Sunday, October 3, 2010

F&*% You, Weight Watchers!

[Insert standard disclaimer here about falling off the wagon, gaining weight, not posting, etc etc that you've all heard about 100 times if you follow weight loss blogs at all. I'm not going to repost it.]

I stopped going to Weight Watchers back in August. After an unsuccessful attempt to move my goal weight (from 134 to 139)... well, let me rephrase that... moving the goal weight was successful. And then I blew right past it. The idea was, according to my weight loss leader, Beth, (who I still love and I sometimes feel like a horrid person for abandoning her!) to reduce some of the pressure on me... that if I didn't feel so much like I needed to maintain at 134, I wouldn't stress so much, and I would just naturally lose the weight.

It's ok, you can laugh. (I've screamed, cursed, swore, and otherwise acted like all kinds of Crazy, but whatever works for you.)


So... I managed to stay at 139 (or within 2 pounds of it) for most of July, and then a bit of August... and then I continued right on up. I don't know that I'll ever quite forget that annoying little noise the Wii Fit makes when I step on it and it tells me I'm "overweight". It's a mocking little noise and my Mii looks down at herself in shock and horror. (in case you've never seen it, I've gotten QUITE USED to my Mii with the triumphant horns and jumping up in the air when the weight comes up as "normal")

I'll say this for the Wii Fit. It is just as mocking and cruel as kids back in the fifth grade. Like I don't have enough problems; lets add mockery from my scale?

So... yeah.

I ran right up to 143 or so.

Now, on the BMI scale, that's only overweight for my height by 2 pounds. So, what's the big deal, right? The big deal is that I've gained almost 7 pounds this year, and nearly 10 from when I hit goal. And it wasn't showing any signs of slowing down. Even adjusting my goal weight wasn't keeping me "free".

And with joining a gym (I love my gym... it's clean, it's friendly, it's not a meat market. I love my classes...) which costs $30 a month, I was having a lot of trouble justifying the $12 a week I was spending at Weight Watchers for the privileged of hearing Beth go over the same information week after week after week. Honestly, I've been going to WW for three years (ish) now. There's not much new they can tell me. I know what they think I'm supposed to do. I know. Whether I'm actually listening, or just hearing, I haven't really been GETTING anything out of it for a while now.

Over the last three years or so, I've tried tracking about 80 different ways. I've used weight watchers paper journals, I've used the online site. I've used Spark People. I've made my own paper journals. And honestly, very little has worked for me long term. I've always felt annoyed, blown it off, forgotten about it... (also, it doesn't help in the SLIGHTEST that Thomas doesn't need to track AT ALL and the bastard is still as skinny as a rail...) But I know I need to track, so back in September I've tried to be better about my tracking.

I managed to track for almost all of September. I was still mostly following Weight Watchers guidelines - getting 19 points a day, trying for my vegetables and stuff. (As a note, when you're down to 19 points a freaking day, there's no room for anything that's not your dairies/vegetables/protein.... seriously. Screw grains, you're not getting any flipping grains! Your two oil servings are 2 points, 2 dairy servings are 2-4 points, 5 f/v are 2-3 points if you happen to really like apples, which I do!, and 2 protein servings 5-8 points per day... that's 11-17 points a day right there... and a cup of brown rice is 3 points.)

And you know what? I was still sneaking up in weight. And sometimes it wasn't a sneak. I'd be doing "perfectly well" and I'd drop 0.2 pounds. -0.4 pounds. And then POW! Gain 2.8 pounds in a single day.

Truly, this was NOT working.

So, talking with one of my online friends, I decided I'd try something else.

Enter the F&^# You, Weight Watcher's Plan.

Before you get upset and defend the plan, allow me to say this: It did work for me. For years. I wouldn't be where I am now without it. And even 10 pounds over goal weight is not someplace I ever thought I'd be. I never thought I'd be wearing size 4 or 6.

It's just not working NOW.

And I'm upset.

Whether I should be upset with myself or the plan, I don't care. I'm blaming the plan.

I joined Spark People, and as I don't have access to the Online Tools, I'd been using that to track. Every single day it was telling me "Hey, bitch, you don't eat enough!" Ok, so it wasn't saying it like that... I'm allowed some creative licensing.

I've gone through this before. I get so obsessed with Eat Less, Move More. I mean, it's what you hear ALL the time...

So I'd work out three times a week, go for walks 2 - 3 times a week, and eat as little as humanly possible. (Seriously, I haven't eaten so much as a bite of pizza in 2 years!) And it was NOT working. I wasn't eating my flex points. I wasn't eating my Activity Points. I was hungry, angry, and gaining weight.

So, I decided, about a week ago, since I was gaining weight *ANYWAY*, that I would experiment.

I'd see if maybe Spark People had a clue.

They don't "reward" exercise with more food. Nutrition and fitness are completely separate. You set up a goal for working out and you set up a goal for losing weight.

Spark People said I should be getting 1,500 - 1,800 calories per day to lose 1.5 pounds a week. (Ish.) According to my strict Eat Less WW policy, with my 19 points, I was getting between 900 and 1,200 calories a day.

