March Madness....

April 1st is upon us, and if I am honest, I am surprised to find myself still here! Two months have passed and I haven't managed to sabotage myself yet. March was definitely more challenging for me than February. I had to balance vacations, illnesses and visits from my family. I found myself challenged to meet my weekly goals, but despite "March Madness," I managed to meet my most important goal; fitting in some form of physical activity at least four times a week.

I know the month ahead is going to be even more challenging. I have found my personal stack of concerns growing these past two weeks, and I can see the storm ahead of me, but as I sit here in the momentary calm, I am thankful that I have this outlet to turn to. One thing I have learned these past two months, my physical and spiritual journey go hand in hand. The physical is fed by the spiritual, the spiritual is eased by the physical and this special pairing is creating a journey that is proving to be so much more than I ever imagined it could be. So as I look ahead to my third month, I am asking for continued support from my village.

Based on last month's lessons, I have decided to be a little more realistic in setting my goals for this month. I know now my body needs to set the specific parameters on how far or how much I can do from day to day, but I think it's reasonable to add another day to my routine after meeting my four day goal for two months. So April's goals will be to add another day to my week, and shoot for five out of seven days of activity as well as continuing my work day exercise breaks.  It's not going to be easy sticking to my path this month, but with your help I know I can make it through.

Teaching Old Dogs New Tricks.....

As I finished my second set of Ab exercises today, it struck me that the person who said, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks," didn't know what they were talking about. It also occurred to me that one of the main reason's I've managed to stay on track this time is that I stopped buying into that sentiment. No one is ever to old, too broken, or too infirmed to learn something new, the only pre-requisite for success is truly wanting it.

I used to be that person who adamantly defended my lack of commitment to a work-out routine. I was too busy taking care of my kids, I was too busy working, I was too beset by health challenges. But the truth was, I was too busy making excuses while the biggest problem was me. I had allowed myself to settle into a mid-life routine, and I was afraid to challenge the status quo. I had bought into the idea that I was the by-product of my circumstances, instead of recognizing I could do more to control my circumstances.

So as I pondered this idea that we are never to old to learn something new, I thought of my friend who had inspired me to start this journey. She is one year older than me, and has had her own unique health challenges, and like me spent many years accepting the status quo until she didn't, and then she started her own journey to fitness. She has been at it for at least a year now, and I've watched as she has made a tremendous change in life. She is a much happier and healthier person. She has learned new tricks. Today she is entered in a fitness contest for Fitness Magazine, and has won my vote. .http://photos.fitnessmagazine.com/face-of-fitness-contest/13/2011/271



I also thought of the many comments I've received since I started my own personal Quest. So many of them are from other mid-lifers like me striving to make a change. They have stopped buying into the idea that they can't learn new tricks and started buying into reinventing themselves. Your comments inspire me, as mine may inspire you. So as I end today's blog,  I have a comment for the person who came up with the saying, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks"....You haven't been hanging out with the same old dogs that I am!



My good friend Terry. Please help her win by giving her your vote. 





Mammograms, Manograms and Jelly Fish....

Yesterday I was feeling a bit stressed. I had a case of pre-visit anxiety. My Dad and my Step Mom were coming to visit Friday night, and while I love seeing them, I tend to work myself up into a spiral before their arrival trying to insure that everything is just right. Do I have clean towels, sheets; coffee for my dad (we don’t drink coffee in our house)? Do the dogs smell fresh or like week old socks?  Is the clutter appropriately hidden and are the bathrooms clean? While I know they aren't coming to see me or inspect the condition of my house, I guess we never outgrow the child that always wants to inspire pride in our parents.

On top of that I was finally heading back to the radiologist for my mammogram, and since it was my first one, I was a little apprehensive about the procedure. I kept trying to imagine what the procedure would entail and particularly tried to visualize my breasts as the "squished pancakes" I had been told they would remind of me of while they were being photographed, but I surprisingly wasn't worried about unpleasant findings; I had no familial history of breast cancer and I could feel no lumps in a self-exam. I also knew that didn't preclude me from needing the exam. The thought of baring my breasts to be flattened in some sort of imagined medieval X-Ray machine was still intimidating me.

I arrived very early this time, not to risk being bumped again, filled out the Mammogram Questionnaire and then waited my turn. I was pleasantly surprised when I was actually called early. I entered the room and the technician told me to remove my top and bra, and then put on the robe that was provided. I waited for her to exit, only to realize she wasn't going to. I wasn't particularly modest, but typically for any other appointments I had been to which required disrobing, the attendants always allowed you privacy to change into the robe first, and would sometimes even get offended if you started changing before they left. It occurred to me after the procedure, however,  that this was probably a technique the technician used to start getting you over any awkwardness a little more quickly. This way you wouldn't be nearly as uncomfortable when she actually exposed and handled your breasts to position them correctly in the mammogram machine. Since I didn't know this going in, however, I was a little at a loss at first as to whether or not I should start undressing or wait for her to exit. When I finally determined she was waiting for me to start disrobing, I awkwardly began the process. I was so rattled I managed to drop my necklace behind a desk, and ended up climbing around half naked on all fours while trying to pull on the Houdini X-Ray Robe and retrieve my necklace at the same time.

I did manage to almost complete the mission when the tech instructed me not to be concerned with putting on the right arm of my robe since I needed it off for the procedure. I was a little dismayed that she hadn't mentioned this earlier, but guessed that she had enjoyed watching me struggle, and after I truly understood what she did all day for a living, I could certainly understand her desire for a little levity. I'm not sure I can adequately describe the next events. I can only say that because the machine I was on wasn't working correctly what would normally have taken four times of repositioning my breast into a machine that slowly compresses the flesh into a flattened version of what it once was, took about eight attempts. While one position was definitely uncomfortable, I found the second position to actually be somewhat painful. Fortunately the compressions only lasted for a short time each.

Despite the little bit of fun at my expense, the tech was very respectful during the actual procedure which helped tremendously since she had to reposition my breasts eight times. I did catch a glimpse of one of my X-rays, and decided my breast looked much like a jelly fish, hopefully one without any lumps inside. As far as"Squished pancakes", they actually reminded me more of the flattened chicken breasts, but I guess every one has their own visual, and this visual actually proved to be my stress reliever for the remainder of the day, as I found myself giggling afterwards at the whole experience. 

