan via WIO, I am eating more high fiber foods, and my spasming colon is wringing the life out of me every other day. I have to take pain pills just to function, which is no fun at all, and makes me depressed and tired. Yet I continue my struggle against fat every day, and I work out 5 to 6 times a week, and do my best to eat correctly, though I have to constantly be vigilant against my evil sweet tooth, which finds new ways to tempt me daily. I have learned that I cannot be trusted around sweets. I will eat them if they are there. I will over eat them if I can, and there is nothing in this world that will make me stop craving sugar and bread, except perhaps death (and even then, it wouldn't surprise me if I ended up in the angel bakery in heaven, snarfing down vegan cookies and cinnamon rolls). I know it isn't politically correct to say this, but I could live on bread and fruit and sugar and seafood. Other than soymilk, I wouldn't miss anything else, especially since I can't eat dairy, eggs, nuts and onions. It is really hard for me to eat low calorie multigrain bread that tastes like cardboard and makes me ill. It's harder to eat vegetables like spinach and broccoli that I know will hurt my colon like heck. It's harder still to not be able to eat oatmeal in any form, because I love the stuff, but it doesn't love my bowels. So losing this next 60 pounds is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done, because I am going to have to get used to going hungry. I didn't have a problem with that 20 years ago, because after working out in the evening, I usually didn't feel like eating supper, and if I did, I wanted, at most, a small bowl of grapenuts and milk. My metabolism soared, I ate a mostly vegetarian diet of small amounts of breads/cereals and fruits, sometimes meats, and I was good. Now after I work out in the evening, I am starving, and supper is supposed to be my smallest meal of the day, low in carbs and fat. So each night I wrestle with frustration and hunger, and sometimes I win, while other times I lose and end up eating more than I should.
On the parental side of things, I am not certain when it happened, but my son has somehow morphed into this kid who is lazy and doesn't want to do anything but eat everything that isn't nailed down (especially if it is junk food or candy) and play video games or watch TV shows that are for teenagers, not for 9 year old boys. He was evaluated this week by an occupational therapist who basically said that his handwriting problem is due to his laziness, and though he could use some more shoulder and core strength (read: he needs to get out and exercise more often), she wasn't concerned about him needing any special help to learn to write and spell properly. We have to work with him every night on his writing and spelling, but the OT seemed to think it was merely his gender, and boys general lack of linguistic skills, or being late to come into those skills (vs girls) that was at fault for his illegible handwriting. It's also hard to get Nick to go to bed at night, and really hard to get him awake and dressed and fed in the morning. So Jim and I had a talk with Nick about being more responsible and growing up now that he's 9. Nick responded by retreating to his room and crying himself to sleep. Hence, I felt like the worlds crappiest mom, and the stress wasn't helpful in getting me to sleep, either. Nick is generally a good boy, he is bright, has a great sense of humor and is a loving person. He's just not easy to parent, and he becomes harder to work with the older he gets. I am not looking forward to the skirmishes of the teenage years at all. But on balance, I'd say I am a decent parent, and that as long as Nick doesn't turn out to be a serial killer, I will have done my job properly.
So far, I've gotten a snuggly blanket, flannel sheets and a gift card for a new waterproof coat for my birthday, so I will be warm, if nothing else, in the coming year. Here's hoping things are looking up for 2009.

Metabolisms are UNFAIR

I've been contemplating why it is that I got stuck with a slower-than-molasses-in-January metabolism my whole life, when there are people out there who can eat well and all day long and not gain a pound.
Two examples that have crept up on me:
Michael Phelps, the Olympic swimming phenom, was being interviewed by Anderson Cooper on a news program last night. He sat down for lunch with Cooper, and ordered THREE full sized entrees. I assumed that he was going to share one with skinny old Cooper, but no, Cooper had to order his own because Phelps said he was hungry and was going to eat ALL three meals himself. He noted that the press has inflated the amount of calories he consumes per day to 12,000, when in reality he only eats anywhere from "8 to 10,000 calories a day, because if I don't, I can lose from 5 to 10 pounds a week." ARG! This, said with a complete deadpan delivery, like its the most normal thing in the world to consume over a weeks worth of calories in a day.
Of course, Phelps is tall, rippling with lean muscle, and all of 23 years old, and he swims laps all day when he's not out doing speeches or promoting some product and making millions.
But even if I swam continuously for 2.5 hours, I still wouldn't be able to eat 8,000 calories a day and not gain weight. If I even looked at two slices of white bread, toasted, with a dollop of all fruit jam and a cup of tea, my hips would explode with fat and my stretch marks expand exponentially.
I hate Michael Phelps and his speedy DSL metabolism! Damn it!
Second example, I was in QFC a couple of weeks ago, behind a skinny older gal with brassy dyed red hair (I say that as someone who dyes their hair dark red/brown every two weeks). She was buying 7 bottles of wine (yes, 7, I counted) three kinds of ham, a boutique butter from Ireland, some fancy cheese, croissants, those fancy chocolate laden granola bars that are really just candy bars with a little oatmeal in them, rice krispie treats, a pie and two pints of Hagen Daz ice cream. There were a couple of other things in there, but none of them even resembled a vegetable or raw fruit. She was holding a TWO POUND bag of M&Ms (plain)in her scrawny hand, and told the clerk to scan it so she could put it in her handbag and eat it on the way home. When I asked her if she was having a party, she said "No, this is for me, I'm just stocking up for the week." Let us pause for a moment and consider that this woman is going to dive into two pounds of chocolate on the way home, where she then plans to drink one bottle of wine a night for an entire week. And she will, doubtless, remain thin throughout this orgy of bad foods, and will probably outlive fat old me, though she appeared to be at least 7 years my senior.
It took everything I had not to smack her soundly right there in the grocery store.
Why is it fair that I can't even eat most chocolate now, because American chocolate is laden with dairy products that my colon won't tolerate, and some scrawny old weazel can just suck up pounds of the stuff along with liters of fine wine and not have to worry about her hips exploding exponentially?
@@#$$#%$#^#)+!(&*%^&#^@(#$!!!--(this is my way of cyber-swearing at the unfairness of it all).
I hated that woman for all of the 10 minutes it took her to pay for all her indulgences, get them packed into her cart and schlep out of the store.
I just want to be able to live on breads, fruit and soymilk, with the occasional vegan dessert or shrimp and pasta dish. Is that so wrong? I like veggies, they just don't seem to like me or my Crohns. But I could do without chicken or beef, and I can't eat eggs or nuts due to allergies, so I am left with a very limited choice of foods, and I have to say that the whole grain pastas and breads not only taste bad, they make their way through me way too fast. I love oatmeal, but that also swishes through me at lightening speed, as do the dried fruits (dried cherries, cranberries, raisins, apricots and dates are my favorites) that I love, but can't eat because they not only set my colon aflame, they add pounds to my personage.
It's unfair and it sucks, folks. Just wanted to be sure you caught the theme of my post.
Other than that, I've developed a cold, my nose is stuffy and my head aches. You'd think that would dampen my appetite, wouldn't you? But you'd be wrong. I am still hungry, I am just tired now because I can't sleep well when my nose is blocked. And it's only December 1st! I have a whole month ahead of me where I get to skimp on carbs and try to dodge cold germs and rhino viruses.