So starting on Monday, I pushed it. I was gaining weight anyway. I hadn't seen the inside of a WW meeting hall in over a month. It wasn't going to matter to anyone BUT ME if I put on another five pounds.

Instead of counting points, I've been counting calories. Not worrying so much about fat content. Not worrying about high fiber foods. (Especially not the crap I've been eating recently trying to keep my points down, like absurdly high fiber yogurt. I mean, really? What is IN THAT stuff anyway. It's YOGURT. There shouldn't be FIBER in my yogurt!) Not worrying about getting in my "healthy oils". Tracking how many fruits and vegetables I've been getting, how many grams of protein.

This is only week one. It may change.

But this week, I've gone from 141.1 to 138. That's over three pounds.

In a week!

And I'm less cranky, less hungry, and feeling LOADS better.

Thanks for getting me to where I am, WW... but it may very well be past time to part ways.

It's not you.

It's me.

Monday, August 2, 2010

My Safe Place

The last few minutes of yoga class are laying on my back, towel over my eyes (the instructor can't change the lighting in the room, something she complains about every single time we do the corpse pose).

"And now, you're going to go to your safe place. Forget about whatever else you have to do. Forget about your concerns. Put them away from your mind. Your safe place. Picture it. Hold fast to that idea."

And I think back, and I grab hold of images of my grandparents' summer house. A tiny two bedroom cabin set on the barest imaginings of a peninsula; one good summer storm away from being an island. The path from the dock is no wider than two feet; a few bridges that cross what might actually not be a damp spot in the trail, but merely a very aggressive bush that holds one side of the land to the other.

I can see the docks. The front deck. The tuffets in the back of the house. (Did you ever wonder what Miss Muffet was sitting on? I don't. I've seen them... they're round domes of moss, almost perfectly round, like a seat cushion. You can pick them up, they're dirt on the bottom, and move them somewhere else, and they'll just continue to do their thing...)

And yet, I'm seeing everything from a bird's eye view. A perspective I've never actually seen these buildings, structures, trees. I don't see any people, although I was never there when there was less than four people in residence, and usually there were more. I've never seen the house from the top, nor peered down at the back yard from the roof.

I can't seem to picture myself there. Not in a deck chair, or lounging on the deck, or swimming in the back bay, or walking in the shallows over to the Point.

It's strange.

But I'm not in my safe place at all.

No one is.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Slack? Not Me!

I've been "on vacation" for the last few days. What started as a reunion party for my college's science fiction club has become a full-on yearly summer party. Starting some time around the 4th of July and running full force until about the 12th, it's nothing but people, drinking, food, visitors, food, drinking, reminiscing, getting to tell the same old stories to new people... and hey, did I mention the food?

However, I've been pretty good with the food. Well, except for yesterday... I don't think I ate MUCH yesterday, but what I did eat was almost entirely chips. And salsa. But since I didn't eat the whole bag of chips, I think it was good. Well, not good, but not totally throwing myself down the stairs. When I'm chasing the last few tomatoes around the bottom of the salsa jar with a Popsicle stick, I might need some help.

And I've been working out... not at the gym, but I did walk a LOT, and did some running around in the park.

Despite that, my weight's up a bit. Probably all the salt.

Went to Yoga again today. Oh, I love it! My instructor was very impressed with me. Today's class structure was Abs, butt, and balance.

"Are you sure you're a novice?" she asked me after class. "You had your foot way up there during tree. And your balancing tiger? that was excellent. That's a really hard pose!"

Seriously, I love the gym, I've been enjoying my classes and the workouts... but if I had to pick why I'm staying at the gym, it's yoga class. I was sweating like crazy, but I feel soooooo good afterward.

Thursday, July 8, 2010


I tried Zumba yesterday.

The operative word being "tried."

Yoda, with his "do or do not" obviously never attempted any baking, since we all know you can try to bake a cake, and sometimes you just don't succeed.

The class was HUGE - quite a shift from the morning Yoga class - something like 40 people were crammed into the same room. The instructor was very tiny. Not just thin, but the kind of woman that the slang word "shawty" was made for. I mean, I'm not exactly tall, but this girl was... maybe 4'8"? Given that the class was so large, this made her extremely difficult for me to see, even when she was standing on the stage.

Also, there were four new people, of which I was one, and most of the rest of them were very familiar with the class. She didn't call out moves or anything. Often she made a hand gesture over her head when we were getting ready to change up moves, but since I'd never been to a class before, I didn't know what any of them meant.

Now, don't get me wrong, none of the basic moves were all that hard. I've done regular dance aerobics before, and these were just modified steps like I've done before. Except with a lot more hip and leg movements. And for instance, when I started rhythm boxing, I was remarkably uncoordinated the first few dozen times, but I kept at it, and eventually I learned. Well, the basic steps, at least. I'm just not up to shaking what my mamma gave me... I think the instructors hips are attached to the rest of her with string, like those little toys, you know the ones, where you push the button on the bottom of their stand and they collapse like wet noodles?