I have to say I believe whole heartedly in the screening process, and I realize we have come a long, long way in breast cancer research and prevention, but I did find myself thinking that if men had to have a yearly exam where their manly parts were squished in a strange machine while a stranger handled the placement, they would quickly find an affordable and more comfortable alternative...no offense meant to men, I just think unless you've experienced it, you wouldn't really understand the experience enough to understand why it might be something worth changing. This was confirmed by my mammogram technician who said she didn't truly understand the experience until she had her first one even though she had been giving them for years at that point. More perplexing, I was a little dismayed to learn from a friend that there are actually other solutions out there that have proven to be more effective as a diagnostic tool, but are not being utilized as the standard. It seems they are either more expensive and are only used once cancer is suspected or completely unavailable because hospitals have not made the investment in the equipment. A little squishing is certainly better than the alternative, but perhaps in time, the medical community will appreciate our breasts enough to move from the medieval to the modern. 

One step too far...

Apparently I am not listening quite as well to my body as I thought I was. Yesterday was much like any other day this week. I was still not one-hundred percent, but I didn't feel horrible. I had gotten my cough under control finally and even though I still felt off, I really thought it was more a result of allergies kicking in than the last remnants of the virus. I decided I was well enough to try and get back on track with my pre-vacation work-outs.

I had planned to hit the elliptical, but the machines were full, so I opted to hit the treadmill again, only I decided I should try to pick up the pace from the day before. My husband had mentioned that sometimes when he is at the tail end of a cold, he would find that a run would help him break up the last vestiges of congestion. I knew I wasn't ready to run, but I did think perhaps that a brisker walk would have the same affect for me, and I had not been coughing which may have been why I let my guard down. The first two miles went great. I wasn't able to get back up to my fifteen minute mile, but I was at 15:23, so I was pretty close. Everything was feeling pretty good, and then my feet started to tingle.

I had grabbed another pair of socks that were a little too big (truth be told, they were my husband's socks again, but I was covering them with long pants this time), so I attributed the problem to too much sock in my shoe instead of recognizing it as a harbinger of a more serious problem. There was a particularly riveting Law and Order on, and I was focusing on the show, not my tingling feet or my neighbor's socks or lack there of. As I watched myself virtually round the first quarter into the third mile, I started feeling a little off. I couldn't quite put my finger on the problem, but I just didn't feel great all of a sudden. I finally tuned into my body enough to slow down a little. I was probably just pacing myself a little too fast. I reduced my pace to a 17 minute mile and waited for the sensation to pass, but it didn't. I slowed down a little farther, and continued walking convinced I would feel better any minute; I really wanted to make my three miles, and I was sure if I just slowed down enough, I could push my way through the sensation and keep walking. I took another step and the room started spinning. I finally had the good sense to stop the treadmill and get off. But I had clearly taken one step too many, and as I stepped onto the floor, the room tossed and turned as if I were back on the boat.

I gathered my things and made my way back to my car where I had to sit for another ten minutes before I was able to consider driving home. I pondered what had happened. I realized I had simply let my desire to push myself farther overtake my good sense. Had I simply taken things slow to begin with, I probably would have made it through my work-out just fine, but I was trying too hard to impress myself and perhaps my village. I chastised myself for the multiple wrongs: pushing too hard, pushing too long, not listening to the warning signs, but at some point I let myself off the hook. It was going to be a learning curve to balance the old me who used every excuse to avoid working out and the new me who actually was pushing herself to do more.Tomorrow I would do a better job at listening to what my body was telling me.

Hairy Legs and Athletic Socks.....

March has proven to be a fairly challenging month for me, and I have been feeling a little stressed about how well I have been managing or not managing to stay on track with my journey to get healthy. It started with my vacation which while absolutely fantastic, provided a slight pause in my momentum. I had every intention of charging hard upon my return, and then got struck down with the virus which was still lingering and threatening daily to morph into bronchitis. I felt satisfied that I had been managing to still fit in some form of exercise regularly, but I was still concerned that I had been having to dial back on the level of my work-outs and was anxious to get back to my pre-vacation routine.

No Socks!

Yesterday my cough seemed to be better controlled and my energy level was returning, so I decided to get back into the gym. I had been laying low since Saturday's work-out on the elliptical which seemed to trigger my set-back with my cold, but I thought that my body was ready at least for a slow walk. I hopped on the treadmill, and decided right off the bat, that I would still try to make my three mile mark, but I would keep my pace down, so as not to trigger any more problems with my breathing. Unfortunately, I realized pretty quickly, to keep from coughing I had to reduce my pace pretty significantly; it was going to take 51 minutes to hit my three miles at the rate I was going, and I found with the slower pace, my mind was not content to simply tune into the latest rerun of Law and Order. At some point I started looking around at the other folks working out around me, and then happened to glance down at my neighbors feet. He was not wearing any socks!

Stylish Socks

That seemed a bit on the unhygienic side to me, and I kept imagining the odor his shoes emitted when he took them off post work-out. I started glancing around to look at what other people around me were wearing. I was relieved to see that the majority of folks who's lower legs were uncovered for display were indeed wearing something on their feet other than shoes. At this point, I randomly glanced down at my own bare legs and socks. I had actually worn shorts to the gym that day (quite the rarity), only because my laundry pile had swallowed all of my long work-out pants. "Good grief! What was I thinking?" Nearly every person I glanced at had some form of short athletic sock ranging from the very minimal sock which barely protrudes above the rim of the shoe to the sock that extends about an inch up with a nice thick band around the top to absorb any moisture. I, however, in some sort of post work haze had thrown on the first pair of socks I grabbed from my drawer...a pair of my husband's 3/4 length athletic socks. I had neatly folded them over like we did after "Grease" revived the sock hop look, but it was still fairly obvious I was wearing a pair of men's socks. So as I was busily purveying and yes, judging, the socks or lack there of on my neighbors, I was standing out probably even more than the boy with no socks. To make matters worse, as I stared down at my legs, I realized that I had also failed to shave that morning.

My socks!

It dawned on me at precisely that moment, that I had clearly passed into a new phase with my journey. I had stopped worrying about the coordinating motivational outfits and simply started worrying about the work-out. So here I was a little sick with hairy legs and men's socks, but at the end of a three mile work-out on the treadmill. It really didn't matter what socks I had on, or how I appeared, or even how fast I walked, it mattered only that I was still making it to the gym, nearly two months after this all began. March was turning out OK after all.

Thunderstorms....

Yesterday morning I woke to a raging thunderstorm complete with hail. It was a dubious way to start the morning and seemed to be a foreshadowing of the day ahead. My cold had started moving to my chest the day before, and I was beginning to cough. For some people coughing is an annoyance, for me coughing is something to be avoided at all cost. I had hoped I had nipped it in the bud the day before by taking to the couch and minimizing my activity, but I was still coughing when I woke up, so I was immediately frustrated.

