Get up.

Sometimes life makes it way too easy to give up on something like this.  It throws you a curve ball, and erring on the side of caution is the easiest way to give up without admitting outright that you're doing just that.  Mind you, that's not the case in ALL situations, but man, it can make it easy.

Today, it would have been easy to sit back and let another day go by without going to the gym.  I'm pleased to say that hasn't been the case too often these days, but today would have been understandable (read: easy).

About 2 or so years ago, my left knee started to click.  Not just the odd click here and there, it's an audible snap every time I take a step. It's to the point where it's referred to as "the bell around my neck" because it's so loud, it's impossible to creep up on anyone. Lucky me, I get to hear it on both the outside AND the inside.  Plainly put: it's fucking gross.

I was referred to a new orthopedic surgeon while I still lived in London, and since it didn't hurt, he decided not to do anything about it for the time being.  This was after 6+ months of physiotherapy (my poor PT, she was totally stumped), of course.

Then, earlier this year, it started to hurt.  Not only was there pain, the repetitive snap grew louder and louder.  In April, I made the trip down to London to talk to my GP about it, and I was referred a new orthopedic surgeon closer to where I now live, and I was told to get a new set of Xrays so that the new doctor could compare them with the ones I had taken previously.

That was fine and dandy, except for one thing:  The new xrays came back completely clean.  None of the bi-compartmental osteoarthritis that had been there a year earlier, none of the patello-femoral issues.  Nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada.

My GP scratched her head and basically said "what the hell is up with THAT?!?", and I was immediately referred for an MRI to get to the bottom of things.  4 months later, I had the MRI and today I got the result.

There is, in fact, something wrong with my knee.  More than one thing, actually. Now it's tri-compartmental osteoarthritis, with a torn ACL thrown in for good measure. I feel less crazy, now.  I feel less stupid and worried that I was imagining everything.  I feel almost vindicated.

Now, the next wait will be to see a new orthopedic surgeon.  The dude I was referred to back in April still hasn't even booked my appointment.  Seriously.  Over 5 months to even get booked in?  Get over yourself, asshole.  I hope they can find me someone else, because I don't want to drag this out any longer than extremely necessary.

Even with all of this craziness today, even with a head and chest cold, I still went to the gym.  As I did, sick as a dog, on Friday and Saturday night. 

My point is: no matter what, get up.  Life's knocking the shit out of you?  Get up. GET. UP.   It's worth it.  You're worth it.  Just, get up.  Even when the easiest thing would be to lay down, get up. 

Trust me.

XO
LB

It was August, and I crushed it.

Yes, I am here! And the battle rages on!

I made it to the gym 4 times last week, and this week I received my first round of circuit training from my super awesome trainer.  It nearly killed me when I went through it the first night (3 times, I thought I might die toward the end), which did not really surprise me.  I'm a stranger in a strange land, and my legs were protesting the whole way through.

I noticed something as we worked in front of the huge mirror for part of it.  Through those parts of it, confronted with what I was seeing, my eyes were automatically looking toward the ceiling or the floor.  I wouldn't look at myself.

Really, it felt so silly, I was totally aware that I was avoiding myself.  Even if I did take a glance, it was not at my face.  I wouldn't look myself in the eye.  After I was finished, I tried to rationalize it to myself, but I honestly couldn't. I did look at my legs, my gut, my feet (my shoes are very hard to ignore, after all, they're bright pink).  But looking myself in the eye was pretty much impossible.

Maybe it went with the old idea that we're our own worst enemies, but even that doesn't really explain it.  Would I laugh at myself?  Would I point and criticize myself?  Not in any serious way. The root cause is a mystery to me, and I know it will probably happen again.  But it really doesn't matter because as long as I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing, it's alright.

My attendance at the gym hasn't been as great this week, but that's a scheduling thing.  I've actually been missing it, and I was pretty stoked that my trainer thinks the amount of cardio I do is "insanely impressive".  What?!? FOR REALS?!?  Well then, I shall carry on being awesome.

I have started keeping track of my trips over to the gym.  Big, black check marks of achievement. At the end of each month, I'll take a photo of what I have achieved.  Here's what August looked like (taking into consideration that the newest era of this war started on August 18th), I'm pretty proud of it:

Not too shabby for a beginner, as far as I'm concerned.  

