falling back now

It wouldn't be the first time the word BALANCE has graced ol' CTF bloggo, but here it is again, 2009-style. It's the 25th of January and I've been sick half of those days...first it was a wicked stomach flu, and now I'm down with bronchitis. So what, pray tell, does my being continally ill have to do with balance? Everything.

I am not a woman who does well with resolutions, because I don't like being held accountable for things that I'm not convinced I want follow through on long term. Better to let the wishes pile up in my gut until I'm forced to scrape the top off, pick one or two things to work on, and keep the rest stuffed deep. Better not to verbalize my intense desire to Behave/Move/Create in a new way. One problem: This is no longer working.

See, counterintuitive behaviors, it appears, are eating me alive. I'm not taking good enough care of myself because I resent having to CARE. I can be such a petulant adolescent when it comes to making good (healthier) choices. Really, I'm not as bad as I make it sound...most of the time I DO make good choices, but when I make bad ones--like last Monday's day of debauchery in Colorado Springs--I pay for them. Then again, it's not fair for me to blame myself for getting this sick. Bronchitis happens. It may have happened regardless of my smoking a side of pig in my lungs. But eventually, I have to take responsibility for my well-being--I have to WANT to live differently, and not allow myself to fall into the same patterns of "fun" or "crisis-dealing."

So here's what I resolve: a break. For this body. A break from things that aren't beneficial to the whole. I resolve to give myself time to be gentle and thoughtful and to FEEL my body as it is NOW. After all, I spend a good deal of time being the opposite of all of those things. In many ways, this is like going to a country where I don't speak the language and know nary a soul. The language part is true; the knowing no one who can show me around the place, not so true. I need to reach out to the people who are on the side of health and well-being. I know who they are. They know who they are. It's like I'm on an office retreat and we're on Day 3 when we tromp into the woods for our Trust Exercises, and I'm standing on the short edge of a picnic table. Below me, a group of women wait with their arms stretched before them, laced together to form a net that will catch me as I fall back. The sun is filtering through the canopy of trees, and I can see sky and clouds beyond. I am falling back now. I am trusting the strength of those arms, and my own head.

so this is hungry

I've been fasting since about 8:30 last night, which means it's been maybe 10 hours without food, and for some reason I'm really feeling it. But maybe that's because tea with milk counts as food in some other universe, and going without my tea is making me notice that I'm actually due to eat something.

Oh, only another 45 minutes until the blood draw, and then I have to eat, or I'm not gonna make it up the hill...

finding the marker: facing the truth, which is, in fact, this moment, and nothing more.

184

This morning I weighed myself because after sitting, I was ready to do it without so much judgment, and I told myself, it is what it is, and nothing more, and when I saw the number I didn't hate myself, I didn't feel frustrated or sad or angry. It's simply the number representing where I am at this time-- a number that can and will change, depending on my actions. Nothing about my body is fixed or set-- I'm the guardian, it's my work to be with myself as best I can, to nurture, protect, forgive and support my body in the process of getting and staying healthy. I just need to show up.

So here I am.

How I Spent My Saturday

preface: I woke up with my excuse machine going. I was too tired. It was cold. I might get sick. I needed to stay home and lay low. I could cook a nice dinner if I spent the day lounging around the house. It was gonna be a pain to drive over to West Seattle with the bike. I might get lost. blah blah blah. at some point I got over myself and started getting ready.

