Things That are Good For Me

Ugh.

I have a question for the universe: Why are bad habits so hard to break, and good habits so hard to form? Also, why does healthiness cost a fortune?

Like seriously. Is it not enough that all healthy food has to taste like crap and all exercise is pure suffering... can it not be just a little bit easy and/or cheap to do something to improve my long term well-being on a regular basis? Ugh.

We traveled to Colombia last month, and part of our quest was to create some new habits of exercise and better eating in a warm, sunny place with more options than Colville. Sorry Tony's and Mr. Sub, it's nothing personal. While we succeeded in walking a lot and going to the gym (under protest, for some of us with the initials of ME) on a semi-regular basis, doing the work to find not-deep-fried food was a little trickier. Still, with the price tag of about $5-7 on a good, Argentinian Parilla Steak  in Colombia, we did ok some days and I actually lost a few pounds and improved my stamina and endurance.

I got all my pounds back with interest and quickly lost my stamina and endurance as soon as we got back to the States, where a good, clean steak costs upwards of $20 and macaroni & cheese whispers seductive sweetness from every menu for a fraction of the price of a salad. Even gym prices in place like Florida and Washington D.C. were outrageous. It cost me $25 for one yoga class in D.C., and while it was (honestly) totally worth in my post-Christmas blobbery, we paid that same amount for four classes in Medellin. Being healthy in the U.S. is hard and expensive.

Which makes me think that the conspiracy theorists actually have it figured out. If we can only afford to eat chemical-laden garbage here, then we will inevitably fall sick with (COMPLETELY AVOIDABLE) illnesses that require medical interventions that we can't afford so we have to have insurance (which we also can't afford, but it's cheaper than health care) and all of the big chemical/pharmaceutical companies and their political/commercial cronies are the ones that are making out like bandits while we're just getting more fat and miserable by the day, voting for all kinds of random band-aid solutions that just line the aforementioned pockets even more. IT'S A TRAP! Which is why conspiracy theorists quit their day jobs, grow enough beans and peaches to live on and stockpile guns. Or move to Colombia and live on good, clean Argentinian steak.

I think I will join the latter camp, because I just spent $35 on eggs and milk and cheese at Safeway here which was consumed completely 36 hours later and now all we have left to eat are saltine crackers and top ramen. And I wonder why I am 35lbs overweight. Real food costs too much, and so does exercise.

OK, there are other solutions, I know. Like I can (and do) do Yoga with Adriene (I just started her 30-day Dedicate Journey if you want in!) on YouTube for free. it's just frustrating because I can't stretch my arms into a Texas T for a supine twist because one hand goes under a chair and the other hand hits the coffee table, and then Dagny puts her slimy ball under my buns when I am in bridge pose and also my floor is cold. I still do it, and I am determined to make a habit of it, but it's hard to really Savasana well when the dog is furiously humping her boyfriend 14 inches from my head. Seriously. No amount of essential oil fixes that.

I say again... UGH. We're doing the gym membership thing here which violates all of my sensibilities because I feel like it's a crime to pay someone to make you suffer, but it's the only answer in this sedentary life we life. So I am finding ways to enjoy the Machines of Torture and the abject humiliation of mismatched leggings and athletic shoes and walls and walls of mirrors reminding me why I am there as I stand frumpily next to that One Girl who looks amazing doing incline sit ups - the move that is more an exercise in trying not to express unintentional flatulence than strengthening my core.

So. Frustrating. HAPPY NEW YEAR. My low-carb, mostly soup diet isn't going so well. The offspring hates soup and that One Guy isn't a fan of most things that are carbless. But I will keep trying. There's a way to do this. I am open to suggestions.

I just read this Mark Manson article about habits vs. goals and it was a good reminder/inspiration, put into the succinct, manageable terms that Manson is so good at enumerating, where he listed of 6 habits to focus on instead of making goals for the new year. Some of them I am already working on dialing in... like the EXERCISE every day thing. Having an Apple Watch makes this fun for me because it is my new Life Aspiration to close All the Circles before this Certain Guy every day. Sometimes I think he has his watch set to cheat because he gets more calorie/exercise credits than I do for the same workout. But whatever.