Kung Fu Panda and the New Food Plan

So my family and I were watching the cartoon film, "Kung Fu Panda" last week, and it occured to me that Po, the Panda and I are roughly the same shape,(small at the top, round in the middle, smaller again at the bottom) and doubtless I look about the same as he does when I exercise, huffing and puffing and getting it done, but sporting a ball of pudge in the middle as I do so. Yet Po, who refused to be daunted by the fact that, though he'd dreamed of learning Kung Fu all his life, the master didn't want to teach him and the other students laughed at him and rejected his friendship, still managed to use his size to his advantage to beat the evil Kai Lung in battle. Kai Lung taunts him by saying he refuses to be defeated by just a 'big fat panda' and Po responds "I am THE big fat Panda," and goes on to kick the much stronger tiger's butt. If nothing else, I know that I am in much better shape than I was 2 years ago when I started at Work It Out. I have less body fat and I am firmer in many places. But it does get disheartening to realize that my upholstered belly is going to be the last thing to go as I lose weight, and that all the effort I spend working my abdominal muscles will never show until the belly is gone.
Meanwhile, I'm on a new carbohydrate rotation program, kindly tailored to my dietary restrictions/requirements by Carol Kayler, the wonder woman of Maple Valley.
The best thing about the plan is that I have to enter all my food choices into Sparkpeople's food tracker and I can see how many calories, carbs, fat and protein I consume each day. The tough thing is that I have to cut out a lot of the carbs I am consuming, and I have to up my protein and water intake. Not unlike real Panda bears, I am not a big fan of protein, preferring breads/cereals and fruit to any other food category. But if I am to remove some of the stuffing from my gut, I have to get low on the carb scale and make sure my portions are regulation, or single-serving size.
This also means I have to go hungry at least once a day, because I can't eat until I am full. While this wasn't a problem for me 20 years ago, I am finding it is much harder to go hungry now that I am a fat middle aged housefrau on the verge of menopause. On this plan I am not supposed to eat after 7 pm, which is nearly impossible because my diabetic hubby doesn't get home until 6 pm, when I then rush to don the stretchy pants and drive off to WIO for 6:30 class every evening. I don't get home until 7:45, and I am always hungry for supper then. I usually have consumed all the carbs I am allowed by 4 pm, so I try to keep it to protein and vegetables or fruit, but by 10 pm I am always starving, stomach growling and yearning for some kind of carb that has crumbs, like cornbread or cereal. So there I am, watching one of the programs I've TiVo'd after Nick goes to bed, fighting myself tooth and nail to not run upstairs and have some toast and tea, or a bowl of cereal with soymilk. And since being on this food plan, my Crohns has decided to flare every other morning, so I don't feel like eating the only meal that I am encouraged to eat, breakfast. All the whole grains, fruits and vegetables are good for my health, I am sure, in the general sense, but my colon hates them. Another troublesome aspect of my new food/lifestyle plan is that I am only allowed one day off from workouts. I was giving myself two days off, mainly because I spend four hours most Tuesdays exercising, two walking, one in Pilates and one in spin. I figure that should earn me an extra day without sweat. But now I am supposed to step it up even more and have two heavy training days, which I am unsure how to accomplish without falling to complete exhaustion. Still, one of the few traits I possess is to be dogged and persistent, and keep trying until I just can't do any more. So, like that big fat Panda, I fight on and just keep doing the best that I can. Though I have a goal of losing 60 pounds by summer of next year, I often think that I probably won't make it, nor do I know where I will get the money to fly back for my 30th high school reunion, so its highly unlikely that I will go. I find myself thinking that if God had meant me to be svelte more than once in my life, He would have given me better genes from the thin side of the family, instead of carbon copying my shape from the fat barrel-shaped bozos on my dads side of the family (fortunately I didn't inherit the huge ugly nose that plagues that side of the family as well).
So why bother to put myself through all this again? I don't know. Maybe because I am stubborn and don't want to be a quitter, or maybe because I enjoy feeling more muscular and firm, and I like working out with other women and hearing their stories. I am a very social creature at heart, and I like sharing sweat time with other people. I'd also like to think I am reaping some health benefits from working out, if nothing else to stave off osteoporosis, breast cancer and heart attacks/stroke, which, in addition to diabetes, have been a plague on my family for generations. In the end, though, I know I can't respect myself if I don't try to regain the figure I had after losing 100 pounds with Women at Large in the 1980s. All I can do is move forward, and keep doggedly trying to win the struggle with myself.

The House of Tres Diseases

This week I dragged my overweight husband and son to their respective doctors offices, because I am tired of being the one to have to care for all their symptoms with nothing but whatever I've managed to cobble together.
I've been telling my husband that he has unregulated diabetes for the past two years, but he has refused to entertain the thought that he might have to change his crappy diet and stop swilling beer and learn to exercise. It took a glucose tolerance test and a whole day with his doctor explaining to him that a fasting blood sugar of 279, followed by a glucose intolerant 459 and 600 are proof positive that he's deeply into the throes of this cruel disease. He still didn't want to hear it, but he had to, and now I am having to argue with him every day about what he can and cannot eat, trying to keep him away from the beer aisle at the store, and making sure that I cook nutritious meals for the whole family that aren't riddled with carbohydrates, but balanced in portion size and with something from the main food groups.
Meanwhile, Nick has had to get a steroid/albuterol inhalor and start on Singulair to keep his asthma and allergy symptoms under control. We still have to give him Claritin and Benedryl regularly, because he can't seem to keep away from animal dander, which he's highly allergic to (so am I, but I don't have to live with a guinea pig in my classroom at school for 6 hours a day). We're supposed to take Nick into Childrens Hospital for tests of his fine motor skills, because his handwriting is so poor, and we're supposed to take him to the NW Asthma and Allergy Center near Childrens for allergy scratch tests ASAP.
Unfortunately, we don't have insurance and its an hour and a half drive to these places, so we've not made an appointment yet. And speaking of insurance, we found out this week that since last year when we were without insurance, my Pentasa (one of the three meds I take for Crohns Disease) has doubled in price, from 240 to 500 for a months supply! Of course, this comes at a time when we are barely able to put food on the table and pay the mortgage.
At any rate, now I have to watch out for Jim and Nicks upholstered bellies in addition to my own. I find myself wondering how I got into this position. I told myself when I was a teenager that I would NOT marry anyone like my older brother, the type 1 diabetic who just wanted people to wait on him and take care of him all day, every day when he was perfectly capable of caring for himself, at least initially (he eventually died of the complications of diabetes at age 33) nor would I marry someone like my father, the type 2 diabetic who was selfish, immature and who also felt that women existed to care for him. I wanted to live the life of a traveling journalist with endless adventures and a large stack of books to be read. Sigh.
So I'm now officially in the market for a stationary bike or an eliptical machine that I can install in the livingroom this winter so my husband has no excuses for not getting off his rump and working off some of the calories he's consuming. I still plan on working out 6 times a week, but I am going to add some mandatory walks to my regimen so I can drag Jim and Nick out into the lovely fall air and get them to move.
My Crohns flares have slowed considerably, while my heart palpitations and insomnia has increased to nearly every night.
Jim's invitation to his 30th high school reunion came to my email inbox instead of his, so I was reminded that I don't have long before I should reach my goal (of being fit by my 30th high school reunion), and I still have that 60 pounds around my middle that won't budge. Though I haven't given up, I feel like I have to concentrate on others goals now instead of focusing on my own.

An Apology and Other Things I Do Not Like To Admit

Janice Zander, co-owner of Work It Out Women's Fitness, my beloved gym of choice here in Maple Valley, apparently found some things on this blog that set her off after googling her own name (always a dangerous practice, I've found, as it inevitably leads to finding out that someone has hijacked your work or that someone hates you or both).

She claims I said she was mean and never modifies her workouts for those of us who are, shall we say, slower and more cumbersome due to some additional avoirdupois around our midsections.

While I don't recall saying she was mean, ever, I do recall discussing her lack of breaks for water and breathing during workouts and the fact that she pushes people in her classes to work to their physical limit. And though she has allowed me to modify aspects of her workout (mainly because I could not physically do certain things, like a backwards crab walk up a steep incline, or a wheelbarrow across a room...come on now, how do you expect me to heft that much body weight up that way?) she is not inclined to make things easier for participants in her class. But that is because Janice has very high standards, and she's not one for coddling those she's training. She figures if she can do it, so can you. Though I outweigh the woman by 120 pounds, I believe she feels that I should be able to accomplish most, if not all, the exercises she sets forth. So I try, and even when I fail, I never feel bad about it because Janice doesn't give up on me, and encourages me to try again until I can do it right.

It is because of that "never give up" attitude and will to succeed that Janice has won two trophies in only her first year of figure and fitness competitions, and that attitude has also helped me to survive her tough boot camp this past summer, and lose 43 pounds over the last two years. Carol Kayler's help and advice for my first boot camp was also invaluable. These two women, Carol and Janice, have literally changed my life. They've helped me see that fitness isn't just something you do for a short time, it is a habit for life. They've helped me uncover my comfort-food stressed out mama eating habits, they've pointed to my portion problems and they've believed in me and my health and fitness journey when I didn't believe in myself.