My youngest daughter had a particularly rough, emotional weekend capped off by a high fever and swollen throat. I was finding it difficult to be far away from her when she was in pain. In my heart, I knew she was well equipped to handle everything she was going through on her own, but I just wasn't ready to "not" be in a position to make things better. So when she asked me to call her at 9 AM to wake her for a Doctor's appointment because her alarm hadn't been working correctly, I thought to myself, at least this was one thing I could help her with. So at 9 AM on the dot, I dialed her number, only for it to go unanswered. Hmmm...she must be sleeping pretty hard. I tried again, still no answer. Maybe she was up already and in the shower. I'd wait a few more minutes and try again. This continued for 25 more minutes and then my worry button started going off. Maybe something was wrong! I couldn't reach her suite mates, but I wasn't worried enough to call in the cavalry just yet. I would just have to wait for her to check in.

In the midst of trying to roust Chelsey, my oldest daughter called. She had stayed in town with a friend and had woken up with a fever as well. Apparently she had either finally caught the cold/virus her Dad and I had brought home from the boat or else was having sympathy fevers for her sister. Either way, she was trying to decide if she should increase her seizure meds, because she was feeling so poorly. Never a good question to hear first thing Monday morning.

After I hung up the phone with Charlie and had a gameplan in place for her meds and her path home, I once again set out trying to track down Chelsey. About 9:45 I finally get a call from her, she had slept through all ten of my phone calls. She had a hard time sleeping the night before and finally fell into a deep sleep early in the morning. She was able to reschedule her appointment for later in the morning, but she was still running a fever for the third day in a row which didn't bode well for her mood or mine.

I hung up the phone relieved that Chelsey was alive, but still feeling pretty stressed. I returned to my work, and tried to distract myself with my e-mail, but as any typical Monday morning, the e-mail was really just highlighting more problems. Fortunately, it was not too long before my "Walk" alarm on my outlook went off. It was still pretty nasty outside, and with my cough plaguing my morning, I thought better of walking around the building. Hmmm, what would be a good stand in without taxing my lungs too much. I plopped down on the floor and decided I would do a round of crunches. My first thought was, "Wow, I'm getting old and creaky! This is a really hard floor and it is hurting my back just to lay here, much less what it will feel like to try and contort my body into a sit-up!" but I sucked it up and started to crunch.

A surprising thing happened, as I pushed through the crunches, I started transferring my frustration into my efforts, and as I crunched away, I also seemed to push the stress away. By the end of my reps, I was actually beginning to feel better. The frustration, while not gone, was greatly reduced. I hopped back up in my chair and thought to myself what a handy trick that was! And then the phone rang again. As I glanced at the caller ID and saw my daughter's name yet again, I had a fleeting thought that I was going to get a really tough AB work-out today. I already had a feeling I would need to do a few more crunches by the end of the conversation.

Giving up the "Crack".....

No, I don't do drugs, but Yes, I do candy, and it has come to my attention that one candy in particular seems to be my "Crack". For all of you followers, I'm sure you already have the answer figured out, but for those of you new to my blog, the simple truth is I'm addicted to Reese's Peanut Butter Cups...particularly the ones that come in shapes, Peanut Butter Hearts, Eggs, Trees and Pumpkins. After my recent trip to overindulgence lane when I was sick, it has become evident that I have a problem that needs addressing.

Two of my friends suggested I do away with the candy bowl. That was sage advice and probably would be the smartest choice in dealing with my problem, but the reality is too many other people have become dependent on that candy bowl. It serves as breakfast for Charlie's boyfriend and as Chuck's evening treat. It is part of the homecoming ritual for my youngest daughter and her friend's from college. They congregate around the kitchen bar while I prepare some feast, tell stories and nibble on candy. I'm not sure how they would react should they come home to an empty candy bowl.




Truth be told, the only real problem I have with the candy bowl is when it is filled with Reese's Peanut Butter cups. Currently we only have it filled with miniature Hershey's bars, Krackle bars and Butterfingers, and I'm not having any difficulty controlling my nibble factor, but when the bowl is topped with some peanut butter confection, it acts as my gateway drug to all the other sweets throughout the home. And while the affects to my figure concern me slightly,  more importantly I realize when I eat eight cups in one day (even if they were the miniature sized eggs), I am clearly reducing my healthy input. My stomach can only hold so much, so while I many not have technically replaced a meal, I  clearly replaced a healthy snack or two.

So my solution to my dilemma is to give up the "Crack", and only allow myself a taste of it on those occasions where I can't go back for seconds. No more Reese's Peanut Butter eggs in the home, no more hearts in the car or pumpkins in the office. Since it seems to be the one sweet I can't just eat one if, it has to go. Wish me luck, this should interesting.

Puppy Training and Ab Work Outs...

Friday afternoon was another beautiful day, so I opted to walk outside again instead of hitting the gym. The weather would be turning cold over the weekend, and I wanted to enjoy one last day in the sun. My husband had gotten home from work early, and he was going to join me for my walk. It would be reminiscent of our walks on the cruise only without the swaying. As we were getting ready to head out the door, I suggested to my husband he put our dogs away, but he declined. They had already been locked up for most of the day while we were at work, and he thought we should allow them a little freedom. I wasn't sure I agreed, but I didn't disagree enough to challenge the decision. We set out for our walk, but I couldn't help but start worrying about what we would find when we got home.

We have two dogs. Both are rescue mutts. One we found on a rainy Sunday afternoon outside of the Harley-Davidson store where I worked. He ran right up to the front door of the store looking for shelter and food. After a week of trying to find his owner unsuccessfully, he joined our family and quickly settled into the position of resident King Dog. The interesting thing about Zeus is your initial impression would probably be, "Wow, that's one ugly little dog!", but after spending a little time with him, you would start to  view him with rose colored glasses, the ugliness would fade and all you would see is his cute, and quirky personality. Zeus has been part of our home now for about ten years now, and as he has aged, he has grown increasingly more lethargic, and definitely more entitled, but he has maintained his status as the king of the house and number one Alpha dog despite his diminutive size.

Hines is our newest addition. He joined our household a little over a year ago. He was part of a litter of puppies that was abandoned in a nearby forest. My oldest daughter spied him at the local pet adoption fair and once she held him, the deal was sealed. There are few people who meet Hines who don't immediately remark on how cute he is. He looks every bit the scruffy mutt even and he has somehow managed not to age out of that puppy look even though he is almost two years old.  This seems to be his natural defense, as it protects him like a shield from  the constant mischief he manages to find. He is messier than either of our children, but he looks up with his big brown eyes and floppy ears and all is quickly forgiven. Zeus and Hines have helped fill my empty nest moments as no one else could.