And I learn pretty fast - it's one of the advantages of being a genius (which is completely countered by being socially inept and uncoordinated!) - so usually within a series, it wouldn't take me long to get it.

I ended up leaving the class after 40 minutes, when it was a 60-minute class, but that was because all the jumping around had annoyed my bladder (one of the joys of getting older and having babies that no one ever told me... ) and I had to go visit the ladies room. Next time, I'll remember to go RIGHT before class!

That's right, I said NEXT TIME.

Despite being relatively uncoordinated, I had a good time for those 40 minutes.

(to make up the cardio, I hit the elliptical for 25 minutes after I used the facilities before heading home...)

I also got macked on by someone who overheard me discussing raiding with Drew. (one of the guys from the gym that I've talked to several times... we discuss Warcraft, which is actually kind of fun to talk about while on the elliptical... PS - it is also very funny to be listening to mathematical formulas while doing cardio... badass fucking fractal!) Ok, dude. Seriously. Yes, I'm a girl. Yes, I'm a gamer. No, I'm not going to sleep with you. Go away.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010


So, I took my first Yoga class yesterday.


I just can't say that enough. Wow.

I've done a bit of yoga before, mostly in front of the TV. There's a bit of yoga poses on the Wii Fit and I have a 15 minute Yoga workout on one of my DVDs, but there's a huge difference between Wii Fit and an actual instructor. (First of all, while I love my wii, the "trainer" is annoying - I have an overworked A button thumb from hitting the "skip whatever you're saying" button - and the background is the most cheerless gym in the world.) Not that the decor in the Onelife is anything to write home about, unless you're into weird color scheme letters.

The class is pretty small. I was the only new person, and there were six of us total. The instructor, Melissa, was a tiny little woman. She came in and asked if there was anything we particularly wanted to work on; to which I responded that I didn't know, since I was new to the class.

So she took us through an entire body-stretching routine, to kind of see where my flexibility was and what poses I would need work with. Melissa is, of course, a Bendy Wendy, but I didn't feel particularly out of place. I was about in the small-to-middle side of the class. (One of these days, I'm going to STOP playing Fattest Girl in the Room. Check back with me in 2020.)

I don't really remember the names of any of the poses, except cat-cow and downward dog, both of which I've done before. But the stretches felt really good - a little tight through the backs of my legs and calves - but good. And one of the things we did - thumb against the mirror, arm straight, bending away from the arm? - fixed a weird pull I've had in my shoulder for about a week now. It was *really* nice to be able to sleep last night without waking up because my shoulder was hurting.

At the end of class, Melissa and I talked a bit and she asked me why I'd decided to do yoga, so I told her about my car accident. (Eight years ago, I hit a woman in a conversion van who was making an illegal left hand turn across four lanes of traffic. I spent 3 months on the sofa and six months learning to walk again. Given that I was told I'd never walk again, I've come a LONG, long way. Last year, I walked 60 miles across three days in a charity event.) Still, my flexibility isn't what I'd like to be, especially in the ankle that I broke - shattered would be a better description! My ankle doesn't actually bend forward very well. Much better than it used to, but I think there's still room for improvement.

She was impressed with the flexibility I did have, especially in the hips. "I would never have guessed you as a beginner if you hadn't told me."

I will definitely be going again. I feel completely relaxed. Also, I got two vertebrae in my back to pop, which desperately needed to. So despite being mad about my weigh in last night (according to WW's scale, I maintained this week. According to my scale at home, I should have been down 2 pounds! Argh! I am TIRED of paying $12 a week to feel like a failure.) I feel pretty relaxed today.

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Cure the Creep

[Just for those of you who are wondering, I think I'm actually out of my depression... Or at least, I've been in twilight/manic for about 10 days now, and that's a good sign. I'm feeling more like myself instead of like a paper-doll cut out with a Lee Press On Smile...]

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice when I'm not around
You're so fucking special
I wish I was special
- Creep, Radio Head
I joined a gym today.

I belong to a discount service, called Groupon. (That's my referral code.) Groupon offers - 5 days a week - a discount coupon to one service or company in my local area. Today's deal was a month's membership to Onelife gym for $29 instead of their normal month-to-month fee of $69. So, I decided I'd go check it out... I didn't want to buy a membership, gym unseen, so I added a gym tour to my list of things to do today.

I admit, I felt some qualms as I parked in the lot and headed towards the gleaming building. A tiny-thin lady left the building just as I got there. I started feeling all weird and uncomfortable. I don't know why I do that; maybe it's just I associate the word "gym" with "gym class". Or I have some obscurely weird paranoid delusion that I'll walk in and one of the personal trainers will look actively horrified that someone like me thinks I could possibly belong to a gym. Logically, I know this is NOT going to happen. But there's still a part of me that expects a Jillian-esque drill instructor type to pop out from behind a cardio machine, yelling "What the hell are you doing here, fatty! Run run run!"


Needless to say, my experience was exactly nothing like that.

I tucked Darcy off into the kid's club - they have a fairly large area for kids to play in, with a hamster tube, TV-room, bunches of toys and books - and went on the tour.