Let me be clear here: I LOVE these two women from their toenails to their hair folicles. I would swim the English Channel in a thong for them, though I am sure I'd scare away all the fish. Carol Kayler is an amazing, lovely human being and a strong, smart mother to her children, and I aspire to be more like her with my own child all the time. Janice is also an amazing human being, and she's raised three handsome and wonderful sons who are a credit to their gender, which is saying something considering the bad press that teenage boys get these days. She's not only given me valuable insight into raising a boy, she's also helped me to understand my own husband and how he thinks and deals with life. And I've watched Janice get on a stage with little or nothing on, smile and flex her muscles and deal with photographers and a crowd of people without flinching or showing her natural reticence and reluctance for posing and displaying her body. Though there is a shyness to Janice, she hasn't allowed it to stop or even slow her rise to fame and fortune in the bodybuilding/fitness competition arena.

In creating an article about Janice's journey for American Fitness, I was amazed at all the hard work and diligence that went into a few minutes of flexing and smiling on a stage for judges. Then, as is her modus operandi, Janice took it to the next level and started working a fitness routine requiring moves like a one-handed push up and leaps into the air, splits and dance steps that left onlookers at the gym breathless at her strength and agility. Janice is all of 5 feet tall and weighs maybe 110 pounds, 99 percent of it muscle. Still, most people would never guess that she's stronger than most men, and can put them through an obstacle course that will have them gasping and weeping like babies by the time they're through. I am astonished that I was able to make it through her boot camp this summer without having to have CPR performed on my pudgy body. There were several times there when I was certain I was going to puke, pass out or pop an artery. It is to Janice's credit that I didn't. And though I was always the last person to finish any given run, exercise or obstacle course, she never made fun of me, laughed or let me give up. She always encouraged me to keep at it, and though I was always trying to find an easier way to do things, she didn't get hacked off, she just made me keep at it until I made it through.

So again, let me be clear: I in no way intended to disparage Janice Zander. She's an amazing personal trainer, boot camp/ class instructor, drill sergeant, wife and mom and all around incredible person. I am honored to know her, and though I am a big lump of whiney wimp a lot of the time, she has yet to shun me or give up on my progress. How can you not love that about a person? Please allow me to apologise profusely, and knock my forehead against the floor in abasement. Forgive me?

Janice's classes are tough, and anyone would tell you so, but challenging yourself is important when you are trying to be physically fit, or at least healthier. I am always wiped out when I finish one of her classes, but I also feel a sense of accomplishment and pride that I didn't pass out, puke or die during class. Janice has given me faith in my ability to overcome my belly and Crohns and Asthma to become a healthier person.

Meanwhile, on the list of other things I'd rather not admit, my husband has been watching me have more Crohns attacks per day this month and has noticed that I've been sick since the end of May with Crohns flares, which are no fun at all, though I have caught up on some of my reading (what else is there to do in the bathroom for hours when you're in pain?).
However, I didn't want to admit that this whole roller coaster began when I stopped taking Nortryptaline at night,on the advice of my cardiologist who said it might be the cause of my irregular heartbeat and palpitations that woke me at night. In the past 4 months, my heart palpitations have all but disappeared, but I was getting up every morning with a flare and going to bed every night with one, and taking lots of percoset to stop the pain. So on Jims suggestion I took two Nortryptaline last Wednesday night, just to see if it would help. I'd already increased my dosage of my other Crohns medications to their full limit, and I'd added Levsin and Lomotil to the roster of pills, but they weren't helping me at all.
Thursday was the first day in a long time that I didn't have a flare. So I took only one Nortryptaline, which was the dosage I'd stayed with previously, Thursday night, and Friday came and went without a flare. I've been having at least one episode of pounding palpitations every night, though, and I am finding it hard to fall asleep, as the Nortryptaline makes me nervous, but I've been without a flare since last week, and I am loving it.

I'm uncertain whether it is worth it to just have the irregular heartbeat and horrible sugar cravings and weight gain that come with this particular pill, or whether I should just bear up under the pain of a continual Crohns flare. I hate pain, but I've worked so hard to lose weight, I hate to start gaining it again, too. It is hard to admit that hubby was right about the Nortryptaline, though, but in the long run, he just wants what is best for me, I suppose. Now it is up to me to find a new gastroenterologist or to just deal with my heart racing and some insomnia.

Pills, Ills and Thrills

"in spite of illness, in spite even of the arch-enemy sorrow, one can remain alive long past the usual date of disintegration if one is unafraid of change, insatiable in intellectual curiosity, interested in big things and happy in small ones" Edith Wharton.

"I've come to understand that I am as unfinished as the shoreline along the beach. If you stand on the sand and watch wave after wave, each leaves the beach looking just a little different. So it is with people---we are all unfinished and meant to transcend ourselves again and again throughout a lifetime." Joan Anderson

I totally agree with the above wise statements.
I discovered last week that I've lost three pounds in the last two months, which is a somewhat phyrric victory, as I've also been sick with Crohns flares nearly every day for the past three months. I've had to take naprosin and percoset to keep the pain at bay, and that always depresses me. But I've kept to my exercise regimen of working out 5-6 times a week and trying not to eat too much sugar, as well as consuming carbs in moderation. I've failed at that several times, mainly because I love sugar and bread, and, as my diet is so limited with the excising of dairy, eggs, nuts, mushrooms, onions and strawberries, I always feel that I need to have something to eat that has sweetness or some kind of flavor that I enjoy. Hubby brought home a loaf of fresh country bread from Great Harvest Bakery and I consumed half the loaf with Smart Balance Lite margerine and all fruit jam lickety split, within an hour. I was groaning as my gut expanded all that bread during balls and weights class, though....Janice and Carol had the last laugh as I nearly barfed on the gym floor.
Since my husbands contract ended Friday, our insurance is due to run out tomorrow, and I called the doctors office asking them to call in my Crohns meds ASAP so that I could still get a supply while the insurance was intact. Bartell Pharmacy refused to fill the prescription before my insurance runs out, though, and as my gastro doc is out of town for three weeks, the doctor on call said he doesn't feel that he can change the prescription so that I can get my meds for the insurance-covered price, which is affordable. Pentasa has no generic, and my other Crohns med is still expensive without insurance. Yet my husband kept hissing at me that the pharmacists had no right to know that we were without insurance in a few days. I contend that they'd find out anyway, when they contacted the company and were refused payment on my prescription. So I am screwed when my pills run out, as I can't afford to buy them without insurance. Of course, my son chose that moment to say he felt ill, and was certain he had a cold. I'm equally certain he is just riddled with allergy because he's been cuddling and caring for a scrofulous old cat with one eye that has lived in this neighborhood for years and is skinny enough to garner sympathy from an eight year old boy. Because Nick gave this old cat tuna and hot dogs and milk and whatever else he could procure from our pantry, the cat now thinks he belongs in our house. Eww. And Nick is all stuffed up, wheezing and sneezing with eyes all red and itchy because he can't seem to keep his hands off the ugliest cat in Christendom. So I had to deal with my husbands outrage at the pharmacy and my sons whining and sniffling while simultaneously trying to convince the pharmacist that I need my medications now. It was not pleasant.
However, I did find a tea set at a garage sale, and I plan on going to visit my good friend Janine this weekend, so there is light on the horizon, and the day isn't a total waste yet.
I am hoping to get a nice walk in on Monday, which is labor day, and I will have to walk to Nicks school on Tuesday just to schlep all his extra supplies to his classroom.
Here's to hoping for some bona fortuna coming up in September, when my stepfather turns 90!