As we set out for our walk, I continued dwelling on the trouble that  the pups might find. It didn't generally take long for the two of them to stir up problems. A quick trip to the store for milk could result in strewn toilet paper throughout the house. One particularly memorable day when we neglected to leave the dogs gated in the kitchen for far too long resulted in a grapefruit sized hole in our leather club Love Seat. Curiously enough when we entered the room where the damage had occurred, Zeus had positioned a small pillow on top of the hole and was laying on it. Whether he was trying to hide the damage or point it out, I'm still not sure, but the real guilty party was pretty apparent as he ran up to us happily sporting a piece of foam caught in his beard. I decided if I was going to enjoy my walk though, I had to either turn back around and gate them in or just let go of the my worries and hope for the best. At this point if I turned around, I might not head back out, so I decided to just let go of my concerns,

You can imagine my relief when we did return and the house was still in tact. I was pleasantly surprised as I surveyed the place. Other than a few stray toys, everything was where it should be. I could relax and close out my work out with a quick Ab routine. So I popped down on the living room floor and started my crunches. I had only gotten to my third count when suddenly I felt a toy dropping on my face. Hines was standing over me with his new Hedgehog, and he apparently thought I was playing. Every time I lifted myself up for a crunch, he would pop the toy down on my face. I tried valiantly to push him away, to no avail. After I finished the first 25 reps, I stopped for a break. "Sit", I commanded Hines. And he ever so obediently sat with his little toy in his mouth, and looked happily up at me. "Stay", I commanded, and he watched intently as I laid back down into my crunch position. "Very good", I thought to myself,  and I began my next set of reps. He waited five crunches this time, and then I had a wet hedgehog in my face yet again. I tried once again, to engage him to sit, but the call to play was too much for him and he continued to drop his toy up and down on me as I tried diligently to complete my next set. I finally gave up trying to control his actions and just gutted through the rest of my crunches, adding a little extra muscle work-out from my constant giggling. I had only myself to blame, I had treated Hines as the ultimate Grand-puppy; I had left the training to Charlie and the spoiling to me, and now I was paying the consequences. Perhaps when my Ab work out was over, I'd work a little on Puppy Training.

Inside or Outside?

I have to thank God this week for the wonderful weather. Having just returned from a trip to the Sunny Bahamas, it certainly helped ease the transition to come home to mostly sunny days and warm, spring like weather. Even my cold has not kept me from enjoying the onset of Spring. In fact, I would have to say that the only thing that pushed me past my cold to work-out yesterday afternoon was the spectacular day.

I was still feeling pretty run down when I got home from work yesterday, but I just didn't feel right about skipping my work-out another day. I was too concerned it would be the gateway decision to returning to old habits; one missed work-out becomes two, two missed work-outs become three and eventually I'm back to square one. But I was struggling with the problem of how far to push myself. If I pushed myself too hard, I could sabotage myself further by bringing on a bout of bronchitis which would definitely knock me out of my routine for multiple days. As I pulled on my work-out clothes and pondered the situation, I glanced out the window at the beautiful sky. Perhaps what I needed today was not a jaunt to the gym, but a walk outside in the fresh air away from the subtle pressures of "keeping up" that come with working out surrounded by other people.

I decided instead of worrying about my pace, I would just concentrate on time. I would pace myself based on how my body felt and hopefully, that would keep me from overdoing anything. I glanced at my watch, decided to shoot for 45 minutes and set out on the walking path around my neighborhood. I realized very quickly that in my previous life when I had taken up walking around the neighborhood, I had seriously been underachieving. I had several walking routes I had used in the past, but I had never been diligent enough to time myself or determine how far I was really walking. In the last month, however, I have worked myself up to a pretty standard fifteen minute mile. On a day where I was feeling a little challenged as I was today, I might slow to a 16 minute mile, but 45 minutes should equate to approximately three miles. After I completed my first route in under 15 minutes, I had to laugh at myself. Previously I would walk that one route, consider that my work-out for the day, and feel pretty proud of myself. I had apparently come along way. I still had another thirty minutes to go, so I moved onto another walking trail and kept up the pace.

This particular route was much hillier than the previous one, and I started to feel my heart rate speed up and my legs tighten. Without the television to distract me, my mind was busy with introspection. This was actually proving to be a pretty tough work-out. I was keeping my pace up and the hills were providing an extra something, something, and surprisingly my body still seemed to be managing OK. I started pondering, "What was harder, working out on a treadmill in the gym, or completing the same three miles outside?" When I was in the gym, I perceived that I pushed myself a little harder because my slightly competitive nature took over in front of other people. I tended to walk a little faster and tried to last a little longer. But as I continued walking and thought a little longer about it, I realized the opposite was true as well. I didn't challenge myself to do things that might put me in a position to fail in front of others. I typically stuck to one level of difficulty and avoided adding inclines or alternating speeds that might cause me to have slow down or not go as far. Walking outside forced me to challenge my difficulty level. If I went down a hill, I had to go back up to get back to where I started from.

It was a question I realized which didn't have one right answer, it was really a matter of perspective. Pondering the differences kept me entertained, however, through the remainder of my work-out.  Ultimately I decided that both inside jaunts and outside jaunts brought something different to my fitness efforts, so alternating them probably provided the most rounded approach. More importantly though, I had managed to make it through the day's work-out, despite feeling bad from my cold, and I was still on track for my weekly goal. My walk proved to be just the right thing to get me heart pumping without pushing my cold into Bronchitis, and I was satisfied that I was finally beginning to understand how to listen to my body better.

Remembering my Grandmother

I was feeling a little challenged yesterday. My youngest daughter had turned 20 the day before, and I was feeling my age just a little. My cold had gotten worse instead of better. I had to drag myself to work, and then debate the wisdom of completing my daily walks around my building, but it was a beautiful morning, the skies were clear, the sun was shining, and I thought the fresh air might do me some good. I circled into the sunny side of the building that first walk of the morning and felt a warm glow on my shoulders. I was debating with myself about whether or not I should push myself to fit in a modified work-out at the end of the day. I had not been to the gym since Monday, and if I didn't manage to get myself to the gym, I would not make my goal of four work-outs this week. While I had allowed myself the luxury of adjusting my goals for vacation, I was back at home, and I didn't want to lose my momentum. The only problem was my body was not cooperating, and I have found over the years I have to maintain a fine line when I am sick, or a simple cold will roll into Bronchitis and a sinus infection.