Who am I, and what did I do with the old Lynn? I was actually excited that they had a ton of stair masters. I've always wanted to try flight-climbing as a form of workout. Everything I've heard about stair masters has been really good.

The clientele seemed to be various amounts of fit. There were some bulked out dudes and some thin ladies, but there were also others who were less than perfect. A personal trainer nodded at me from where she was working circuits with a lady who was probably a good ten years older than I am, and ish 30-40 pounds heavier. And she wasn't even YELLING! Woah, I like that. I'm just not inspired by people yelling at me. Being yelled at or called names doesn't inspire me to work harder, it inspires me to walk away and not come back.

They have a "cardio cinema" for watching movies while you do your machine work. They've also got a ladies' only weight room. (Not sure either of those will be on my list... the air flow in the ladies' only room seemed particularly stagnant.)

The guy who gave me a tour - Drew - was nice, enthusiastic, and asked me questions about my fitness goals, past experiences, and previous goals. He was impressed as hell with my weight loss, and encouraging about my ability to get rid of these 7 pounds of creep.

(Ug. Why the HELL have I let my weight get so out of control that I'm back to 140 pounds?? Ug ug ug.)

Anyway, I went home (after the farmer's market and the grocery store) and signed up.

So, tomorrow will be my first day in the gym.

I'll keep ya posted.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

A Little Less than More

I don't think I can begin to explain exactly how much I hate being bipolar.

I rather expect there are worse things to be. And yet, sometimes being bipolar is damned exhausting.

As far as I can tell, I've been in a downswing for going on nine months.

Nine. Months.

I've had good days - even a few good spots... and I've had some really, really bad days. But mostly it's been a long, long cycle of down. Sad. Discouraged. Lazy. (Lazy is such a bad word. And yet I don't have a good word for the immense amounts of I-don't-want-to-do-Fuck-all that seems to come with these bad spells.) Angry. Frustrated. Self-hating.

And I can track right along with it, my weight loss. Or, one should say Weight Gain.

I weighed in last night at WW for the first time in three weeks. I've been skipping meetings. (I never used to do that. Even if we missed a meeting because of a holiday, or illness, I would go in for a weigh in at another time...) I was up almost 7 pounds.

Ok, let me back up and explain that. It's not up 7 pounds in a week... it was "only" one pound this week.

But it's up 7 pounds from where I was when I declared goal... it's up 7 pounds from my lowest weight, which was never as low as I wanted it to be. (I eventually declared goal at 134, with the intent of pushing for 125 anyway.) I managed to get down to 132 before I started this creep. (Creep: the slow, inexorable movement of soil downhill... geology 101, otherwise known as Rocks for Jocks.)

Right now, I'm having another twilight stage. Usually that's a good thing... twilight indicates that I'm coming out of the downphase... I am self-aware. I realize that things haven't been getting done (as an example, I haven't vacuumed the house in something like 2 months... I think the last time was right before my birthday party...) I notice that the house is a wreck and instead of wanting to go back to bed, I want to do something about it.

And yet, these last nine months have been dotted with twilights that have never, ever turned all the way into day.

I look back at the last nine months... and I've done nothing... I'm barely managing to maintain some sort of status quo, and honestly, the status is NOT quo. (The world is a messed up place... and I just need to rule it.)

I don't know.

I really don't. It may be time for me to go back on medication. On the other hand, that means finding a new psychiatrist/psychologist and going through the whole nine yards all over again... which I hate. I hate shrinks. I hate medications. I hate the clear, vivid gray that hangs over everything while I'm on meds.

And it's not as bad as it has been, the last few times I've done a medication regime. I haven't dug myself into debt. I'm not in the middle of several bad, destructive relationships. I'm just... not productive.

I mean, I've done some stuff. I've paid all the bills. I've kept the house in a reasonable state of tolerable-slovenly. I've had social outings (Too many, maybe!). I haven't - mostly - gone off the screaming deep end and bitten anyone's head off. I've done some writing.

And yet, I've run us dangerously close to the red line for money several months in a row. I've gained 7 pounds (I know, someone's going to say that 7 pounds isn't that much, but 7 pounds in 9 months is dangerously close to a dress-size... and it's been a constant gaining... the 7 pounds might be "not much" but I'd prefer it to be "not NORMAL".) I've stopped keeping my lists. (I'm usually a list-maniac... I like to track my daily chores, what I eat, my dinner plans for the week, my grocery lists, what coupons I have, what's on my social calendar, etc etc.) I don't feel connected to my husband. Or my daughter. Or my friends. I don't feel like I've had a meaningful conversation with anyone in the last several months.

I keep worrying that I'm killing my own twilight. That I start coming around and I see everything I've not-done in the last few months and I try so hard to get back to good that I smash my chances at sunshine and just dive back under the cloud cover. It's kept me holding on the ledge, instead of falling over the side.

But really, I'd like to get back on the mountain now.


Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Cereal Killer

I've been whinging quite a lot recently about "I don't know why my weight keeps going up."

Oh, liar liar.

I know.

Believe me, I know.