Onward, always onward.

xo
LB

The Confusing Realm of Actually Doing.

It's a strange feeling, i must admit. It has been over 20 years since I was at my healthy weight. Over 2 decades. It's really no surprise that I have no recollection of how it feels. So much has happened since then, it's almost like that feeling has been overwritten. Completely taped over.

Right now, I'm sitting here at my boyfriend's band practice, kicked back in a recliner while operating the 6 track recorder. I can feel all my excess weight, and I can see a good portion of it. It's no longer upsetting, I know it's there. but now, I know I'm actually doing something about it. I made it to the gym 4 times this week. I'm pretty fucking proud of that.

What I find interesting is that I don't know what to expect as I lose this fat and slowly change shape. I try to think of what clothes I'll finally be able to wear. What it will feel like without my big gut. What it will feel like to be strong. It's all a huge mystery. But, even with that mystery, it's exciting as hell.

Yes, I am aware that it's going to take years. I don't really care about that, though. It's just nice to know that positive change is happening, and it's proving to be an integral tool in keeping the depression at bay.

I'm focused. I'm doin' it. I got this.

xo

LB

The Year of Getting Rad

Time just seems to slip away, over and over again.  Important things fall by the wayside, priorities change and, eventually, all feels as though it is lost.

Until today, all really did feel lost.  Maybe not permanently lost, but it felt so far away and impossible, I had no idea how I would get back on the horse I had put out to pasture months ago.

Something personal took me down below the surface, and for months all I have been able to do is work and sleep to keep my brain from melting to nothing.  I'm not fuckin' around here, it has been one of those personal journeys that can make or break your spirit, and your perspective on what you think you know. The blackest of black dogs crept in and, before I knew it, wrapped me in its loving arms of laziness and depression. Any energy or drive I had built up was completely done for.  I was well and truly down the well.

For the last 2 weeks, I have been on vacation.  Nothing glamourous, nothing beachy, just farting around at home with the odd road trip here and there.  Knowing what I've been trudging through for the past few months, I decided to take my time and come up with a plan of attack in terms of renewing my commitment to ditching this goddamn lard once and for all.  No gung-ho, gangbusters, rah rah rah "let's DO this!".  It was time for careful, strategic planning.  Conscious and mindful.  Rock. Fucking. Steady.

It was also time to admit that I can't be trusted to do it by myself.  I've said it every time I went back to Fat Camp, and it applies here, too.  I need the leash.  I need to be accountable to someone else for my actions or inaction.  I need adult supervision.

Today, I embarked on what will be one of the most important years of my life.  Today kicked off my year of getting rad.  With my gym membership came some complimentary sessions with a personal trainer, and I went for one of those sessions today.  I fessed up and said I was bored and have completely lost my way.  I explained everything and she totally understood where I was coming from.  Then, she said she is committed to kicking my ass.

I've never been happier to have someone say that it is their mission to kick my fucking ass.  In the next year, I will see what see just how much I can do to transform myself.  Food, exercise, the whole shootin' match. I refuse to put a specific number on it because if I did, I would be instantly doomed to failure.  All I want is to see just how far I can push myself and how that work will change my physical state. 

After all the bullshit I've been going through, it's time to focus on me and remember what it's like to be selfish in one of the best possible ways.  It's time to pay attention and wake up. 

And so, it begins.  Journey to the Centre of the Radical.  I will be back to more frequent posts, rambling on about all this, so stay tuned.  Let's see what happens, shall we?

xo
LB

What's the problem?

Indeed, what IS the problem?  Actually, I don't know if "problem" is the term that I would really use.  More of an issue, a hiccup, a hitch in the giddyup, so to speak.

Really, it's nothing new.  Ask anybody who has gone back and forth in this process and they'll tell you the same thing.  You get going, all gung-ho, and once the initial fever cools down and things become routine, something falls to the wayside a little bit.

I should clarify that I'm not pouting because I fell of the wagon or anything.  I'm still working on ditching the lard, and doing pretty well I might add, but 2 things slowed down this week.  One through no fault of my own, the other was on me completely.