I'm not sure why, but as I was debating the best course of action, my grandmother popped into my head. Some of my fondest memories are of my weekend retreats at her home. We would wake up on a Saturday morning, and  Grandmother was already in the kitchen. She always started every breakfast with fresh squeezed orange juice and some sort of fruit: a half of a grapefruit, a slice of honey dew melon or pieces of cut up cantelope. After the fruit she would make some wonderful breakfast concoction: peanut butter toast drizzled with honey, hard boiled eggs mixed with bacon and toast or, on special occasions, tiny white sugared donuts and milk. She had studied home economics in college, and every meal was balanced perfection.I think that is why I was so surprised that in her golden years, nutrition became her enemy.

As my Grandmother aged, she paid less and less attention to her meals. Perhaps it was because she had spent so many years creating the perfect food ensembles that when she only had herself to worry about  it was liberating to simply grab half a banana or half a sandwich. The term "eating like a bird" would have aptly described her intake on any given day. Eventually she reached a point where her primary source of nutrition was Ensure shakes. This concerned us, but we were assured by her closest friend with whom she ate most meals that the shakes were the only things she was interested in anymore, and we all thought it was better than nothing. At least she was getting some vitamins and calories in the shakes.

Her body seemed to fade as did her mental awareness. She would walk less and less, and rely on her wheel chair more and more, and there were many times when I would visit her only to go unrecognized or be mistaken for her youngest daughter Mary Jeanne. Those of us that loved her naturally assumed this was just the normal aging process and were saddened by the degree to which we seemed to lose her. We speculated about alzheimer's and dementia, and we mourned the loss of her vivaciousness. Then after a series of unfortunate events, she landed in the hospital with a severe infection. We thought for sure we were going to lose her, so I flew home to be with her at her bedside. Surprisingly enough though, she rebounded and while she was admitted, she started eating again. She needed help guiding the food to her mouth, but she was clearly interested in food again. She also was receiving extra nutrition and fluids through her IV. My Mom, my aunt and myself took turns staying with her and continued helping her with her meals. By the end of her stay an amazing thing happened. She knew who I was again, she was able to maintain conversations clearly and she seemed to have her old spunk back. It was an incredible change, and we realized that the change was more than likely due to the improved hydration and nutrition she had been receiving in the hospital. Her body simply had not been getting the fuel it needed to function as it should.

Grandmother only lived a short time longer, but that last month was a gift; she could move around more, she could recall more and we were able to spend time again with the woman  that we all had admired and adored growing up. It has been close to five years since she left us, but it has taken this recent journey of mine for me to truly grasp the significance of that lesson. We all age, and we all fight illnesses, but how we control the other variables in our lives is up to us. So as I circled the building, and thought of my Grandmother, I thought to myself she would be proud of the choices I was making with my life today. Whether or not I made my work-out at the end of the day was not going to be the measure of my success for this week, it was instead my ability to see things in a different light.

Fighting the Cravings....

I disembarked the ship Sunday sporting a tan, some knick knacks and apparently a small virus. Monday started out as a great day. I managed to fit in all of my walks at work, drank my two bottles of water and rounded the day out with a great work-out. I had actually expected to  struggle to get back into my routine after a week of heavy eating, reduced work-outs and increased alcohol consumption, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that I was able to jump right back in where I left off. I left the gym feeling like I had succeeded in getting myself back on track, but then within an hour of leaving, I started to get a scratchy sore throat. By Tuesday morning I was running a fever.

The funny thing about being sick is it seems that your body should want to crave healthy things so it can get better, but for some reason it craves unhealthy things. When my throat is sore, I inevitably find myself drawn to a cold coke. There is something about the fizziness that soothes better than tylenol or any other remedy. I managed to hold myself in check, and didn't run to the store to grab my favorite little bottles as I would have done in my past, but I was not disciplined enought to fit in my two bottles of water for the day. Instead I sipped on warm tea for most of the day and ended the day with a Nyquil nightcap.

My next challenge was the candy bowl. I had zero appetite for soup or anything remotely nourishing, but every time I passed the candy bowl, it seemed to cry out my name, and since I chose to work from home for the day that equated to multiple stops. I went from two Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs in the previous two days, to eight in one day. Chuck came home to a trail of wrappers leading from the front living room to my bedroom.

So when I woke up Wednesday morning, and my fever had abated, even though I still was not feeling my best, I knew that I would fare better at the office than at home. I could fight the sweet cravings a little easier without a candy bowl sitting fifteen feet from me, and if I could perk myself up enough, I still might be able to try and fit in a little fitness throughout the day with a few brisk walks around the building. My full work-out would have to wait for another day as the faucet nose would be way too big a distraction on the elliptical, but at least I could make a small effort not to let my cold completely disrupt my routine. My body might have been craving the unhealthier choices, but I had learned how to fight back. The cold would not win today, I would.











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Swaying, Sweat Rooms and Hot Tubs....

My first full day on board the ship, I was still somewhat determined to make an attempt to fit in my normal work-out. So after sleeping in until 8, my husband and I pulled on our work-out clothes and set-out to find the onboard gym. It was a large ship, so the task took longer than expected, but ultimately we found it located in the bow of the boat. The treadmills were all located against the front windows, so you could run or walk gazing out at the ocean stretched endlessly ahead. It was an incredible view, and I thought it would provide a great inspiration for my work-out. I hopped on the first available machines and started to pick up the pace. As I gazed out, the boat listed and swayed, and I found myself having to grab hold of the arms to steady myself. All around me the other machines were in use, and I wondered to myself if they felt as challenged as I did at trying to maintain my equilibrium. "They seem to be doing OK. It must get better, just hang on and go for it," I thought to myself. I lasted about five more minutes and several more sways, but when my stomach started turning, I quickly came to the conclusion that the treadmill was not going to work for me. I might be a whimp, but I wasn't going to puke in the middle of the gym on my vacation just to prove something to myself. I hopped off, and within seconds Chuck also hopped off with the exact same complaint. I didn't feel so bad now. We looked around at the other machines and found two stationary bikes tucked a little farther back in the gym, and decided to give those a try. We both faired better in the sitting position, and were able to complete our cardio work-outs for the day, but the idea of trying to balance weights while the boat was swaying back and forth, seemed a bridge too far, so we opted to pass on the weights until we reached calmer waters and headed off for the rest of our days adventures.

Despite our good intentions, that first work-out was the last time we would use the gym on the trip. It swayed too much, and as the trip progressed our intentions lessened; however,  we did manage a few more walks as we discovered on the second day, that we could walk loops around the top deck of the ship and enjoy the scenery without feeling quite as unstable. There were definitely still challenges as on any given rotation at some point of the loop we would end up walking into the wind. That always provided amusement as the wind gusts would blow me one direction and the swaying of the boat would shift me another direction, so I'm sure I looked quite like a drunk at times as I weaved back and forth across the deck trying to keep my pace up to get the most out of my jaunt, but the warm air and scenery overcame the equilibrium issues and we found ourselves walking the deck several more times during our trip.  I must confess that on one occasion I actually completed my walk post Kahlua and coffee which provided for an all together different work-out experience.