(And really, you probably did, too. Admit it, we all do this when we read some poor weight-warrior whinging on about it... "well, I bet you've been eating too much. or not working out enough. Or both. Shut up and get back on the wagon, slacker." In various mental tones of niceness. Weight loss is simple. Eat less, move more. Doing it is hard.)

I mean, yes, we all have our weird weight fluctuations. Too much salt can cause a bump, or that time of the month, an overindulgence in cheetos or whatever... but usually, they're fluctuations. Up for a few days, and then back down...

This has... NOT been an aberration. This has been me up .2, up .2, up .4, up .6, down 1 (net of +.4, for those of you less mathematically inclined.) (Completely off the topic here, does anyone else have problems spelling mathematically? I mean, I don't know about you, but I don't SAY math eh mat i cal lee. I say Math mat ick lee. Therefore, I cannot spell mathematically right the first time. Ever.)

I've been paying for Weight Watchers more than I've been free. I usually manage to trim down about once a month to skate in under my limit (I haven't actually NOT made it back into my range at least once a month since November, but each time I make it into the range, it's higher than the last time. April, I made it into my range at 135.8 with a .2 margin of safety.) but I have been consistently up 2 or 3 pounds for the last three months.

Part of my problem has been a lack of something to train for. I miss my long-ass walks and I miss some of the freedom of wandering off the path of what I can eat that went with them. If I'm not exercising several times a week, I had better not stray off my 23 points a day. Without some goal to train for, I've been finding it harder and harder to get my ass down to the fitness center. (I blamed the weather, it was too cold, too rainy, too snowy to walk down there... I blamed the other people who use the fitness center; one whole time I was there, three of the four machines were in use and I don't like the recumbent bike. We all know who was to blame here, right? me!)

Part of my problem has been this annoying sense of entitlement I have. I'm mad, all the time mad, with my husband. Thomas has had a lot of trouble NOT losing weight. Annoying. As. Shit. And let me tell ya, having to live with someone who's whinging about being down another three pounds this week, even AFTER he had TWO DOUGHNUTS is just about enough to make any sane person stuff a few eclairs down their throats. Not to mention that in order to keep him from slipping down the drain when he takes a shower, we've had to stock the house with more high-calorie foods.

But mostly my problem has been nibbling.

I rarely sit down and scarf a 6 point doughnut. But I will eat a 100-cal pack, and 15 minutes later, I'll have another one. And 15 minutes after that, I'll have a piece of cheese. And 5 minutes after that (the cheese doesn't even last until I get out of the freaking KITCHEN!) I'll have an apple. And then I'll have a cup of dry cereal. And if I'm not paying attention, I'll have ANOTHER cup.

None of these things by themselves is the problem. It's that in less than 45 minutes, I've eaten 11 points. Frequently in addition to my 23 points that I'm allotted for the day. Honestly, I should just go ahead and eat the freaking doughnut, right? Then I'd only be 6 points behind, instead of 11.

My biggest problem is that damn cold cereal.

Technically, I buy the stuff for Darcy. In actuality, Thomas and I eat 95% of it. Thomas for breakfast on days he's not headed in to work; me, in a coffee cup, in front of the computer. And again, if I would just have one cup, that'd be fine.

But I don't.

I have one cup... and then 15 minutes later, I'll have another cup... and then another one... one serving of cold pre-sweetened cereal is 100-140 calories. (and, of course, a serving is often like 3/4 of a cup...) There are 14 servings in a box. When that box is empty in 3 days... well...


For a while, I was asking Thomas to point it out to me, if I was eating the stuff, so that I'd stop. And I was okay for a while. And now? I'm just eating it when he's at work. Or in the evenings, when I'm reading in the other room. When he doesn't see me.

I'm sneaking food?


So, I fessed up with him about it today. And now I'm fessing up with you.

One of the things that Weight Watcher's suggests as a Tool for Living is Ask for Help. So, I'm asking.

HOW do I keep myself from doing this? I am nibbling myself right out of my weight range, and I must say, I don't like it very much. I feel guilty. And slack. And stupid. And I don't like feeling that way.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

That woman who isn't me

Today, I took down most of my old pictures.

I know, some websites and self-image consultants and whatnot tell you to keep out some of your "pre-lifestyle-change" pictures. (I called them my "fat pictures" earlier today and boy did I manage to piss someone off.) That looking at these old pictures of myself, I can see how far I've come, how much different I am now. That these pictures will inspire me to keep up the good work (or, on the flip side of the coin, they'll terrify me into skipping that snack!).

They don't.

All these pictures tend to do is make me sad.

Someone else said to me that we (the before me and after me) were the same person, only the packaging has changed.

I'm not sure that's true.