Crohn's Groans

As I sit in pain on the toilet for hours everyday with Crohn's flares, I've had time to contemplate a number of things about life, the universe and my gut.
I find myself wondering if, for example, the spasms that wrack my intestines would hurt as badly if I had a flat stomach, rippling with a 4-pack (*a six pack is too much to hope for at my age).I've noticed that if I hold in my gut muscles, it sometimes helps subdue the waves of pain that I have during a flare.
How do people whose diets consist mainly of rice and beans, those gas producing legumes, manage their Crohns? Do they just break wind a lot after bloating up, or does their body become accustomed to it and not react that way?
Why would anyone want to become a colo-rectal surgeon? Why would anyone dig being a gastroenterologist,for that matter? Yuck. All you deal with all day is butts and guts. How does one acquire granulomas in your gut lining, and why won't they heal up or go away? Why can't surgeons just cut the fat off ones liver, ones belly, ones breasts? Does it actually serve any purpose other than storage of hormones and vitamins?
I often take the time to revise song lyrics to fit the situation while I'm in the restroom. I sing "Pain of Fools" instead of Chain of Fools, Take a piece of my gut, instead of take a piece of my heart, etc. I also hum songs that I find inspirational, like Natasha Bedingfields "Unwritten" and Celine Dions "Because You Loved Me" because they give me hope that the pain will be short lived. I practice breathing in through the nose and out through the mouth in big breaths, and I concentrate on 'surfing' the wave of pain, letting it flow through me. I read books or magazines that are beautiful, and I sometimes light a candle as a form of prayer, to let God know that I am not going to let the suffering conquer me. I use a heating pad on the left side of my belly, where it hurts the most, and often that soothes me to sleep after I've taken all the anti-spasmotics and pain pills that I can safely consume.
Crohns stinks, both literally and figuratively, but when I have a day or even a week without pain, and I make it through an exercise class when I didn't feel well, I know I've triumphed over a disease that has crashed many a colon.

The Wheels on the Bike Go Round and Round

So spin is beginning to suck, mainly because there is so much of it. There's no other classes in the evening, besides Pilates and Balls and Weights on Wednesdays (and the occaisional yoga class, but I just do NOT do yoga...can't twist this Winne the Pooh body into those positions, sorry), so if I want to get any exercise in, I just have to hop on a bike and feel the pain of my aching ass and my cramping colon as I spin round and round on that ugly yellow stationary bike for the millionth time. Angela and Laura are the only teachers we have left, as Danielle seems to have flown the coop, and Billie is on vacation until the end of August.
Despite her sweet Cindy Lou Who/Kelly Clarkson face, Angela is a very tough instructor who can totally kick your butt (and abs, and glutes and thighs) in 55 minutes. Having faced down cancer 4 times in her young life (she's only 31), she's fearless, and refuses to give quarter to old bloated ninnies like me who have weak knees, fat bellies and horrible hemeroids.
Add to this the stress of having a three month long Crohns flare, an early end to my husbands contract at Microsoft, a bored 8-year-old who only wants to eat junk food all day and play with his buddies (who are all wiling away the days in expensive sports camps), hubbys emergency root canal and subsequent consuming of mass quantities of percoset and beer, two editors throwing an assignment back in my face because "no one in our demographic reads anymore" and binging on three dozen homemade lemon vegan cookies, and you have my disastrous life this past week. My husband is a nervous, whining wreak, my son is pudgy and bored, and I am gripping onto the ledge of my sanity for all I am worth, with faith in God and hope for the future of the people I love. Oh, and the brakes are going out on the car, which has a cracked windshield and a broken drivers side window. We don't have the money to have the brakes fixed, so I can only assume we're going to end up in some terrible auto accident that will hopefully not be fatal one of these days.
Other than that, things are fine, and you?
One of the few bright spots this week was a freelance friend of mine, Dana, who hasn't seen me in a year was amazed at how much weight I've lost, and told me "You look great!"
So my 5-6 times a week workout has had some results. I am still 60 pounds too heavy, but I am much firmer than I was a year and a half ago. I also feel like the gals at the WIO gym are so supportive and caring that I've got friends who will listen and understand my dilemas no matter how ridiculous or awful they are. And I can look forward to the fall, when my son will be back in school for 5 hours a day, so I can take walks, plus there will be a new, beefier schedule at the gym, and more classes to choose from. Instructors will return from vacation and there will be new instructors, which is a blessing, as no two teachers teach alike, which is good for our muscles.
This whole year has been a beast, but as we fall into the final third of the annus horribilus, let us hope that something has been learned, ties deepened and that Gods plan, unknowable to us, has been unfolding, as it should.

Spin Salvation

I completed boot camp on June 6, and then ran/walked the Take Steps Crohns and Colitis Foundation 3 mile walkathon the next day in Magnussen Park in Seattle.
I was disappointed by my results from Boot Camp, as I only lost 6 pounds and 6.5 inches. Granted, that's not bad for four weeks, but I lost 10 pounds and many more inches in Carol's six week boot camp last year. So the bar was set higher for this years boot camp. Yet, though I worked myself to exhaustion, I didn't really feel like I was gaining muscle and losing fat. That could be because I had all that trouble with portion sizes (and I never did seem to get it right--Janice was critical of my food choices right up to the last week) or it could be because this boot camp wasn't as fun as Carols "Biggest Loser" camp. I bonded big time with the gals in that camp, and Janices boot camp had guys that added a competitive edge to the workouts that somehow felt judgmental to me, like I was being smirked at because I always came in last on every jog, every skip-walk, every wierd frog jump, inchworm or other seemingly innocent but totally brutal exercise we were made to perform. I still can't do crab-walks backwards, by the way. Just can't lift my body weight onto my wrists and scuttle like seafood uphill. I am not built to scuttle. The best I can manage is a lame lope.
Anyway, I only went to boot camp 3-4 times a week, because I refused to give up my beloved spin class, especially since its taught by the goddess of glutes and princess of pecs, Danielle, who, bless her, makes a religious experience out of Tuesday nights hour long stationary bike ride. Somehow, I always leave her class feeling like I've accomplished something important for my mind, my body and my soul. She's like Depak Chopra channeled into a pretty blonde California beach gal. She was my salvation while I was in boot camp, when I just wanted to toss in the towel and quit, because Danielle, and the other participants in the class, managed to convince me that all was not lost, and that I just had to keep on trying, and all would be well. "Its all in how you think about yourself, and visualize where you want to be with your body," she'd say, and somehow, her kindness and enthusiasm rubbed off and I'd go back to boot camp determined not to look like such a porky dork.
Of course, I've had a long-running Crohn's flare that decided to jump me the evening I began boot camp, and it didn't let up the whole four weeks, so I had to consume a lot of pain pills, Aleve, and extra Pentasa just to be able to stay out of the bathroom long enough to get through an hour of boot camp. Percoset, Naprosin and Levsin, oh my! Now I have Lomotil to add to the line up, because I finally got ahold of my grumpy gastro doc and his nurse, Amy Jo (who is an angel) called it into the pharmacy for me, bless her. But over 5 weeks of having a flare really takes it out of you, and pain meds make me feel tired and depressed, so that could be another reason that this boot camp didn't feel quite right to me. So now Carol and Janice and Angela, another great spin instructor, are encouraging me to do the WIO Triathalon on July 27 at Lake Wilderness. I can float along like a buoy for the swimming part, and I am sure that I can ride a bike, but the running part will be the real challenge, as I am just not a runner. I can jog for 5 minutes or so, but then I have to slow down and walk, and then jog again when I catch my breath. Takes me forever to do a mile (though I shaved 3 minutes off my boot camp mile, from 18 to 15 minutes).So I am giving it some thought, and I might just be challenged to give it a try. Jim said he'd even be willing to try it with me. Who knows, we might even do it as a family!

Passion and Portions

" I'm not going to look in the mirror and get disappointed that I don't look the way I want to now. It will come. But it will take a while. And you know...that's ok. I'm changing. When the changes come and are visible...then great, but it's ok if I don't see them yet. I just know that everyday I'm going to make better decisions." from a post on SparkPeople message boards.