Perhaps one of my favorite parts of the trip though were our hot tub excursions. I'm not sure they would qualify as healthy retreats, but they did play a large part in easing away the stress of the previous year.We learned after the first day or two at sea that if we wanted our turn in the hot tub, we would have to slowly push our way in amongst the college kids and stake out our space. So two at a time the members of our group would work their way over to the tub and steadily start taking over the territory. Once the nine of us had managed to stake our claim, we would play silly games with whomever else was in the tub at the time (at one point I believe we had a total of sixteen folks in the tub). The losers would have their choice of doing a silly dance in the middle of the tub for penance or taking a swig of whatever beverage they were consuming at the time. Interestingly enough  most participants chose to do both when it was their turn in the hot seat. The afternoon we left Freeport we hopped in the hot tub around 3:00 pm. By the time we departed the tub nearly three hours later, the weather had already turned cooler, so as we stepped out to get our towels, there was an abundance of squeals as the cool air hit our wet bodies . My friend suggested we hop in the steam room to warm ourselves up again. She also mentioned that it was great way to detoxify the body. A little detoxification may have been in order at that particular point of the trip.

I had never been in a steam room before, so I was unprepared for the experience. I opened the door and stepped inside. I was confronted by a cloud of a steam and immediately felt my lungs gasp for a breath. "Where was the air?" I was engulfed by a thickness of heat and moisture. There was nothing to breathe in. I sat down, and actually started to feel myself panic. I couldn't breathe. I started to stand to leave, but my friend told me to wait a few more minutes. She said to try and breathe slowly through my nose and out through my mouth. My body just needed time to adjust. I sat back down and tried to breathe again, and after a minute or so, I was able to feel my lungs beginning to fill with air and my body relaxing ever so slightly. I continued trying to breathe through my nose and out through my mouth, and while it helped a little, every few minutes I would still have to struggle against the thickness to get a breath. I managed to last about ten more minutes and then had to leave. I must admit that my skin was tingling and felt refreshed upon exit, but I was so relieved after escaping the heavy air from the steam room into the clear air of the ship, that I knew it would take a lot of convincing to get me back in another steam room any time in the future regardless of any possible health benefit.

By the last day on our trip I abandoned my walks on the deck for walks through the hallways to shows and trivia games, the hot tub for high tea and the steam room for the massage table, but I left the cruise knowing that I had made the absolute most of every moment. Some moments were healthier than others, all were memorable.

Confessions can be good for the soul....

After a fun-filled week on vacation, I thought for sure I would wake up yesterday morning and have a serious case of the Monday blues, so I was pleasantly surprised to find that I woke up feeling happy to be home and ready to get back to work. Don't misunderstand me, I loved every minute of our cruise, but after seven days of eating, drinking, singing, frolicking, beaching, dancing, hot tubbing, and more, I was vacationed out and ready to get back to my routine.

I definitely made the most of my trip. I explored every port, made it to multiple shipboard shows, sang karaoke, played trivia-thons, bingo, and roulette and danced in the disco lounge until late hours of the night. I credited my energy and stamina to my efforts these past weeks, and that is why I was so surprised at how easily I had allowed my healthy inner voice to recede into the background in my new setting. I should be clear, I did not completely abandon all of my new healthier routines, but I certainly left many of them in my suitcase. I still walked almost every day of my trip, and particularly enjoyed being able to leave the treadmill and walk laps around the boat once we reached warmer weather, but I skipped my weight routines completely. I made a conscious effort to take the stairs more times than the elevator, but would still let myself be persuaded a little too easily to take the elevator for the upward trips. And while I found myself doing a better job on portion control after Day One's unpleasant side effects from poor food choices, I still ended up partaking in multiple deserts a day and choosing some form of red meat nearly every night. The phrase, "Well I'm on vacation, so it's OK!", became a daily if not hourly occurrence.

So in light of my confessions, one might look at my trip and assume that the week was a fail on the scorecard for my new healthier living efforts, but I would have to disagree. I spent a full day at work yesterday catching up on issues and concerns that arose in my absence, but not once did I feel stressed or behind the power curve. I didn't feel rattled when my daughter called from the airport in Florida and couldn't find her car for three hours nor did I feel stressed when I came home to a kitchen full of dishes and  the remnants of our youngest dog's latest tear spread throughout the house. I had left my stress in the Bahamas, so what I lost in partaking of extra deserts or skipping my regular weight routines, I had more than made up in my emotional well being. I was rejuvenated in a way I had not been in a long, long time. Clearly last week, vacationing was the healthiest choice I could have made.

Learning The Hard Way

First day on board, and I had to learn the hard way to listen better to my body. We boarded around 1:30 pm and were directed to the Lido deck to await for our rooms to be opened. The music was playing, waiters were scurrying around the deck carrying trays of pretty drinks with umbrellas, buffets with tempting food abounded and the lure of the start of our adventure was upon us. 

We were traveling with friends, and after a hectic 24 hours of preparing for our trip, we were all ready to let go of the pre-trip stress, and just have fun. We decided food and drinks were the first priority, so we ordered pretty drinks with umbrellas for the girls and buckets of beer for the boys. We hadn’t acquainted ourselves with the many restaurants at this point yet, so we eased over to the nearest buffet and filled our plates. I opted for a burger and potato salad, as it seemed the lesser of the evils at this particular buffet which sported mostly fast food fare. I considered de-bunning the burger, but decided after only half of a drink, I needed the bread to help sop of some of the alcohol. I haven’t had much to drink this past year, so am somewhat of a lightweight.

Let me preface the rest of the story, by explaining that since I’ve had my surgery I’ve had to seriously readjust my eating habits or pay the consequences later. I’ve learned to eat small amounts of food, to stay away from bread except in very small portions and only certain kinds, stay away from dense meats unless I have gravies to help smooth the way and avoid anything too spicy. Generally if I follow these rules, I can control some of the not so pleasant side effects of my last surgery. 

