a view from a ride

up one side and down again

It must be Spring. I mean, I'm up way too early, and I just want to get out of the house and move.

Yesterday morning I felt the same way, and so I decided, before I even left the house, to take a little detour. When I got to Fremont, I pulled off the BG trail and made my way over to Fremont Avenue NW. All these years of being a Seattleite (what, 4 or 5 of 'em now), I've never ridden up Fremont. In fact, I've avoided riding up it. Back when I went to school in Shoreline, I'd barrel down it on that last leg home, but no, I never faced climbing it.

Yesterday's ride was a demystification of sorts. I discovered that Fremont is really no worse (perhaps easier, even) than my old climb up Harvard and 10th to Capitol Hill. Sure, my heart got to beating and I got to breathing heavily, but I never felt like, "ah, no way. time to turn around."

It felt like a victory of sorts, like there's yet another route (to/from) at my disposal. Oh, and a wee workout I can squeeze in on either side of my workday.
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Fremont Avenue in the Fall

carrott pizza

Work has been nuts today. I'm taking a break to write this because if I find one more edit that I ALREADY MADE on a .pdf I'm gonna, in the immortal words of Dave Chappelle, choke a bitch.

I was walking back to my office just a moment ago and thought "I'm hungry." I could eat the yogurt I brought, or almonds (already got into those between brekkie and lunchola) but what I really want is PIZZA. I NEVER want pizza. Or very rarely at least. I have a good friend who is trying to "get off of" pizza (like it's black tar heroin) because she eats it at least three times a week. I'm much more apt to eat asian food of any variety three times a week than chow on a pizza. But today...today I want it. I want grease and cheese; I'm even thinking something Hawaii'an-esque, which surprises the hell out of me, since it wasn't until recently that I began to see the merits of pineapple on pizza. I know, I know. Some consider it sacrilege. I just love the sweet/salt combo. Mmmmmmmmm.

I've settled for carrotts. I'm munching on them now.

This craving, it's total, unadulterated Stress Eating. It's coming from somewhere deep deep inside. This desire is potent, the drive almost animalistic. MUST HAVE PIZZA TO CALM FRAZZLED NERVES. Recognizing that, I have to wonder what it IS that makes me want to coat my arteries with all that gook. I know better (which means ZERO in this case) and I'm sure I would feel like shit after I ate a piece. Mentally and physically. But I'm still fascinated by how strong the WANT is. I'm sitting in it, though, and I'm going to do my damndest not to give in to the this need for soothing, calm, fullness (?). I've got three baby carrotts left. I'm chewing them slow, like they're the only food I'll have for days. Lord help me.

way in

S. weighed herself on Sunday. I wasn't there, but she reported in later that day. "I'm down .4," she said sheepishly.

"That's great!" I replied, genuinely.

I did NOT weigh myself on Sunday. By the time I remembered, I'd already eaten. And drank three cups of coffee. In other words, there was NO WAY I was getting on that scale at noon.

"I'm going to do it tomorrow," I said.

Today is tomorrow. Did I remember to weigh myself? (no.)

Damn this petty pace. Damn the fact that I'm hitching my wagon to a scale and praying it takes me down down down all the way to Onederland.

S. and I talked about what we wanted to be "when we grew up" this past weekend. I said I had so many things that seemed possible but I wasn't sure WHAT I wanted. More school? Opening a business in our up-n-coming 'hood? Going back to teaching, getting an actual teaching degree? I think I'd be a kick ass high school English teacher. I'd love to turn kids that age on to poetry, just like what happened to me when I was a senior. (Now what was that teacher's name! Perhaps I would not be as memorable as I like to think.) Teaching would afford me summers off, and since S. already has that, we could fulfill our dream of trekking around North, Central and South America in our VW van. (One that we don't own yet, mind you.) Or do I stay put, continue to pay off debt, save save save (oh WHY couldn't I be born with the MISERLY & FRUGAL gene?) and, hopefully, make my way back to Montana?

And then there's the most fucked up desire/possibility of all. You know the one. The one where it would all be clear to me, crystal clear, what I should do with my life, because life would be GRAND. Perfect. If I was thin, I could rule the world. With one finger. Careers would fall at my feet. A business would open itself. There would be no What If's because I'd be in the land of Thin Me.

I don't like that this completely whacked way of thinking is still in me. Way way in. But it is.

Me, On a Diet

Huffing Girlfriend's Doughnut Bag

done deed

Got.......on.......the.....scale.

Actually went out to Targay and BOUGHT a new scale. They were on sale. How fitting.

Unlike my jeans. Which are tight.

Upon bringing said scale home, S. and I proceeded to weigh ourselves. Her first. She said..."I bet it's ___." She was 10 lbs. less than she thought she was. VICTORY!

My turn. I step on. The little digital line moves across the LED screen. The #....

246.8. (Am I really going public with this?)

I say a little prayer, thankful that I was not over 250. BUT. And that's a mighty big BUT...I'm very very close to 250. It's enough to make a girl freak the fuck out.

I've decided, however, that this number, this weight, needs to be a place I am visiting FOR NOW. It's like all those doc appt's that I've suffered through for most of my life...I would tell myself, for instance, before entering the dreaded microscope room wherein my ear would be suctioned out with a vacuum that made me feel like I had a Dyson in my brain...I would say "This is just temporary. You'll be out of here in no time." I knew that the longer I stayed in that room, the more the sick child in me surfaced. It's an inevitability I've learned to manage, but it still wigs me out. So in order to control the rising tide of emotional wreckage, I talk myself down. There's a lot of "just get through this just get through this"--I think that I need to employ this approach with weight loss, or at least those times when I'm feeling discouraged or really hungry. Just hold on. Just be still. Believe that the pain of this moment, whether it's physical or psychological, will pass.

Moment by moment, I lumber toward a better life.