I have been working with a personal trainer for a few weeks and going to the gym four to five times per week for at least five weeks. It's been a lot of hard work.
I haven't lost as much weight as I thought I would, but I have accomplished a lot of "little victories."
-I can fit into a pair of skinnier pants without having to lie down to zip them up!
-I raced my daughter to the car and wasn't out of breath
-I climbed a pretty big hill and wasn't out of breath
-The basket that we buy from a local Co-op was much easier to carry this week than in the past.
They are small achievements but they make me excited. I can see that I'm making progress. Now if I can just getting a decent eating schedule...
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Monday, August 6, 2012
I am I said
I had a terrible shock the other day when I met with my new personal trainer, for the first time. (I am sure there will be some interesting adventures with that, so keep coming back to find out if I survive.) She asked me two questions that threw me for a loop:
How old are you, and how tall are you? Simple questions, and likely unworthy of the extreme visceral response I had to them.
For the longest time I've pretty much settled in to being 5 foot 6. Not too short, not too tall. When I got pregnant with my first daughter (who starts kindergarten in the fall, another well of blog posts for the future), I received a major shock. I'm not 5 foot 6 inches. I'm not even 5 foot 5 inches. I'm a solid 5 foot 4 inches on a good day.
Two inches of my life had been stolen in a matter of seconds. I'm convinced that this is the reason I'm lousy at getting physicals. After all, if a nurse can steal two inches from me with a measuring tape, what else can they steal from me with those fancy tools?!
This question combined with the age question, (recently 29 for the first of many many times), made my head spin. I realized: I'm getting old, I'm short and I'm fat to boot. There's not much I can do about my age, except lie, not really my style, so I'm stuck being almost-30 for another 10 months. I can fix the height issue, with heels. Since I only wear heels to church, I'll have to settle for being 5 foot 6 inches only once a week.
Now the fat part, that's something I can do something about. Actually, I've been meaning to do something about it for a while. It's a little disturbing actually that it's gotten put on the back burner so many times.
I have recently been struggling with the concept of: Who am I? I mean how many times have I promised to lose weight. To make a change to be a better person. A lot.
I realize that I know the answer to this from a religious perspective, I also know it from a technical perspective. The whole My name is blah blah blah... I know all that. So I guess the real question is: Who have I become? Do I like who I have become?
The short answer: I don't know exactly who I have become, but there are certainly parts of me I don't like. I don't like that I lose my temper. I don't like that I have become more absorbed in me and less in my kids. I certainly don't like that I have become this larger version of myself. I do like, that despite my size, I know my personality and I like it.
I have opinions and I'm more comfortable expressing them. I'm more confident in me. Most of the time. I'm smarter, more loving and a little more responsible. Those are good things.
Now, again, I'm on this journey of fixing myself. I feel like I have been on the starting step of the golden brick road for a really long time. It's time for my journey to Oz. What will I ask of him: Faith. Faith that I can make the changes I'm promising to make.
For the longest time I've pretty much settled in to being 5 foot 6. Not too short, not too tall. When I got pregnant with my first daughter (who starts kindergarten in the fall, another well of blog posts for the future), I received a major shock. I'm not 5 foot 6 inches. I'm not even 5 foot 5 inches. I'm a solid 5 foot 4 inches on a good day.
Two inches of my life had been stolen in a matter of seconds. I'm convinced that this is the reason I'm lousy at getting physicals. After all, if a nurse can steal two inches from me with a measuring tape, what else can they steal from me with those fancy tools?!
This question combined with the age question, (recently 29 for the first of many many times), made my head spin. I realized: I'm getting old, I'm short and I'm fat to boot. There's not much I can do about my age, except lie, not really my style, so I'm stuck being almost-30 for another 10 months. I can fix the height issue, with heels. Since I only wear heels to church, I'll have to settle for being 5 foot 6 inches only once a week.
Now the fat part, that's something I can do something about. Actually, I've been meaning to do something about it for a while. It's a little disturbing actually that it's gotten put on the back burner so many times.
I have recently been struggling with the concept of: Who am I? I mean how many times have I promised to lose weight. To make a change to be a better person. A lot.
I realize that I know the answer to this from a religious perspective, I also know it from a technical perspective. The whole My name is blah blah blah... I know all that. So I guess the real question is: Who have I become? Do I like who I have become?
The short answer: I don't know exactly who I have become, but there are certainly parts of me I don't like. I don't like that I lose my temper. I don't like that I have become more absorbed in me and less in my kids. I certainly don't like that I have become this larger version of myself. I do like, that despite my size, I know my personality and I like it.
I have opinions and I'm more comfortable expressing them. I'm more confident in me. Most of the time. I'm smarter, more loving and a little more responsible. Those are good things.
Now, again, I'm on this journey of fixing myself. I feel like I have been on the starting step of the golden brick road for a really long time. It's time for my journey to Oz. What will I ask of him: Faith. Faith that I can make the changes I'm promising to make.
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