As the day wound on, I partook of three pretty drinks, some marinated vegetable appetizers, a mozzarella and tomato baguette, and then a steak dinner followed by Creme Brulee. Even as I bit into my desert, I knew that I was taking one bite too many, but the drinks had dulled my senses and my inner voice was simply not loud enough to stop the madness. I guess my head had gone into vacation mode, and I had basically broken every one of my rules. I had eaten bread three times in one day, I had eaten far too much food and I had ordered a steak dinner on top of everything else. To make matters worse, the steak turned out to be not so tender, but instead of passing it up, I continued to take bite after tough bite. It wasn’t ten minutes after finishing my creme brulee, that I started having problems. Within fifteen minutes I was back in my room, paying the price for vacationing from common sense. While everyone else enjoyed the opening show, I was curled in bed learning my lesson the hard way, and wondering if my trip was going to consist of me having to convalesce while everyone else was out having fun. 

This morning I awoke, still a little uncomfortable, but wearing my common sense hat again. I still have six more days of fun, I don’t have to cram every experience into a single day. I can pace myself to avoid any repeat performances. I am certainly not going to beat myself up any more over a day of bad choices. I had great fun until I didn’t! Even as I type away at my confession, I am laying next to my husband who also learned his lesson the hard way. Hangovers and the motion of the ocean don’t quite mix either. I think we’ll both be making better choices the rest of the trip. 

Only a few more sets until my cruise.....

Whenever my daughter comes home for a school break, our house fills with activity and people. It generally takes about fifteen minutes from arrival to the front door of our home, before our door starts to swing back and forth and our kitchen fills. Friday was no different, and by dinner time, we had a group of seven teenagers sitting around the room busily chattering away, candy wrappers from the candy bowl, strewn across the counter, chips out and drinks in hand. I was happily making a pot of spaghetti and meatballs, listening to the conversations around me getting caught up on everything that had transpired since Christmas break.  It was a great start to our vacation.

Saturday morning rolled around and their were still a few bodies left over from night before along with a small mess for them to clean when they woke up. I was going for my last work-out of the week, they could take care of the clean up.  The morning, however didn't progress quite as planned, and our car died at the bottom of the hill of our street requiring a tow to the repairman. Once we made the arrangements, we decided to stick to our path and headed out again to the gym, only to arrive and realize we had left our scan tags at home. Since none of the attendants arrive before 11:00 AM on  a Saturday, we were stuck turning around and heading back to the house, In my previous life, I would have never made it to the gym once the car died much less after driving to the gym and having to turn back around to go home. The fitness day would have ended quickly, but this was my new life and it was day four of my work-out for the week, so we turned around and headed right back. 

I hopped on the elliptical and started singing in my head, "Cruise time is almost here. Last work-out before I get to play!" This was a surprisingly not a great motivator. It was as if this work-out was taking the longest any work-out had ever taken, because I had christened it as another block to check before I got to head out for my fun. Every minute seemed to take ten, and every time I looked at my progress on the elliptical screen, it moved at a snail's pace. I was huffing along at this frustrating pace when in walked one of Chelsey's friends from the night before with his Dad. I smiled an awkward smile and thought to myself, it's one thing to hang out amongst them at the kitchen counter while cooking and another thing to be huffing and puffing along in front of them in the gym. Uggh, I thought I was getting over my self-conscious streak! Despite the momentary awkwardness, I kept up my pace and even found myself sub-consciously increasing it. I was no longer focused on the length of time it was taking to finish up my routine, I was thinking about the fact that it was almost time to move over to the weight section for the rest of the work-out, and that was right where Chelsey's friend and his father were working out. Bummer!

I finished up my cardio, hopped off and cleaned the machine while momentarily entertaining the thought of cutting short the work-out for the day. After all, I was technically on my vacation, so the rules were my own to make this week, but my inner voice cried out  "Your a baby!!! Who cares who sees you straining over 5 and 10 pound weights! Get to it. Finish your routine." It was about that moment that the new and slightly more confident me kicked in. It was really pretty silly to feel self-conscious in this situation. I was working out, not in the middle of some embarrassing act. I actually should actually feel a little proud of myself. So I picked up my first set of weights and started thinking to myself, "Only a few more sets, until my cruise!"

To Vacation or Not to Vacation...

Tomorrow is the big day...we leave on our first cruise. It is the first real vacation I have had in several years. This past year was dedicated to delivering my daughter to school and recovering from surgery, and the previous year was Chuck's first year post retirement, so we stayed close to home and his new job. We've managed a few long weekends, but the last week that we had off just for the purpose of fun was well over two years ago. So this has been a long time coming.

The question is, "Do I get a vacation from everything?".  At a minimum, I know I need to keep my work-out routine somewhat on track. I've already experienced how hard it is to get back into the grind after only a few days off. But do I need to stick solidly to my monthly goals, or do I just need to fit in a few work-outs? Do I need to stay away from the french fries and Corn Dogs, or do I get to completely indulge in what ever floats my boat? Do I get  vacation from my health kick?

I'm not sure what the right answer should be, but I think I am just going to let my inner self lead the way. It seems to be doing a pretty good job lately at pointing me in the right direction. I don't foresee, I'll throw everything I've been working towards to the wind, but I also don't think I will hold myself to any hard and fast goals. So while I might not have all the answers yet, the one thing I do know is that I will be writing. I may not be posting if the internet capabilites preclude that, but I am sure I will be building a portfolio of thoughts. After all, this will be the first vacation I've taken since I started viewing the world  through a healthier lens. It is bound to make for a few blog moments.

Writer's Block

I'm feeling a bit of writer's block today. Typically by this point in the day, I've had at least one or two blog moments...those instants when I have some revelation that leads to my next day's blog. But so far, the well seems dry. It could be that I am simply too excited about the upcoming weekend to do a lot of introspection. Chuck flies back in tonight, Chelsey flies in tomorrow and Sunday we leave for our cruise. Or it may be that after a month of doing this I have nothing more to say...let's face it, we all know that's not true! I think perhaps the truth lies somewhere between distracted and content.

I've reached a point in my routine where it has become routine. I'm not uncomfortable in the free weight section anymore or stepping on the elliptical for the first time in years. I've struggled through many firsts this past month, and while I still expect that there will be more to come to inspire me, for today I am somewhat at a loss. My walks outside have been refreshing, I am comfortably sore from lifting yesterday, and am looking forward to my trip to the gym later today. I am excited for my vacation to begin. I expect to have many blog moments in the week ahead, but I'll settle today for feeling a little distracted and perhaps not as prolific, but serenely content.

In like a Lion.....

All of my hard work last month, and I managed to bust my new goals on day one this month! To add insult to injury, I didn't even realize that I had messed up my new routine until I was riding home from work having a conversation on the phone with my husband when he asked me how the new walks around my office were going. As he continued to commend me for thinking outside of the box, I was processing the fact that on my very first day of the new month, I had completely forgotten one of my new goals. FAIL!!!!