Manson's other 5 recommended habits include COOKING (which is something I determined a couple months ago was an imperative skill/habit to re-form after my eating out budget was higher than my mortgage payment), MEDITATION (which I SUCK at but am determined to work into my daily yoga practice with lots of discipline), READING (which I used to love but have let go, apparent in the 6-foot shelf of to-read books), and WRITING (which is why I am here today).

These six habits are exactly what I know I need to establish to keep me on track - I have gotten lazy and written off the failure to practice of these things as self-exploration or self-care, blah, blah, blah (insert psychobabble justification here), and I have found myself floating adrift, without a sense of direction or even why I am opening my eyes every morning.

Writing is the biggest one for me. Since I was a kid, journaling has been my saving grace. The thing that kept me from (worse) insanity and maybe even saved my actual life. I have quit writing anything personal lately not from fear of who might read it, but more fear of who might NOT read it, and it's terrifying for me to think that NOBODY CARES. But the reality is, that nobody might care, and THAT'S OK. Because it's about me. It's about getting the words and the thoughts and the feelings out there and if somebody hates it or if nobody reads it or if it's all senseless babble, that's still ok, because it's my thing, and to be who I am and get where I am going, I need to use my words without self-censorship or fear.

So I've got my work cut out for me in the next few months, forming habits and finding creative ways to afford (and enjoy) getting healthy and whole - body, soul, mind, and wardrobe. I'll be looking for workout buddies and healthy recipes, so hit me up! And once I get my six-foot shelf done I will be looking for books too.

My mantra a few years ago was this: It doesn't matter, nobody cares. My new mantra has a lot more power to it: Nobody Cares, Work Harder. My only goal for 2019 is to set aside fear and pain and replace them with love and gratitude. Tony Robbins says that fear and hurt can't co-exist with gratitude, and while I thought I was pretty good at being grateful, judging by the fear I've been living in lately, my gratitude needs some gym time as much as my body. Robbins says to replace expectation with appreciation, so one thought at a time, I will learn the habit of swapping those thoughts. And for me, writing that shit down makes it real, so here's the first step of a journey to a bigger, better, brighter me.

Thanks for listening, if you did, to my ramble. And if you didn't, that's ok too. ❤️

Things About #$#%#$# Exercise

I am committed, you guys. Like, I am totally doing it.

I am not sure what I am doing, but I am doing it for sure.

After a jaunt through hell with my brand new PLYO DVD yesterday, I woke up to what could be termed paralysis this morning.

Did you know that there is not a single movement of the human body that doesn't involve the muscles on the backs of your thighs? I didn't. Found that out today. I also decided that the small hill I jogged yesterday was actually a mountain in disguise.

But SOMEHOW I got out of bed. And SOMEHOW I put my shoes on and SOMEHOW I went for a "run", which we all know is code for a walk that involves a lot of panting, hopping in place, and good intention. I did almost two and a half miles, which is far, when you can't move. I went up the imposter mountain again, and came down in front of the school for the last quarter mile, where I tried really hard to jog and look cool and motivational for the kids. I think I heard some giggles and I realized I wasn't actually moving forward so I just gave up and walked home. By the time I reached my porch I knew I was in trouble. There are steps. Two of them. I got one leg up on the first step but that was all she wrote. I think I had to turn around and back up them on my bum, but I was in so much pain I don't really remember.

There is no position right now that doesn't make those muscles behind my legs scream bloody murder at me. I thought a hot bath might help, but once I had soaked for awhile I realized I had failed to consider the hurdle of getting out of the tub.

Putting pants on just isn't happening today. I apologize in advance, postmaster.

Working out to the point of uselessness every day has one definite perk: I am forced to lay on the couch and watch Netflix for most of the afternoon. If I could find a way to get paid for that I would be golden. I have a volleyball game to go watch tonight and the bleachers are already giving me panic attacks.

I am doing this 30 day challenge thingy that says I have to eat a small portion every three hours. I never. I binge eat every 8. It's just how I roll. It should be interesting. Not that I am against eating, ever. It's just all the remembering that I am really bad at.

Tomorrow we are supposed to tackle the REAL PiYo, so brace yourselves. Assuming I can get out of the bathtub by then....

Things About Getting In Shape

After a little research, I decided to order a PiYo DVD so I could start getting serious about working out. You know, really committing myself. And PiYo seemed like a reasonable answer to a self-proclaimed hedonist who wants to exercise as long as it's not Too Hard. 