The old me didn't like to be outside. The old me would rather order her groceries from an online service and pick them up so she didn't have to walk around the grocery store. The old me would do anything - ANYTHING - to avoid physical activity. The old me worried so much about the state of her health that she could barely sleep at night, and yet was so determined not to change that she refused to see a doctor. As if whatever illnesses she had could be avoided just from lack of knowledge. The old me wore the same shabby house dress day in and day out because it was just about the only thing she had that fit and was comfortable. (She wore different clothes when she went "out", but generally avoided going out as much as possible, too.) The old me was uncomfortable in a restaurant booth, the edge of the table constantly buried somewhere deep within folds of fat. The old me once lied, boycotted a store, and blamed a sales clerk when it was actually her fault that she'd knocked an expensive china figure off a shelf with a too-wide hip. (She told everyone that the figure had been broken to start with and the clerk pinned it on me because she picked it up.) The old me was constantly depressed. When her entire batch of friends filled out a "pick words to describe her" experiment, Every Single One of my friends selected "Unhappy" as a descriptor. The old me was constantly overheated and sweaty, using extra-strength deodorant several times a day and still having wet spots under her arms.

The new me is active. The new me gets cranky if she hasn't been out of doors at least a few times a week. The new me is constantly chilly (the new me also has a MUCH LOWER electric bill because she doesn't need it to be 68 inside her apartment during the summer!) The new me has a tan most of the time - and not a "lay around and bake" tan, either, but one that's got several strange lines from wearing different clothing outside. The new me likes clothes shopping. The new me goes to the doctor regularly, is aware of her blood sugar levels, and doesn't avoid the dentist. The new me would rather walk to the 7-11 and get a diet coke as a "treat" than go to the Red Robin and eat a basket of cheese sticks (ok, I'm not sure about that one yet... I'd still rather eat the cheese sticks. the point is, however, that I don't.) The new me is happier. The new me has a lot of active, healthy friends who do active, healthy things. The new me is absurdly excited about her new Wii Fitness game.

So I took down all those old pictures.

Because I don't know that person anymore.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Gravitational Absolutist

I'm not much on organized religion. I don't find the idea of God particularly upsetting, but I've found, unfortunately, a lot upsetting about God's churches. God's okay. People... not so much, sometimes.

And I was That Kid, when I was younger. You know, the annoying little shits who think they're so clever...

"If Adam and Eve were the first people on the earth, and they had two sons, one of whom killed the other, where did Mrs. Cain come from?"

"Could God make a rock so big that He couldn't move it?"

You know... I think it's mandatory that all church groups have one. We're a plague, that way.

Now that I'm older, and especially as a mother, I can see some uses for God. Child, "Why do I have to clean my room?" Me, "God said so, now get it done!"

All kidding aside, I've settled into a sort of comfortable philosophy. "Gravitational Absolutist. Gravity works. All the time. Under all circumstances. Everything else... is up for debate." (No, please don't fill my comments with stuff about Zero Gravity... zero gravity is not, actually, being unacted upon by gravity... any mass - and even light - are affected by gravity, whether we are aware of it or not. Zero gravity means only that we do not feel the effects of earth's gravitational pull. If there was no gravity in space, our planet would not stay in its orbit, as well as many, many other Bad Things.)

Ok, I'm finished discussing physics, you can pay attention again.

A few years back, I saw graffiti on a bathroom wall.

"There is no gravity, the earth just sucks."

For a gravitational absolutist, this sort of sentiment is the blackest heresy.

The earth does not suck.

Even in the deepest despair, there is something worth looking at, admiring, doing, being.

It's not always easy to find. It's usually not easily achievable. But it's definitely there.

I say all this because I am beginning to really HATE maintenance. I don't know why I expected maintenance to be easy... why I thought losing the weight would be the hard part. Why I thought I'd "have it down" by the time I got here.

I haven't.

I don't.

It's not.

(As an aside, I still hate my husband, for whom maintenance has also not been easy, but for a different reason. The bastard can't stop LOSING weight. His goal weight was 175. He now clocks in around 157 - 161 pounds, depending on how many cheeseburgers he ate last week. Now, I know - I even feel this way! Frequently! - that many people say "Oh, that's a problem I'd love to have." Except the thing is, it's still a problem! It's difficult to find pants that fit him, especially since he has such long legs... you try finding 30/34s off the rack! His blood sugar, which used to only bottom out once in a while, does so ALL THE TIME now.)

My goal weight is 134. I bounce back and forth between about 135 and 138. If you're familiar with Weight Watchers and their rules, this means I'm paying for meetings. A lot. Still.

At $12 a week.

That's $12 a week I really could be using for something else.

And I debate, back and forth; am I a failure, because I can't maintain in a 2 pound range? Does it really matter to anything other than my pocket book as long as my jeans still fit? Why am I so freaking hungry all the time? I do try, about every other week or so, to go back to eating 19 points a day in an attempt to lose more weight. And it's just not working for me. Days I eat 19 points, I'm so bleeding hungry that the next day I end up eating 29 points.

Part of it is, I think, that I'm not training for my walk anymore. Walking upwards of 5 hours in a day, plus another 2 or so a week, plus hitting the gym twice a week? I'm not doing that most of the time. If I'm doing "well" then I'm getting in about 90 minutes of exercise a week, which is a significant decrease from last year when I was doing 9 - 12 HOURS of working out weekly. The annoying thing is, just because I'm not working out like I used to doesn't seem to mean my appetite has decreased, like it theoretically should.