I want to get into the groove of the above poster. I want to not be so frustrated and disappointed in myself because I still have a belly. I want to be able to eat one serving of food and be satisfied.
But let me state that this can, and will happen, its just a matter of time and a battle of wills with my passionate self.
I'm a sensualist, in that I love tasting, smelling, feeling, hearing and seeing beautiful things, and even ordinary things. I find joy in the sound of the creek in our backyard, the smell of fresh concrete and the sound of children laughing. I adore the feel of velvet and satin, combed cotton or fluffy chenile against my skin.
And I love the taste of food.
I have no problem eating healthy, mainly because I grew up eating healthy foods that my mother prepared. She also managed to bake a number of great treats in her kitchen, and I indulged my sweet tooth often, because the steroids I had to take for asthma left me with no feeling of satiety. I was always hungry, didn't matter if I'd just had dinner or not. But I did eat something from the four food groups at every meal, and I learned to love the flavors of fresh food. We got all our meat from my grandparents farms, so I also grew up with real Angus beef that wasn't fed any hormones or antibiotics. Yet I wasn't very fond of beef, and for the most part I ate small amounts because I wasn't all that fond of the taste of steak (though I always loved roasts and stews). We always had a truck patch in our backyard, and grew a lot of our own veggies, as did our neighbors, so we'd swap pounds of tomatoes for pounds of pole beans and cucumbers for beets or muskmelon (anyone outside of Iowa calls them cantaloupes). Since moving to Seattle, a whole world of seafood tastes have opened up to me, and I've come to adore sushi and salmon, tilapia and tuna.
My problem with eating good food has been that I love it too much...I eat more than one serving of blueberries, more than one serving of fish, more than two servings of broccoli.
Now that I'm in boot camp, Janice is having none of this excess portions, and came to my home yesterday to show me how much I can eat.
She showed me that in making a cup of my pinhead or steel cut oatmeal, and then eating the resultant several cups, I am eating somewhere around 8 servings of food, which isn't a good idea calorie wise or belly-wise. She grabbed a small plate from my cupboard and showed me that I could eat a fist-sized serving of each food, protein, carb, veg/fruit, for each meal, but that was all. No seconds or thirds of pasta, no 3 cups of salad.
I am going to have to get used to not being so enamored of my taste buds that I keep eating until I am full. I will have to be a bit hungry until my stomach shrinks up, something I am not looking forward to at all. The sensualist who is passionate about beautiful food and all the other senses is going to have to tone it down when it comes to my lust for taste.
Ah passion, its such a double-edged sword, especially for someone with an Italian heart.

Discouraged about Veg

I've enrolled in Janice's very tough 4 week boot camp, mainly because she's been kind enough to give me a free ride, (because I'd written a story about her bodybuilding journey) and because Carol says that I have graduated from the easier 6 week boot camp and I'm ready for a good pounding from Janice.
The first week started out on the wrong foot, when I ate a cup of Kalamata olives the Sunday night before and bloated up with 6 extra pounds of water weight. I was astonished at the number on the scale, but was being processed so quickly that I didn't say anything to Janice about it. Then I noticed that there were 8 or more men in the group, and that many of the women were hardbodies who didn't look like they really needed any kind of fitness challenge. I was only able to jog and walk in intervals for a mile, and my time was a wince-inducing 18 minutes. Almost everyone else did the mile in 9-14 minutes.
Then Janice made it clear that she's not Carol by having us do tons of push ups for even small infractions, such as being late or, as one guy in the class found out, eating pancakes for breakfast on a Sunday with his wife. He had to do 140 push ups, poor guy, and Janice refused to allow us to break up the push ups into smaller increments and do them over several sessions. I got 40 extra push ups for eating two mini-Luna bars and then, the next day when I only ate 1, she gave me 60 push ups because she said I should have known better than to eat one again. ARG!
But despite that one set back, I thought that I was doing okay, until Janice drove me home Friday after boot camp class (it was too hot to be outdoors) and told me, after I related what I was eating, that I can't have more than one cup of lettuce salad or steamed broccoli. I generally have two cups of salad with a can of tuna mixed with hummus atop it, and I love broccoli so I tend to eat at least a couple of cups of it. "You can't be full," Janice told me. "You can eat until you are satisfied, but not until you are full." When I tried to explain to her that those are the same things to me, she said that they aren't the same at all. Apparently I am supposed to still be hungry all the time, I am assuming so that my stomach will shrink in capacity.
When I was in my 20s, I didn't mind going hungry, and in fact I got used to it after awhile. But now, 20 years later, I don't feel the same about being hungry. I don't really know if its worth it to me to starve myself again, just to lose a few pounds.
I also struggle like crazy in boot camp. I am nearly always the last in line, and it takes me more time to get through the exercises than it does anyone else. Plus, in last nights boot camp at Cedar River Park, we did an obstacle course that involved a lot of jumping and leaping, which is really hard on my left knee (which tends to hurt and give out on me) and by the time we had finished an hour of it, I was so wiped out I felt like I was going to keel over.
I find myself being discouraged, exhausted and questioning whether or not I should stay in this boot camp, or quit and just keep going with my regular WIO schedule of classes 5-6 times a week.
I do have a goal, and that 65 pounds is bound to come off of me at some point, but I just don't know if I can gut this out. The stress is terrible, there is only one person in the boot camp whom I can relate to, and she doesn't come to the camp but twice or three times a week, and not always on the same nights that I do. Everyone else in the camp seems to be keeping their distance from the lone fat gal, and when I tried to make a joke last night about my boobs jiggling too much, no one even bothered to laugh or act like they'd heard me. I felt invisible. And that's another problem, I can't seem to find a decent sports bra that allows me to do all this jumping around without having my big breasts flap and flop all over the place, which is embarrassing.
So I feel fat and stupid and like I have failed, and I am only 1 week and 1 day into boot camp.
What should I do?

Baby Got Front

We listen to Sir Mix ALot's "Baby Got Back" in several of my spin classes at WIO, and two of the instructors have favorite lines they like to sing out from the song. For adorable Angela, who claims she has a "ghetto bootie" (I think her bootie looks just fine, myself) always sings "You get SPRUNG!" at the top of her lungs, while Laura, who looks like an Amazon warrior woman, all 6 foot red-haired and hour-glass shaped, sings out "My anaconda don't want none less you got some buns hon!" and does a little bike dance while she's singing it.
But one thing I've noticed lately is that there are no paens to chubby bellies--no guys grunting about how they can't wait to "get the friction on" with those of us who have Winne the Pooh abs, upholstered bellies or even a small paunch-pounch, like a kangaroo.
I think that's horribly unfair.
After all, just because my avoirdupois sticks more to my middle than my butt and thighs, why should I be considered less sexy, less gropable than my pear-shaped sisters? So I got some serious "front" instead of "back"--I still can have it goin' on, can't I?
So I've got abs of marshmallow instead of abs of steel--it doesn't mean I don't work very hard 6 hours a week to try and strengthen and tone my body during a variety of exercise classes. I grunt and groan and lift and jump and run with the rest of them, and I don't complain, I just DO it, but even though I can feel my core muscles getting strong, you can't see them because they have a layer or three of spongy fat over them.
And unlike Janice, who had three c-sections and doesn't have more than a teeny-weeny scar to show for it, I have a scar that looks like I was operated on by Freddie Kruger...it goes from one hip to the other, and up towards the doughnut hole that is my belly button. I also have a silver-dollar-sized scar from having a Jackson-Pratt drain inserted into my c-section to let blood drain off after I had Nick. So there's no chance I'm ever going to wear a bikini, even if I do lose another 65 pounds.
Still, I want to get down to 165 by next summer, and I figure most of that weight is going to have to come off of my belly and back and upper arms. I have no idea how I'm going to get the weight off, especially since I can't live without carbohydrates. High protein diets are for people with very sturdy livers and hearts. I don't have a sturdy liver, and I just know that ketosis would slay me and set my Crohns into long-term spasm mode. I am also averse to starving myself, or eating only one kind of food, or giving up on anything that tastes sweet for the rest of my life. What kind of life would that be, never eating food that tastes good?
I'm a sensual person, with a passion for tastes, smells, touches and sounds that are pleasurable. I do not want to have to shut down my sense of taste for a year so I lose any interest in food.
Hence, I am praying for a miracle, a genuine solution to come to me in the nick of time, one that will help me get this last 65 pounds off in a way that I can easily live with for the rest of my life.
It's going to happen. I can feel it.
Meanwhile, I am waiting for the universe to send me a fun workout buddy who won't mind holding me accountable and being a good friend at the same time.
There's a part of me that's been whispering that I really don't need to lose more weight. I work out, after all, and I fit into a size 18-20, which isn't outrageous, and I have a husband, so I'm not out to find a man that I need to be svelte for, obviously....he loves me just the way I am.
But I keep thinking of that high school reunion in 2009. I dream of seeing the handsome guys I had crushes on, of watching them drool over my fabulously fit body, and enjoying the revenge of seeing them as bald and pudgy old men, so I can reject them as they once did me...of course I could never treat them with as much contempt and cruelty as I was treated to for four long years at Ankeny High School, but still. And I dream of having a sultry affair with an old high school flame, of enjoying the play of athletic, toned muscles during sex. I am sure the fantasy is much richer than the reality, but it calls to me.
At any rate, I need to keep going and not take so many steps back as forward. I need to appreciate how far I've come, and allow myself to get the body I want within the next year. As the lovely Suzanne always says during the more grueling moments of Pilates class, "Yes YOU CAN!"