So this morning, on the First Full Day I have been home in almost a month, I decided to whip that baby out and give her a whirl. First I went for a jog, which felt something like giving birth, since in the last 27 days I have taken no more than 18 steps on any given day. I started out running down the street with plans of conquering my three mile, up-a-giant-hill route, but at about .27 miles began to rationalize that if I really wanted to do my PiYo I should not be too aggressive on my run, so I turned around at .73 miles and after doing the up-a-small-hill route, and jogged back home. To be fair, it was my second fastest time doing a run under two miles (1.32 total), but my first fastest doesn't really count since I accidentally switched Runkeeper on when I drove over to the Middlesworth's last time. I will be hard pressed to beat that half mile in 2.01 minutes. 

Anyway after my run, and beginning to seriously second guess whether anything was really worth this much suffering, I popped in the DVD, unfurled my yoga mat and grabbed my water. I thought it was a little odd that the people on the video didn't have yoga mats. And they were all wearing shoes, which seemed rather un-yogaish, but not being super familiar with the Pilates side of things I figured I would just go with it. 

The DVD started off with some jumping jacks and running in place and some other spastic things that I am sure that I nailed. I was feeling pretty confident that I could keep up, but then I noticed the little banner at the bottom of the screen said we were in the middle of the three minute warm up. That was disappointing, to say the least. 

When the trainer started into the actual rounds of real moves, they were all these leaping squat things, and lunging-jump-twist contortions that weren't much like any pilates I have seen, but I was still up for being a good sport and kept trouncing along, sort of like an elephant on a broken trampoline. About halfway into the stupid thing I was still waiting for the yoga moves to kick in, and during one of the rest breaks I picked up the DVD case to see if these people even knew what PiYo was supposed to be. 

Turns out, in a fit of dyslexia, or maybe an Amazon ordering binge complemented by a bottle of merlot, I had ordered a DVD of a PLYO workout, not a PiYo routine, and my friends, let me tell you, the two are very different. In fact, as one google-question-answerer put it, they are completely opposite. Plyometrics operate on the principles of muscle confusion and aggressive bursts of high impact movement, whereas PiYo is intended as a graceful flowing low impact routine for core strengthening and flexibility. 

Not to be put to shame by my own silliness, I finished the DVD (except for the rounds that were all shoulder moves) and now I am pretty sure I will never walk again. But I am still interested in trying PiYo. Maybe I can borrow it from my BFF to avoid future ordering mishaps. 

Things About "Running"

I have been running.

That's pretty much a flat-out lie. Except that I did try. I ran. I ran like 100 steps. Granted, each of them was an individual stride, spaced in between with walking. But I still picked up both feet off the ground and tried to run. To make it sound cooler/more intentional, I told my brother/fitness coach that I was jogging. He said "don't jog. jogging is terrible. jogging does no good. you need to run." And I said back: "what you don't understand is that this IS my run." If I can clock a 13.5 minute mile, I am flying, baby.

None of it makes sense really. Last year I read the book Born To Run by Christopher McDougall, and it was life changing for three reasons: 1) it was the first time I downloaded a full book that I paid for onto my iPad and read it, in it's entirety, digitally ; 2) I actually voluntarily spent time reading about something I hate, namely running; and 3) I got done reading it and was absolutely convinced that with the right pair of shoes, I would fly like a gazelle through the woods endlessly as soon as I gave it a whirl.

I have been whirling quite a bit these days, and so far the closest thing to a gazelle on my runs are the towny deer giggling at me as I flop by. Because that's what it is. A flop. I "ran" so much yesterday that when I tried to do it today, I discovered I had given myself shin splints and even my jog was more like a clumsy imitation of a walk. Actually my shins hurt way less when I tried to "run" faster, but I wore my baggy sweatpants, because it's that kind of a week, and they kept falling off - not just down, but actually, off. Like those poor deers probably got an unintentional moon in exchange for their mockery. Serves them right.

All Of The People say that if you just keep on doing it, it will get better. I am inclined to believe this is true for knitting and possibly marinading steaks, but as far as running goes, I am reticent. In fact, after three straight days of "running", I am actually fatter, slower and now in more pain than I was three days ago. I understand one can't expect instant gratification - but come on - three days is a lifetime when you're talking about running.