Part of it is Thomas... in order to not lose any more weight, he's having to eat out, or get sweet or high-fat treats more regularly. This leads those things to being in the house. Or it leads to a LOT of resentment on my part; he can do it, why can't I? Why can he have four slices of pizza and LOSE two pounds this week, and if I have one slice, I gain weight? It's not fair. I feel like I deserve to be able to have an ice cream. Or a candy bar. Or whatever.

And you know, it's not about deserving.

“Wouldn't it be much worse if life were fair and all the terrible things that happen to us, come because we actually deserve them? So now I take comfort in the general hostility and unfairness of the Universe." - Marcus Cole, Babylon 5

I recognize that it's stupid, childish, pointless, and useless to have those thoughts. We're just made differently, and being mad about it isn't helping. Doesn't make it any easier, sometimes. Recognizing that I'm being stupid, childish, pointless, useless (AND FAT!) doesn't make me feel any better either.

The only thing I can do now is decide what I am going to do now. I can't control Thomas's weight loss, or his frigged up metabolism. Where am I going to go with what I know about myself?

I miss the walking, I really do. And I miss training, and feeling like I'm accomplishing something.

So, I think what I am going to do is sign up for a new event. As much as I liked the Komen 3 day last year, the fund-raising for it made me sick to my stomach. So, I don't want to do that again this year. (I may try to do the 3-Day every other year...)

And then my Weight Watcher's Leader was talking about something she was thinking about doing... The Virginia Beach Rock and Roll Half Marathon.

The thing with the 3-day, it was about endurance.

A half marathon, where I have to do all 13.1 miles in 4 hours? That's about speed. My normal walking speed is about 3 miles an hour. I won't be able to walk that slowly if I'm going to complete the half-marathon before it ends. I won't be able to take sit-down breaks every 2 miles or so.

So... I'm going to do that; sign up is by the end of May and will cost me $85.

Gravity works. All the time. Under every possible circumstance. The rest... is open for improvement.

Thursday, April 1, 2010

A Merry Workout Pledge

If you don't read A Merry Life, you should. Mary is adorable, and I'm personally in awe of her... she has done a TON of cool stuff - especially visiting her boyfriend Kepa in New Zealand and I am desperately envious...

Here's a word of advice; DO THOSE THINGS... not necessarily bungee jumping, but get OUT there and do that you can, while you can do it. Don't let your weight get in the way... don't let "what people think" get in the way. There are a lot of things I wish I'd done, and while they're not impossible to do now, it is harder with child...

Anyway, she's been having a tough time recently and asked for some support to get her back in the gym... she said yesterday she'd walk on the treadmill for 30 seconds for each comment she got on her blog... well, she's got some sadistic readers, because she got a TON of comments.

She's also got some masochistic readers, since a slew of us said we'd do it with her. (I personally feel my job as "support" isn't just to pat you on the shoulder and say "You can do it" but to get out there and get dirty/sore/crazy with you!)

Now, by the time I read about it, the possibility for my getting to the gym yesterday were nil. (There's nothing to DO at our apartment complex's fitness center except work out. Which is fine under normal circumstances, but I really didn't think that Darcy would want to sit around for 2 hours and watch me on the treadmill... ) And while she is up for walking certain distances, she gets cranky after about 3 miles or so, and I just really can't carry her very far any more. She weighs like 40 pounds these days! (I know, I know, I used to carry more than twice that around ON ME, and god only knows how I managed to do that, because carrying her for more than half a mile makes me want to throw up.)

So, I said I'd do it, but that I'd get my wii fit and step-raiser out and do step instead...

I'm crazy.

I know it.

You know it.

Now my legs know it.

Mary got 180 comments.

So I did step for 90 minutes. Three 30 minute free-step sessions on the wii. Watched two episodes of Buffy (And, coincidentally, watched the one where Buffy was doing step in the beginning, and Giles was complaining about her deplorable taste in music... )

And then we went to Darcy's soccer practice and I walked around the field for twenty minutes with Thomas. Usually we go around three or four times. (well, it's not just the soccer field, which is actually a half-sized field for the "tiny tots" league, but the entire field, which is the half-sized, the full sized, the baseball area, and a good section of just grass that needs desperately to be mowed.) I've measured the route we walk, it's about half a mile per lap, so in addition to 90 minutes of step, I walked another mile or so.

11,622 steps yesterday. 900 calories burned. 5 and a half miles.

So... I really, really hope Mary feels inspired today.

Because I feel like a noodle.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Falling Down

If you asked people about their greatest fears, people come up with some pretty exotic shit.

Snakes. Like how often do you actually get into a situation where there is a snake in your house? Under your pillow? - sorry, had to throw that in there, I have a friend with a really, really funny story involving a nagging wife, a fork and a bad dream.... He tells it better than I do, tho.

Spiders. Ok, spiders are kind of icky - although I am oddly fascinated by them and have tons of pictures on my cellphone of spiders that I've seen in weird places - but logically, we all know that spiders really aren't all that dangerous. In my whole life, I've been bitten by a spider... ONCE.