Extremely cold out, but I got on the ferry anyway-- $5.30 for me and the bike. A quick sail over to Vashon, disembarked, then saw that first mighty hill and knew this ride on this island was gonna be all about hunkering down. Besides, riding up hills builds character-- and it heats you up, which is quite nice when it's so ding-danged cold outside...so I got a whole lotta heating up in between the ferry terminal and the cabin at the other end of the island.


a mere one beer in the middle. and snacks. lots of snacks to keep me going. as you can see, there's no such thing as "flat" on Vashon Island. thank you, body. and thank you, mind. afterall, hillclimbing is 60% physical, 40% mental, methinks. and thanks to T & J & D for those wonderful fires that kept me warm for my social interlude. Le Therapiste was right: I really needed to go to this party. And as much as I wish L was riding with me, it was a blast to be out on these remote roads by myself, going fast, struggling, (snorking,) and blazing home in the pitch black with only my headlights and highpowered helmet light to guide me. Without landmarks and a horizon in easy view it came down to the feeling-- pushing, breathing, focusing on that thin strip of rideable pavement ahead of me, the cold cold air, the wind against that fleecy gore-tex hat under my helmet.

It was sheer joy in exertion

baaaack in the saaaaadle

I rode in to work today, which wasn't too traumatic, save for the 40 degree weather and all the junk in the bikelane (remnants of Snowpocalypse! 2008). I may wind up sore tomorrow (before my massage), but it'll be worth it, because what a splendid thing, this riding. It's the mobility, for me. It's the think I'll go here, no, I'll go here! thing. It's the not waiting half an hour for a bus (as I did last night after the MRI) and it's the not circling around looking for parking. It's also the breathing, the straining, the wind and the rain, the sound of my tires, the birds, the creaks and moans of me and my machina.

I'm blessed.

ditto-ish

I try not to *compare* myself or my experiences with my bloggo partner's...after all, we are each on our own path, and reserve the right to observe and ponder without someone dragging along behind us saying "yes, oh yes, exactly" all the live long day. But honestly, Stine nailed much of the way I've been feeling with her "ready for a comeback?" post. Because of various stressors on my life and my time, I've allowed myself to slip back into the "don't have energy to worry about what I eat" place, and I'm unhappy about it. See, I want to take time to fuel my body properly. I want to discover new ways of creating balanced meals that are good for me and environmentally aware. I want to feel stronger, sexier, leaner. And there is nothing stopping me from doing this save for...me.

My sister called me this past weekend to say that she is joining Weight Watchers. She asked our Mom to join with her, and of course Mom did, even though she's not terribly overweight. "She asked me to do it," said Mom. "And I'll do whatever it takes to help her." I told my sister that it would take some work planning, but that I truly believed WW was the best weight loss program out there. "I know," she replied. "I just have to cut up celery sticks and have them ready..."

I smiled. Part of me knows that my sister is "old skool" when it comes to weight loss. I fear that she will alter her eating habits too abruptly, start eating like a rabbit and quickly burn out. "It's not that I'm not aware of how to eat healthy," she said. "I just make bad choices."

Perhaps. But it's also about portion control and retraining the brain and perserverance and patience. It's about being pretty ravenous for at least a couple of weeks as your body adjusts to a new way of fueling itself. It's about MOVEMENT. When all things are working in concert, it's a high unlike any other. But like all things in life, there are some golden days, and some shit days. Waiting in the wings, scheming, are frustration and apathy, and they like to try to pull the rug out from under you at all the wrong times. I do feel very fortunate that I can circle with my ROARS sisters and find support and love there. My sister plans to go to meetings and feels that she needs that accountability...sometimes I think I could use it too. Regardless, I hope my sister is able to stick with a plan and not give up too soon. Once you start to lose, you gain momentum, and it's easier to stay motivated. I want her to see results, but most of all, I want her to FEEL better.

In the meantime, I'm going to make every effort to track my food this week. I'm going back to my personal trainer for a refresher. S. and I are starting a cleanse on February 2, so I'm working toward "prepping" my body for that. There's a pot of optimistic, hopeful stew on the stove, and it smells mighty fine.

not quite ready to ride

I'm back to work today, and still jet laggy, which means I've been up since about 3am. I was gonna ride today, but I'm trying to imagine how I'm gonna feel after that MRI at 4:15, when it's getting dark and I've got 10+ miles to ride and I haven't had my (now traditional) 3 hour nap. This may be the day that kicks me back onto a west coast schedule.