In the back of my head all of this leads to the one driving purpose of my life: to pass the arduous pack test one more time before I die. I have found peace with the fact that that is probably not going to be this year, with the bone-on-bone situation in my lower back and a shoulder that spontaneously dislocated when I cross my arms, but the standard is still there, dangling in front of my face. It is the standard by which all exercizish things are measured in my world. A mile must be accomplished in less than 16 minutes. Easy. Check. Two miles should be finished in 30 minutes carrying 25 pounds... oooh, that's a stretch, but if I had to do it once, I could probably. Three miles, forty five minutes and forty five pounds - there's the golden standard of arrival. I got the three miles in time the other day, but the 45 pounds extra I was carrying are the ones around my midsection. I understand the concept that running will help me achieve my goal in developing my cardiovascular stamina, and building the muscles I need to support the weight. I get why. It's just the how that I have ethical problems with. Mostly because I still adhere to the idea that working full time and making dinner and doing the laundry and yelling at the kids and, and and... should be more than enough to prepare me for any other arduous endeavors. There is something just rude about the idea that I have to take what little "spare" time I have and use it to punish myself for being soft and lazy, when really I don't feel soft and lazy on the inside whatsoever.

That's what reading the book helped with. It made running seem like something almost, dare I say, fun?!?! And I know some people who say that they enjoy it, although I believe they are masochistic liars that clearly have no idea what fun actually is.  There has been the ever so slight and gradual shift in my thinking that maybe, with enough trying, I too could enjoy this form of torture. We're a long way from decided on that front, but I am not ruling it out.

And it's not like I can't run if I absolutely have to. If the fire gods are worried about me getting my ass off of the fireline in a hurry, they should see me beat four teenage girls to the shower in the evening. I'm so quick you don't even see me. Of course that's usually on the nights that I decide it's not worth the fight and skip it all together, in which case you really don't see me. Or that one time that my sister was beating me to all of the best stuff in the thrift store. You know I moved like greased lightening then. I had no choice. It was life or death. Think of how my performance would improve on these fronts if I actually practiced running more? It's almost terrifying. We'll see who's laughing then, Bambi.

Things About Fitbit One (1)

So, in a long and convoluted exchange of designer clothing, Scentsy bars, and ground beef, somehow I got a brand new Fitbit One (1) out of my sister. For some reason it didn't work out for her. I'm not sure why, because my Fitbit 1 (one) is my new best friend. 

[For those of you not in the know, a Fitbit is a glorified pedometer that records activity, and apparently sleep patterns, and will sync with you computer or whatever. I haven't gotten that far. And also, I don't want anyone else to remind me how terrible my sleep patterns are. I am keenly aware of the tossing and turning and aches and pains throughout the restless night. (See future sleep pattern post)]

In addition to telling me how awesome I am by adding every step I take all day long into a grandiose total and compiling them all into building stories and miles covered, my Fitbit One (1) also tells me when I can have a slice of cheesecake or a piece of apple pie. With ice cream of course. It also forgives me for the hot Dr Pepper(s) I drank and the beer. 

We had one heated disagreement when I checked my steps after a long shift at work and the Fitbit 1 (one) said 1720. In addition to threatening to throw the tiny piece of Brilliant Technology for being a cruel and hateful liar, I maybe cried a little. Then my Fitbit One (1) explained that I was actually looking at the calories burned screen, and as I had walked 11,573 steps, I could actually have the cheesecake. 

The most amazing thing about my Fitbit 1 (One) is that even when my dog had fleas, my daughter Actually For Real Stole The Car and drove it around town, the Fitbit One (1) still told me that I was awesome and Good Job. 

I keep expecting my jeans and other items of clothing to start agreeing with my Fitbit 1 (one) and loosening up a bit. It's not like they can't appreciate the 11,573 steps too. And maybe the cheesecake. 

Really this is just the beginning. The honeymoon phase of a newly blossoming relationship. Many new and exciting things are ahead for us, my Fitbit One (1) and I. Like sleep patterns. We will keep you posted. 

And just think. If a Fitbit 1 (one) can do all this, what will the Fitbit Two (2) be able to accomplish?