Emerald Cup in the Emerald City = bizarre

Oh heck, I just got back from the Emerald Cup, which was so bizarre I do not know where to start to tell you about it. First of all, there were a zillion booths for fitness people with all these energy, protein or vitamin-packed foods and drinks guarenteed to make you HUGE and RIPPED (and they all had crazy names like AB BUSTERS and POWER HOG and other testosterone laden monikers, though they all obviously wanted the bodybuilding ladies to try their wares, too...but they were acting like used car salesmen combined with drug dealers. There was one guy there selling chocolates that had so many different kinds of nut butters and vitamins and minerals in it that each little chunk they were giving away felt as heavy as an anvil. I assume that the people attempting to eat the chocolate samples had to have muscular gums and a sturdy jaw, because they were unable to bite it off with their front teeth alone.
The whole booth area was crowded and creepy. Of course, because I was the ONLY woman in the entire building who had a fat belly, I was like the turd in the punchbowl; people were avoiding even looking at me, as if I were contagious.... I wanted to put a sign around my neck that said "Watch Out! I have fat cells and I know how to use them!"
There were overweight men there, but they were somehow accepted, like it's okay for guys to be big and fat, but it's a sin for women. It seems ironic to me that in the midst of so many muscular women who could kick any guys butt, there was all this sexism and an obvious double standard.
Their "Security" guys were all under age 20, and most had serious acne, and kept looking furtively at the women in their little bikinis, even though at least half of the women on stage were easily old enough to be their mothers or grandmothers...paging Dr Freud! Then I went backstage to interview Janice, and had to navigate between all these women who looked like they'd been dipped in walnut varnish and shellac...and they all smelled greasy with this sort of mildewed gardenia-ish scent underlying it, I assume to cover the stench of this awful dark spray tan they make all the women wear. It made Janice look like an Oompa Loompa, but I couldn't say that, of course. Poor Janice, having to deal with all these women who had twice the body fat she does with triple the ego, and most of them had plastic boobs that looked like helium balloons. She was the shortest, but most fit woman there, and there were no surgical enhancements added to her physique. I was proud to be covering her first Emerald Cup appearance. Janice had brains, class and a rockin' bod, and she shone like a diamond among the costume jewels. Anyway, they had two big screen TVs, and they were showing commercials for the sponsor when all of a sudden they flashed on this picture of the world, with a voiceover of this guy reading the first few graphs of genesis in the Bible, about the earth being created, etc...then they flash this sentence about "Six Thousand Years Later" and show the World Trade Center bombing, the floods, the hurricanes, destruction, mayhem, and a final photo of George Bush waving from some kind of big military copter or plane, and then they flash the sentence "Behold, for I am coming soon. Jesus Christ."
And I was thinking WTF? What was that all about, in the middle of the commercials for power drinks and such? It was just out of nowhere. Then we get to meet the MC, Kim KONG Farrison, who dresses like MC Hammer crossed with that Indian leader who used to wear the long Nehru jackets in bright colors, whose name escapes me. Anyway, Kong, as he is fondly known, starts talking about his penis in the middle of the figure competition. Again, WTF? I mean, ewwww. Do I really want to know that he can't do a military push up because his dick won't let him get more than three feet down to the ground? Or that he uses it as a personal floatation device? No, I do not need to know that. On the way home, we followed a guy in a truck out of Bellevue who actually had a pair of big fake testicles attached to the hitch on his truck so they swung right in the sight line of whomever was behind him. I could only assume he came from the Emerald Cup...I have no proof other than his tackiness. So I got up and left an hour and half or so into the show because it was running late, and the bikini competition wasn't going to happen for another hour, and the sleet and hail were coming down fast. I would never have allowed my child into that room, because the show became X-rated as soon as Farrison stared his groping of the contestants and his penis patter. What could have been a classy event became trashy, which is sad. I also felt that the show could have moved much faster if they would have moved the "fitness barbie" and her routine and subsequent totally unnecessary "academy award" speech thanking everyone she's ever known to the end of the show. I do not care who made her strategic-holes unitard, nor do I care about her personal religious beliefs. I was there to watch the figure and fitness competition for Janice. I also could have done without the muscle-head who came out and did a live commercial for his homemade fitness video and POD book. Why couldn't he have a video commercial on the big screens like all the other sponsors?

The All Janice Week of Agony

I have to say that Janice is looking great these days, as she's going to compete next week in the Emerald Cup, the largest amateur bodybuilding competition in the nation. Those of us who didn't think she had any weight at all to lose on her muscular 5 ft frame have been astonished at the 20 pounds that has come off of her since January of this year.
She hasn't softened up at all when it comes to kicking out butts in exercise classes, however, and this whole week, which was spring break for the local schools, and hence vacation for all the usual WIO instructors.
That left Janice and Danielle to run all the classes every day, and I have no idea how Janice managed to do it without getting really sore and grumpy. But, she seemed just fine as she kicked our butts last night in kickboxing class. Janice is nothing if not consistent, and way more fit than anyone else on the planet.
Monday in cardio lift, Janice had us working out our shoulders and backs until we were all groaning. Then Tuesday's Pilates proved to be one long glute and abdominal exercise, while Wednesdays balls and weights was all about the squat and the harrowing of our hamstrings and quads. My lats still hurt and my Winne-the-Pooh abs have been sore and seizing up on me all week. Fortunately, today I had a doctors appointment and was able to miss class for the first time in 5 days (I took spin with Angela last Sunday). Now tomorrow I am weighing whether or not to go to Saturday surprise class and then also go to spin on Sunday, or to just sleep in and let myself have another day off. I should be out walking right now, because its the first beautiful, warm and sunny day that I've seen this year. But I just feel like being a slug, oddly enough.
I must note that my exercise is paying off in how I look to others, as when I flew back to Iowa this past week for my best friend's funeral, I got more male attention than I have in more than 20 years. My friend Roger called me "caliente" and was very complimentary about my looks in general, which was refreshing, as my husband tends to ignore me. It's nice to be oogled and viewed as sexy by the opposite gender. It made me feel young and alive. And I am certain that I wouldn't have lost 40 pounds and be looking as toned as I do had it not been for Work It Out Womens Fitness and their classes and boot camps.
Now if the next 60 pounds would just slip off of me, I could be all ready for my 30th high school reunion early. I am going to try to find a food plan that works better for me in keeping me from being hungry while still getting enough nutrition, and I need to shake my horrible sugar addiction.
I've had thoughts, prior to my Iowa trip, about just giving up and letting my body go back to its ponderous size. But then I think about how far I've come, and though I have still got a long way to go, I don't want to go back to struggling to find clothing that fits. I also feel as if I am strengthening my heart and adding years onto my life, years that I am going to need to raise my little boy to adulthood. As the sign says in the WIO gym, "It's not the years in your life, it's the life in your years!"