First casualty:  the gym.  Not one trip to the gym this week.  Not even close.  It wasn't for lack of wanting to keep on with what I'm doing, that I can say to my credit.  After the show last Saturday (my band played for the last time, it was a great good-bye), I got totally taken down by the cold that everyone and their brother seems to have.  I am still suffering the end of it, but at least it's getting better.  It has been a brutal week, though, a brutal, snotty week in which my voice temporarily dropped 3 octaves before I lost it altogether. Now that "The Crud" is on the run, I am solidly committed to a goal of at least 3 morning visits to the gym to get back to where I was before.  It has to happen. Absolutely.

Second casualty:  this is where I totally eat shit and hold myself responsible.  Tracking. Actually, a distinct lack thereof.  How my brain works is a complete and total mystery to me most of the time, and my brain made the weird decision to go rogue and decide that tracking didn't need to be done.  My lazy fucking brain. The fact that I put my book away has made it truly out of sight and out of mind.  How can my brain, which is usually pretty dependable, be so easily fooled?  For real!

As of two minutes ago, my tracker has been put back into plain sight, right beside the pen (I can't afford to let my brain get away with that trickery again, all tools need to remain in plain sight from now on). 

I'm glad that these two trip ups are so minor in nature (in my opinion), and it didn't lead me to fucking shoot the works and launch into a magnificent spiral of bad habits and self pity.  I've done that a million times, I'm pretty much a pro at it by now.  Nope, I kept myself aware, haven't missed a weigh-in, and I'm really not beating myself up too badly about it.  I can't help that I got sick, the overtime at work has to happen, and I've given myself a stern talking to about the tracking.

Issues identified, corrections are in progress.

In addition to the issue resolutions, I'm throwing myself back into research and digging further for motivation.  I've got an excellent support network with various levels of experience and empathy/identification.  I'm a lucky girl in that respect.  

And then, there's this blog.  I realize that not a lot of people read it anymore (if anyone does at all), but I've decided to keep it going.  Mostly, it's for selfish reasons:  the main selfish reason is that the writing helps my weight loss.  I could talk about my various experience until the cows come home, but eventually eyes start to glaze over and the conversation trickles off to another subject.  Here, I'm just saying everything I need to say, and whether or not anyone reads it doesn't concern me.  If someone stumbles across it and finds it useful or helpful, that's a total bonus.

Alright, on with Sunday.  One last day of rest to heal up this cold, and then it's back to business tomorrow morning.

xo
lb

Small, cold steps

After 2 days of sleeping through my early morning alarms, I actually dragged my ass out of bed this morning at 3:15 for my first trip to the gym.  It sounds like insanity, and it probably is, but I have an hour long commute to work, and this is the only time of day I can make a go of it.

I had forgotten just how much my body protests when I get on a treadmill for my warm up.  My hips aren't happy about it, my knees are more vocal than usual, and my feet aren't a fan.  While I listen to them, I choose not to acknowledge this, knowing full well that within a few minutes, they'll shut up.  If they don't, I really start listening to them to see if something is really wrong.  Nothing is ever wrong, really.  It's just an overweight, tired body.

So, that's one day down.  Another 350 days to go.  I'm anxious to see results, so much so that I might just take my measurements tonight to track my progress.  Ah, the exciting life I lead in this snowy little town.

XO
LB

The Suspense.

This is probably the first time in my life when I wanted Monday to hurry up and get here.  I can pretty much guarantee that it will never happen again.

I didn't get to weigh in last week because the meeting was shut due to a stat holiday.  Tried to weigh in while in the city (where I work) the next day, but the centre was shut despite its advertised business hours.  That frustrated me to say the least, I don't enjoy fighting shitty rush hour traffic for no reason.

Tomorrow, being Monday, good stuff happens.  I get to stand on a scale and get a progress report  AND I have my first meeting with the personal trainer at the gym.  That sounds far fancier than it really is, it was a bonus for signing up, two free sessions with the trainer.  She will tell me what to do and how to do it without killing myself on the machines.  Good sense, in my mind.

Then, come Tuesday, the insanity of a 3 a.m. start to my day...TO GO TO THE GYM.  Lordy lightnin', what am I doing?  Quick answer:  what needs to be done.

I have a plan, but most of all, I have hope.  That and the ability to find my running shoes is all I need right now.

XO
LB

In which it became....on.

I've gone and done it now.  I joined that gym.  Still feeling kind of "eeennhh" about it, but it's done.  I went for my scheduled tour after fighting the urge to email the dude and let rip with any number of completely feasible excuses, talked to the dude, found out the monthly price and it was a done deal. After some additional paperwork, I will have my access thinger and the workouts will commence while all sane people are sleeping.