To add to my problems that day, I had decided that I would drink my additional two bottles of water at the end of the day in conjunction with my work-out. This seemed like a good idea at the time. It would insure that I was actually adding the water to my daily routine instead of simply replacing one of my regular drinks. I also thought it would help me hydrate better while I was working out. However, you may recall my blog entitled, "This might make you a little uncomfortable...". Clearly I should have known that downing two bottles of water at the end of the day would make it doubly challenging to get through my work-out with out any unpleasant side effects, and I should have also anticipated that the additional water late in the day would result in running back and forth to the bathroom all night. Considering that one of my hopes in working out was that I would sleep better, I had seriously made a tactical error that night. Overall day one of month two had not started off so well!

So day two, I decided I would take back control. I started my day with a bottle of water. I wasn't going to have a repeat of the day before. I was still , however, concerned that I would get caught up again at work. I have been known to be a little single focused when it comes to my job, so, pathetic as this may seem, I set an Outlook calender reminder to go off three times throughout the day to remind me to take my walk. If I was knee deep in a task when the reminder popped up, I simply postponed it for a short period of time to allow me to wind up what I was working on, and then took my jaunt around the building . This proved to be a successful strategy. Not only did the walk get my heart pumping, but it re-energized me. The walk was long enough to get my heart rate up, but not long enough to make me feel I was shirking my duties.

I actually began to feel like I was getting back on track, and then I managed to miss my Mammogram appointment. I arrived twenty minutes early, but it took thirty minutes to find parking. Once I checked in I was told by the appointment clerk, they would still be able to see me, but an hour later I had still not been called. When I finally inquired again about what the problem was, I was told the tech had gone to lunch thinking I was a no show, and they were now behind, so I would have to wait until they could fit me in between other patient appointments.  After sharing my displeasure, I was rescheduled for the Monday after next.

So far March was coming in like a lion, but I was determined not to let my stormy beginning deter me from my path. I headed to the gym after work, feeling pretty frustrated, but I managed to complete my work-out even after losing my balance and nearly falling off the elliptical and tripping over the base of the weight bench and barely missing the bodybuilder working next to me. Despite my klutziness and the frustrations of the last two days, I was surprised to realize that I felt renewed at the end of that work-out session. It occurred to me that I was finally reaching a point where the work-outs were not just work any more, but were actually a needed part of my daily routine now. They provided a great stress reliever for my hectic days and a sense of accomplishment. Who knew, maybe in a another month, I would be calling them fun.

I'm Afraid of Needles...

A few weeks ago I wrote about needing to schedule my mammogram. This turned out to be a little more complicated than I expected. Apparently a mammogram requires a referral in the military system from your primary doctor. Ironically just prior to trying to schedule mine, I had just received a postcard from the military hospital informing me that I was behind in getting both my annual Pap Smear and Mammogram and instructing me to schedule them. It seemed logical to me that the postcard was the only referral I should need. I explained this to the appointment clerk, but needless to say, she did not agree with my assessment of the situation, and I was first required to schedule a physical in order to get the needed OK from my doctor to schedule my Mammogram.

My Tattoo

The appointment did result in the desired referral, but apparently the doctor also felt I needed to have a myriad of other routine blood tests in addition to the Mammogram. My stomach tightened when I heard this. I hated anything to do with needles. I nearly passed out when I had my ears pierced. I had to take a friend with me to hold my hand while I got my belly button pierced, and when I had the great idea that I would conquer my fear of needles by getting a small tattoo on my back, I had to stop halfway through. The only reason I don't have half a heart on my back today is the tattoo artist was kind enough to run next store to get me a Pink grapefruit juice to drink. He explained that my fear response had probably lowered my blood sugar, and it just needed a boost.  Once I drank the juice, I was able to get through the rest of the tattoo. This didn't prove to fix the overarching problem though, the next time I had to get my blood drawn, I still needed to lay down to get through the test.

So when the doctor mentioned the blood work, I secretly thought to myself. "This is why they make you see the Doctor first. They have to trap you into getting your yearly blood work done at the same time! Damn that appointment clerk for not seeing it my way!" The ideal situation would have been for me to immediately run over and have my lab work completed right away, so I couldn't get too anxious about it, but the cholesterol test required fasting, and I had already eaten that day. I would have to come back the next day. But the next morning I woke up and found a reason not to go. This continued for almost two weeks until yesterday morning. In the throws of my guilt session from the previous night I realized the one thing I truly needed to feel guilty about was not getting my blood tests completed. Part of staying healthy meant staying ahead of any problems, and the lab work was still waiting. It was time for this baby to get her act together and face the needle.

So I confronted my demon yesterday. I trekked to the local clinic and gave four tubes of blood. The tech was so good I didn't even have to lie down afterwards. I expect this will be a demon with multiple lives, which I will always struggle to conquer it, but maybe one of my pay offs for this journey will end with far fewer needles in my future. Once a year would be just fine!

Taking a Day Off

Maybe it was the fact it was my one month anniversary, and I felt I deserved a reward. Maybe it was the rain or simply that I felt a little off yesterday, but I gave into the red-horned sloth and took the day off from the gym. Because there were still five days left in the week to fit in my four days of work-outs, I  knew realistically this should be OK, but despite knowing this, I still ended up feeling guilty about my choice.

Typically I've tried to make it a practice to work out every day that I am able to in the beginning of the week, so if an unexpected event occurs, it doesn't derail my goals for the week. In this case I wasn't sticking to that philosophy. It may have been anxiety from worrying that something unexpected would happen later in the week, or perhaps it was simply knowing in my heart that I didn't have a great excuse for not going, but as the evening wore on, I realized I was not enjoying the time off as much as I had expected. I was too busy feeling bad that I had not pushed myself to go, and I did not like feeling this way. It was an all too familiar feeling from my past when I lived with the guilt because I was continually sabotaging my fitness efforts.

Somewhere between 7:30 and 8:00 PM, I realized I had to let this feeling go. I wasn't that girl anymore. I was committed to a lifestyle change and all of my actions were supporting that. Taking a night off, even though it was in the beginning of the week, was OK. I would make my goal this week, because I knew that if push came to shove later this week, I would push myself through any unexpected event to meet it. I had already proven that I could. I might scold myself for having put myself in that position, but I would still get it done. It was OK to take a day off.

Charlie supporting St Baldrick's Day 2010

One last quick note, I've added a new link to my favorite links. Charlie my daughter is participating in St Baldrick's Day in support of the St Baldrick's Foundation which is an organization dedicated to raising funds for Children's Cancer research. Please take a peak at her fundraising page.