Bending Over Backwards

I discovered this past week that my insurance deductable for physical therapy is $350, and that I'd have to pay anywhere from 400-500 per session if I decided to do physical therapy a couple of times a week, as recommended by my PCP. Whoa! I certainly can't afford that, and I found that because I've been babying my back and being scrupulous about modifying any moves that might have an impact on my lower back, that I feel worlds better, and really have no need of expensive PT anyway.
Of course, I think staying away from Nitrates was also a good move, as I seem to get joint pain and swelling every time I consume any food like bacon that contains lots of nitrates, salt, preservatives and smoke flavoring.
I have also been having tons of Crohns flares all week, and I can only assume that my forays into eating whole grains and dried fruit like craisins are the culprits. I love oatmeal, and every now and then I try to have a scant cup of cinamon apple oatmeal for breakfast, or a homemade cookie with oatmeal, and I always end up paying the price in pain, as my colon seizes up on me.
It happened last week during Tuesday nights spin class with the delightful Danielle. Suddenly, as I leaned over to do jumps, a wave of pain washed over me and I felt as if my bowels were going to evacuate right there on the bike! I was mortified, and ran to the bathroom, but Danielle thought I was having an asthma attack or a heart attack, and sent people to knock on the bathroom door to ensure that I was okay. It was horribly embarrassing, because of course I was having what used to be known as the "bloody flux" and I was in considerable pain. Once I managed to get out of the bathroom, Danielle had me lay on the floor, draw my knees up to my chest, breathe in deeply and out deeply and then squeeze my ab muscles whenever I felt a wave of colon pain about to hit. Much to my shock, it worked, and my pain lessened dramatically. I have never been told to do that before, and was thrilled that there is now someway to aleviate the pain when I am away from home and pain meds. Susie, one of the gals in the class actually drove me home, while another Danielle, who is a nurse, followed to make sure I was okay. Thank you, gals, and thanks Danielle for helping me out in my time of need. Even though I was embarrassed, it was still a lesson learned.

Whole Lotta Shakin' Going on

"Fitness is a journey, not a destination. It must be continued for the rest of your life."
Dr Kenneth Cooper, founder of the Cooper Aerobics Center and the man who coined the term "aerobics"
(I interviewed him once in the 1980s. He's a fascinating guy.)


Last weekend I managed to hurt my back somehow, and in seeing my doctor this past week, she said that I sprained a joint in my lower back (I didn't think I HAD a joint in my lower back, but it has been a long time since I studied Greys Anatomy). She gave me a prescription for pain meds that I can't take without getting very sleepy (so I obviously can't take them during the day) and recommended that I go to physical therapy to find out how to do abdominal exercises to strengthen my lower back. I explained to her that I have been doing abdominal exercises for over a year, and she said "Then you must have been doing them wrong." Oy.
I am blaming the back trouble on the Saturday surprise (last Saturday, not this one) class in which we were supposed to learn to salsa, samba and shimmy our hips to fast-paced Latin music. Unfortunately, my belly and hips just refused to swing and shake and sway that way. I ended up looking like a hippopotamus doing the hula. That and the bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich that I succumbed to eating, filled with swell-inducing nitrates, I think had my back at a disadvantage.
So now I am trying to figure out ways to still exercise and not hurt my back further. Spin class has been okay, without any back-pulling manuvers, and I managed to get through balls and weights once, too. But kickboxing ala Janice nearly did me in. Billie usually teaches kickboxing, and its a fun aerobic workout, but Janice, as is her wont, is into extreme fitness, and her version of kickboxing involves a lot more leaping and kneeing the unseen enemy in the groin as you smash his face with a punch or a kick.
By the end of class I thought I was going to keel over. But that is generally how I feel after a Janice class. She gives no quarter, but by the same token, she doesn't expect us to do anything that she wouldn't do herself. She's always right in there, kicking, leaping and flinging out lethal blows to invisible enemies that make the rest of us look pretty wimpy.
I have to admire the woman. She has guts and underneath her no-nonsense exterior beats a kind heart. She is training to be at a bodybuilder competition, and I am astonished at how muscular she's become, particularly because she's only 5 feet tall (she seems much taller because her persona is 6 foot 4). Anyway, she's been eating carefully and lifting heavy weights and working her rump off, and I hope that she wins the first competition she enters at the end of the month. Go Janice go!
Meanwhile, though, I only made it to 4 workouts this week, and tomorrow I will take spin, but I hope that I've not set myself back by making and eating a couple dozen whole wheat craisin-raisin-oatmeal cookies with no egg or dairy, using only olive oil and some brown sugar, plus the flour, oatmeal etc. They were yummy, and I couldn't stop eating them. My addiction to sugar will not be denied!
Today I had a dutch apple bagel from Panera Breads that was heavenly! I also had a blueberry bagel with lettuce, tomato and turkey, and some baked chips (130 cal worth.) Yum. I wish we had a Panera Breads in Maple Valley, and a bookstore, but instead my whole family has to travel to Issaquah for those stores. Arg.
I happened to get a gift certificate to Lane Bryant and to Barnes and Noble as a late Xmas gift (Thanks Frank!) and I managed to get 120 worth of clothing for 20 bucks with my gift certificate and because of clearance discounts. YAY! And I have to say I was thrilled to note that I am a size 18/20 (more 18 than 20) when back in December 2006 I was a size 28. So I am getting there, ever so slowly, but inevitably. Here's hoping that I drop another couple of sizes this spring and summer!
It will soon be walking season, so I look forward to getting out there and hitting the local trails.

Going With Your Gut

I've only recently become the kind of person who heeds her gut instinct when dealing with people from the past.
I got an email yesterday from a woman claiming to be someone I went to college with in the early 1980s. This woman, whom we will call "PIN," for Pain in the Neck, was a real piece of work when I met her. She had few friends because she was, to be honest, strange in both her manner and her dress, especially for small town Iowa collegiate life. She had a form of epilepsy that made her seem to "go away" from her conscious mind when she was having a seizure, so one minute she'd be talking to you, and the next she'd be staring vacantly ahead, unable to move her body or talk. Someone would have to grab her by the arm and walk her back to her dorm room and lock her in until she would "wake" up. One time, I recall that she couldn't be moved or woken up for three whole days, during which time she lay in a soiled bed staring, glassy-eyed, at the ceiling, looking like a corpse. When she was awake, so to speak, she wasn't really a very nice person, instead she was often sarcastic, rude and mean, which she seemed to think made her smart and witty. I befriended her because I knew what it was like to be the outsider, the one people considered strange and different because I was creative, a larger person, and smart enough to enjoy reading and literature.
I discovered that it wasn't that easy to be PINs friend. She was often loud and obnoxious, and she had no problem borrowing money from me (never returned, of course) and calling me at all hours of the day and night, and rambling on about her problems or things she wondered about that usually didn't make much sense. I asked her, many times, if she wouldn't mind calling me during the day, or talking to me at lunch or some more convenient time for me, as I don't do well without a full 6-8 hours of sleep. And I often got called by PIN at 3 am when I had a test the next day. She cared nothing for my protests or pleas, however, and would shout "Wake up, soggy bread!" whenever I'd doze off during one of her diatribes. She refused to listen to any of my problems, of course, lest we get off her favorite subject--herself. She was a taker, and, having grown up as the middle child-problem-solver of my family, I ended up being the giver who got taken advantage of, over and over. I didn't have a clue how to say no back then. Several friends, including my best buddies Monica and Muff, often told me that I needed to listen to my gut and jettison people who abused my friendship. "You are not responsible for other peoples happiness!" I recall Monica telling me that, and Muff saying "Stop being a doormat, tell people NO once in awhile!"
So I finally listened to my gut one night my senior year, and I told PIN in no uncertain terms that I did NOT want her calling me at odd hours any more. Period. She threatened me to try and get me to fall back into line by saying that she would contact my mother, go to lunch with her and lie to her, telling her of all sorts of sordid sexual exploits I was supposed to have achieved while in college. Knowing that my stock hadn't risen with my mother since I didn't 'side' with her in her very messy divorce from my father 3 years earlier, I told PIN to go right ahead, she couldn't tarnish my reputation any more than it already was. I was allowed blessed nights of sleep without interruption thereafter. She sent me photos of herself with my mother at lunch, and I asked my mother what they talked about, but she refused to tell me. My mother, at the time, was more focused on her marriage to my new stepfather and her new home in the Southwest. Our relationship didn't really seem to suffer at all, so I dismissed the incident as no big deal. Then I get an email from PIN saying she's been thinking a lot about me lately. Huh. So I wrote and asked her if she was the same person who had epilepsy, who used to call me at all hours of the night and who had the ill-fated luncheon with my mother. I explained that I am now a wife, mother and successful journalist who really doesn't have time for 3 am phone calls. In other words, I've grown up, and I'm no longer a doormat. PIN didn't take to those comments, naturally, and said that I'm not the person she once knew. I wanted to say, damn straight, chica, I am not going to be used by takers like you again. She promised not to write back to me ever again, and I can only say that I will be relieved if I never do hear from her again. She was a waste of time and energy, and certainly not a good friend to me.
In exercise news, I worked out 6 times this week! Woot! Todays spin class was still tough, though, after yesterdays overeating festival of soy pizza, molasses cookies, potato salad and ham. I had fun watching movies on DVD while pigging out, though.