The other tricky thing with the jet-laggy reality is food. I don't quite know when to eat, so I'm going with "hungrytime" and maybe settling for less food, more often. I'm also back at work today (big frown), which is gonna require a certain vigilance around not sedating through mindless snacking. I'm also gonna need to bring fruit. And maybe I can sneak some tofu from the salad station.

I'll walk to my MRI appointment up on first hill. That means about a mile and a half of mostly uphill, and then another walk into downtown to catch a bus home. As much as I hate the bus, I'm also trying to be good to myself around exhaustion. Walking a couple miles seems like a reasonable compromise.

One little bit at a time. And one foot in front of the other. I can feel myself coming back, methinks.

ready for a comeback?

I'm having a little struggle re-entering this atmosphere. I'm already thinking about calling in sick again tomorrow, but I don't know that it will help me. I really don't want to go back to my job , but I have to for now.

I'm also working on returning to the land of self-care and attentiveness-- a place I haven't been for months. I've written down my food intake for the past two days, noted the spots where I waggled a bit, and even made a point of telling myself what the good choices were. So this is day two of that, and I feel like the ol' junkie at detox, but I've been here before, so I know I'll make it through.

The comeback, the turnaround, it's not about New Year's Resolutions. It's about trying to get my life back, to come up for air, to seek some reconnection of my physical and spiritual selves because the roles seem have become reversed over the past while (years?months?)

AS IN
I used to rely on my optimism and high spirits to pull myself along in terms of weightloss-- keeping/having a sunny demeanor helped me make good food choices, helped me keep the weight off, helped me stay engaged in my journey.

Having fallen into this very deep, dark, depressed state, I haven't been able to find the old tools to keep me motivated. In fact, I really haven't cared. So now I'm looking at trying to find those healthy choices and places from some other angle-- from the barest sense that nurturing my body (with sensible food and exercise) will nurture my spirit. Right now it feels like an effort to stay alive, to survive and revive by reminding my body of who it is under the care of a happier, more mentally available person.

This may not make much sense right now, and I'm struggling to find a way to describe it. It's not so much that I think I can somehow trick my mind and spirit with clean living-- but the cleaner living feels like an act of respect-- an acknowledgment that right now I need all the help I can get to wake back up, to stay alive by valuing my life, my body, the vessel that houses what has become a very tired, weak, struggling soul. So, just as I wouldn't misfeed a sick friend in the hospital, I'm working to have the same intention with myself as I try to regain my spiritual strength and mental health.

Maybe it's the jet-lag that's making this so hard to articulate.

we'll soon return to our regularly scheduled programming -- or not!

This trip to Spain -- or rather, Catalonia-- has been, well, the best kind of trip. Barcelona was a bit busy, but we saw some beautiful art, ate some beautiful food, and were reminded of the hustle bustle of a real big city.

Verges, in the countryside north of Girona, has been our home base. From here we've ventured to France, to the pre-Pyrenees, and to many a local town for ceramics, food, or a good Pessebre Vivent ( a kind of living Nativity scene/ depiction of medievel life).

I don't know if I can say that this trip has changed me so much as it's provided a much needed reminder of what's important: time with friends, good food and drink, getting (and staying) away from the rat race that dominates life in the States.

I'm not staying in Spain. I have to come home and I'll have to readjust, but it doesn't have to be business as usual. In fact, there are a few significant things I wish to change. No, I won't necessarily be drinking Cava at lunchtime, but I will remember what I've seen and done here. I will make room for something different, for a little more warmth, for food and company and slowing down enough to make it good and to enjoy it and to share it with friends (and even strangers).

I came here in the depth of the deepest depression I've ever experienced. This trip hasn't been a miracle cure, but it's buoyed me long enough to see something on the horizon-- something I want. Something I may have known. Something important enough that I want to go get it.