As bleah as I feel about it, I know that it has to happen.  This body is too big.  This body is too broken.  My mind feels like it`s following suit.  Something has to change.  And it will.

I really hope that this plays to my love of structure and routine.  Getting up that early is going to be a fucking drag, but it just won`t get done if I leave it until after work.  When this girl gets home, she is HOME.  I shall not be moved, and I`ll be good and goddamned if I`m getting on a treadmill at that point.

So, here goes nothing. Wish me luck.

XO
LB

New-ish Words on an Old Page

Ugh, gross.  I so don't want to start this off with the old "holy shit, it's been sooooo long since I've been here!", but, here I am.  Holy shit, it's been soooooo long since i've been here.

Blogger is telling me that I haven't posted since August 2012.  Whoa. A lot has changed since then, but one thing has stayed the same.  Steadfast and true, no fucking surprise, the lard remains.  

During my blog hiatus, I made the biggest and best change of my life:  I moved away.  Now, I realize that the definition of the term "away" varies wildly from person to person, but since I spent the first 38 years of my life in the same city, moving an hour and a half north to a small farming town was a big change.  It was the best decision I have ever made, as I love it here.  Living with my super awesome boyfriend, commuting to a MUCH better job in a nearby city.

But with all of this happiness, the old lard is still with me, and I have finally reached a breaking point with it.  It needs to go (stop me if you've heard that one before), and this time, I am going to put all of my energy into booting it to the curb.

Although this town is small, there is a meeting.  A meeting with a scale, a leader, and literature.  My beloved WW.   I started back a couple of weeks ago, and I'm loving it.  Tracking, eating, planning, it's all there and I'm getting right back in the groove.  The first weigh-in was encouraging, and now I just gotta keep going.  I know I can do it, I just need to kick my own ass on a regular basis.

So, here comes the next dilemma.  Exercise.  I need to do something to help my poor, embattled body. My arthritis is getting insane, and my knees are forgiving me less each day.  Winter sucks, and let me tell you, where I am it is super winter.  Snowbanks so high that you can't see across the street.  Walking does not appeal at all, and to be totally honest, I find it so completely boring that the very thought of it makes me cringe.  I simply do not know how my dad does it so religiously.

It's a stat holiday here today, so I'm bored and trying to figure out if I should roll on over to the 24 hour gym to see what's up with them.  There are 2 gym options here in town, but the 24 hour one is the only one that would really suit my needs.  Oh, I don't know.  Indecision, I hate it so.  In my mind, I'm trying to figure out what my schedule would be, and this gym idea would mean getting up at around 4 a.m., working out for an hour, coming home and getting ready for the hour long commute to work.  I'm not an evening worker-outer, never have been.  Once i'm home from my long day, I'm down for the count.  I started re-reading my old posts about my War Measures act and how I used to truck my ass down to the Y every morning to work out.  I know I can do it, but will I succeed this time around?

This should be an easy decision.  I should be over there by now.  It's the best possible course of action, but still there is hesitancy.  That hesitation makes me nervous.  It tells me that I don't have 100% faith in myself to get the job done.  I could reason it away to objectivity and the decision making process, but when it comes down to brass tacks: I am questioning my resolve, I am questioning my wherewithal, and I am questioning my determination.  Nothing new, but it makes me nervous, because that hesitation can so easily transition to failure.  I know it all too well.

But, on the other side of the coin, it can translate into motivation.  I don't particularly enjoy being told I can't do something. So, why is it that when it's my own voice denying me, I'm so willing to listen?  Hmmm...that's a good question.

Fuck it.  I'm getting dressed and going over.  If it sucks, I won't join.  If it doesn't suck (and it won't, come on), I'll join and get at it.  I need the insanity of what I want to embark upon.  I need to shock myself out of this complacency and the crushing depression that comes with it.  It's time to destroy my routine and rebuild myself.

Once again....here we go.

XO

LB

Update:  Rolled on over there and, despite no signage saying that the staffed hours wouldn't be valid today (it's a 24 hour, key fob access kinda place), no one was there to open the door and take my money.  Oh well, that just means more research and thinking for this girl today, I suppose.  Sigh.