Not Again!

This past week I had a sore throat and stuffy nose, so I spent 5 hours Thursday at the local Urgent Care facility (my primary care physician is in the hospital and her cohorts are booked for weeks), only to hear that my x-ray showed patches of pneumonia in my chest, again! ARG! I was hoping after having pneumonia in November and December that I was done with it for awhile.
Why can't I just have strep throat like everyone else?
But I have taken my Zithromax and feel like I am on the mend, so now its back to working out. My husband and son sat on me for three days to keep me from exercising when I was sick. I did manage to attend spin class with the adorable Angela on Sunday, and I was wiped out by the time class was over.
I'm going to be following two gals, one ten pounds heavier than I am, and one about ten pounds lighter, for the next 8 weeks for the Commit 2 Fit program sponsored by Road Runner Sports in Kent. I am looking forward to chronicling their journey and hopefully learning some tips to help me in my quest for fitness at the same time.
Over 60 people showed up at the kick off event last Thursday, 99 percent women and one brave guy. All were weighed and measured and had digital gait analysis to get them fit for athletic shoes. Sharon, the nutritionist, started everyone off on building 8 good habits for healthy lifestyles by admonishing them all to drink a lot of water this week and keep track of everything they eat. She's going to evaluate everyones diet and talk about where improvements can be made thursday this week. I imagine Sharon would be shocked if she could see that I eat a bowl of cereal with sugar for a snack usually once a day. So its my one sugar fix, but I have a hard time giving it up. That is probably why those 4 pounds that found me during the holidays haven't left my hips yet. Sigh.
Tonight its cardio lift with Suzanne. I hope I can breathe through the class.

Patella Problems

I have genetically weak knees. My mother has had surgery twice on one of her knees, and the other is in need of surgery because it has no cushioning left under the patella (due to arthritis) but mom refuses to undergo another painful and deblilitating knee surgery. My 99 year old grandmother, who just died last week, had arthritis in her knees, wrists, fingers and hips. She also had osteoporosis, but would never admit it, though her back was bowed so far she looked like a question mark from the side.
I remember listening to the crepidus in my mothers knees make a sound like the popping of rice krispies cereal in milk whenever she walked up or down the stairs in our home in Sailorville. In the last 10 years, my left knee has started to make that same noise, and it would occaisionally give out on me when I was walking down long flights of stairs when I worked at the PNA. But I've been trying, since my 20s, to be good to my knees and only do low-impact aerobics, leg-strengthening exercises and keeping my weight down, with varying degrees of success.
I've talked before about my episodes of edema and pain in my feet and ankles, and how staying away from sodium nitrate keeps me from repeat episodes of leg bloat. Over the holidays, as I was stressfully stuffing myself with sweets, I also managed to stop by 7-11 several times for the sodium-nitrate-filled hot dogs or "big bites" as they're called in the convenience store world. But this time, instead of swelled and painful ankles and feet, I got a swollen left knee. Then I attended boot camp class two weeks ago and, in the process of doing "crab tag" which was basically running on your hands and balls of your feet sideways while trying to tag everyone else in the class (after being tagged, you were required to drop and do 5 push ups), I managed to move sideway to the right while my knee went left, and pull something under my kneecap. So now my knee was doubly swollen, painful and there was limited range of motion. I thought of trying to wrap it in an ace bandage, but Janice seemed to think that the only way to actually get my knee back into shape was to keep working it without bandages. Not wanting to be considered a wimp, I concurred, and have spent the last couple of weeks favoring my left leg in class. Fortunately, this week it seems to be better, probably because I've been sucking down a lot of Aleve after class each night. I'm hoping that now that the holidays are over and my stress levels are sinking slowly, that I will be able to stop snarfing sugary breakfast cereals for snacks and that I can stay away from the call of the convenience store hot dogs! I feel like I still have four of the 9 pounds I gained over Christmas yet to lose, but I am going to the gym regularly, at least 4 times a week, and I work out hard while I am there, so I hope to start making my way back down on the scale soon. I have summer boot camp to look forward to, and while I am waiting for some warmer temps and a little sprint sunshine, one of the instructors at Work It Out has decided to revive the Sunday Spouse Spin class! WAHOO! Now if I can just persuade Jim to go to class with me, I will be all set. It has been too cold and rainy for us to take a family walk on Sundays, but this would be a great substitute for that until the weather warms up. Meanwhile, I plan on checking out that new drink that has glucosamine and condroitin in it for joint health that has been advertised on TV. I don't know if it's dairy free or not, but it looks promising.

Starting Strong in 2008

For the past 5 days, I have had Crohn's flare ups every evening, like clockwork. Some have been early in the evening, some after supper, but all have been extraordinarily painful and bloody, for some odd reason. I am unsure if I've been flaring because of stress again, or if it is because of all the holiday foods I've been eating alone and at social gatherings, where I must trust the hostess to know if the foods have dairy or eggs in them.
Yesterday was the first day of this week that Work It Out was open for classes, and, in a bit of rum luck, my Crohns started flaring with extreme colon pain right at 5:25 pm, so I was unsure whether I could get it under control in time to make it to Boot Camp class at 6:30, or whether I'd be able to 'gut out' the class at all.
So I took two Aleve and said a prayer to whatever exercise gods there are, and drove to class anyway, with the tape in my head of my father saying "Thank you for being so strong, DeAnn" over the holidays ringing in my head. He said he has a photo of my grandmother, Alta Gayle, and her mother Blanche Morrow and myself side by side on his desktop, as he likes to look at the three strongest women he's ever known. I found myself being thrilled and humbled to be in such company, as I know my great-grandmother raised 10 children by herself after her husbands untimely demise, and none of them starved or were mistreated in any way, and all were literate. My grandmother Gayle was an extraordinary woman who gave birth to 3 of her four children on her kitchen table without help from a midwife. She cut my fathers umbilical chord with a butcher knife, wrapped him up and stuck him in an improvised sling and went back to work in the corn fields. When my father had a terrible asthma attack at age two, my grandmother sat up with him for 24 hours straight, breathing for him and holding him over steam to keep his lungs open. She saved her 'pin money' from the sale of eggs, pies, sausages and other speciality meats (they had a meat locker and butchered many of their own Black Angus cattle for themselves and the surrounding Amish and Menonite farmers) to send my father to college for four years at Iowa Wesleyan. She endured an abusive husband and all manner of terrible weather and farm crisis, plus a bout of breast cancer in her forties, which she survived by 45 years. To my mind, my grandmother, great-grandmother and my mother are all vastly stronger women than I will ever be. They could all cook better than I can, too, and run a household, raise a family and still bring in money by working outside the home or selling handicrafts or food items. They did these things as a matter of course, and did not complain or whine about it.
I, on the other hand, have kvetched mightily about all the setbacks I've had, and I struggle every day to keep it all going. I can barely cook, though I can bake sweets and such. I only have one child to raise, and doing so becomes more difficult the older he becomes and the more schoolwork he bemoans. But I am determined and stubborn as a badger, so I continue to try and live up to my matriarchal heritage, and not wimp out when I am in pain.
With all that in mind I went to boot camp class hoping I'd be able to make it through half the class without having to run to the restroom. I surprised myself by making it through the whole class and focusing on completing each exercise to the best of my ability, instead of thinking about the cramping of my wretched colon. By the time I'd finished the last 20 abdominal crunches-from-hell, I actually felt better than I had at the start of class. Perhaps the endorphins that started up when I began to sweat were putting out the colonic flames, but I don't know that for certain.
However, last night I was unable to sleep through the night because the cramps and diarreha began to take their toll, and I had to take one-fourth of a Percoset to get some rest and stop the pain this morning.
At any rate, I am proud of myself for not taking the easy way out, and staying at home with a heating pad on my belly. I went to exercise class to keep my promise to myself to be strong, and get stronger every day. I don't think the ghosts of my grandmothers would have it any other way.