Of course, the "persons of size" group has a whole other category of fears that generally boil down to public humiliation. Sitting in a chair and having it collapse under you. Not fitting in a booth/roller coaster ride seat/airplane. Knocking over a shelf in a shop.

My fear?

Falling down.

I'm not talking about falling off the theoretical wagon. And I'm not talking about falling off a building kind of thing. I'm talking about tripping over the cat. Losing my balance on the stairs.

Typical, every day sort of tumbles that my child does fifty times a day.

There are a lot of things I can't/won't/don't do because I'm scared of falling. Utterly terrified.

Now, admittedly, my fear has some basis in reality. I've fallen, just walking down the street, and broken my elbow in three places. There was a actually a chip of bone that came OFF and was free-floating. Which could have involved all sorts of expensive and painful surgery if it didn't reattach during the healing process. It did, and I was spared a franken-arm to go with my franken-ankle. But it could have. I've had an arm in a cast for six weeks for walking into a tree. Sprained ankle taking a tumble in a kiddie pool. Two fractured wrists for falling off a horse. That's not to mention all the injuries I've gotten having something fall ON me. (At least I'm not my mother. She's had trees fall on her. MORE THAN ONCE! New joke, if a tree falls in the woods and there's no one around to hear it, will it fall on my mother?)

Part of my easily breakable state is because I took steroids. For years. For asthma complications, steroids are the go-to drug of choice by emergency room doctors. I spent better than nine years being on steroids more often than I was off them. Which did some majorly craptastic things to my bones, my immune system, my weight.

And then there's the part of me that seems to be perpetually clumsy. I have a near-permanent bruise on my left shoulder from my frequent habit of walking into the door frame in the kitchen. I have knocked myself out at least twice coming up under things like cash-register draws and wall-mounted antique telephones. (don't ask.) I am still astonished that my breakfront's door isn't broken (pun intended) from the number of times I've clipped myself on it.

And, honestly, part of it was that I was fat. Being fat, you're more likely to walk into something because there's just not enough room for you. You misjudge how far out your hip is. How far back your butt extends. I used to joke (self-hatingly, but still, joking) that my boobs came into the room a week before the rest of me. And there's all that pounds per square inch FORCE that being fat complicates. Climbing stairs, for instance, puts four pounds of pressure PER POUND that you are, on your knee. At my heaviest weight, that's 880 pounds of pressure I was putting on my knee. Imagine what that weight is like on your bones when you fall down. It takes eight pounds of pressure to break any bone in the human body. (and those are for normal-people bones, not weird old lady butter bones like mine!)

So, why am I talking about this today?

I fell down yesterday.

And not just a simple tripped over one of my daughter's toys fall.

I was outside. Racing my daughter on a scooter (she was running, I was using the scooter...) And I turned the corner too fast and clipped the edge of the sidewalk.

And aside from a slight bruised ego and a wet spot on the knee of my jeans, I was perfectly fine. I didn't even have those long moments where my heart rate is waaay too high and I feel faint and dizzy.

To me, that's impressive.

Friday, February 5, 2010

Takes a Little Time (Sometimes)

Well it may not be over by morning
And Rome wasn't build in a day
You can name that thing a thousand times
And it won't make it go away...

- Takes a little time, Amy Grant
You know, I've figured out my problem.

(I know, I know, I only have one?)

Seriously, y'all, bear with me. I had a bit of an epiphany the other day.

When I started all this, over two years ago now, I kept trying to remind myself that Happy wasn't guaranteed. I could get thin, and all that would mean is that I was thin. It doesn't mean I'm pretty. Or smart. Or confident. All it would mean is that I was thin. (er).

And still, I got here (no, I still don't really think I'm thin... I'm working on it. I'm definitely thinner. Normal-sized.) and expected to be happier. I expected to feel more confident, more energetic, sexier. Something.

And it still seems to be the same old me. Slightly older. A bit more fashion-conscious. (ok, and I've discovered something odd about myself. I like... shopping for shoes. And clothes. And hair accessories. Um... ok? This is me? Since when?) Now, I realize, going back and re-reading this blog, and other things I've written, done and said... that I am more confident. I am happier. But it was such a little bit at a time, I didn't really notice it was happening.

But see, here's the thing....

I'm stubborn. My dad likes to call it tenacity, but you may as well just call a spade a spade. It's pure bull-headedness.

I have not yet failed to accomplish anything I wanted to accomplish.

I wanted to quit smoking, and I did it. I started smoking when I was ten. years. old. Smoked on and off for 17 years. And quit. Cold turkey. Haven't picked up a cigarette in 12 years. Don't intend to ever do so again.

I wanted to lose weight. And I did it. You've all seen that.

I wanted to walk sixty miles. And I did that, too.

I wanted to organize my house, get my housework accomplished, and generally not feel like a slob. Mission accomplished.

So my problem?

I keep wondering why I haven't fixed everything else.

If I can do anything I set my mind to, why can't I do everything I set my mind to? Why, for that matter, can't I set my mind more often?

When I spell it out like that, even I can see how ridiculous it is.

Also... what the hell am I unhappy about? HONESTLY?

I have a wonderful husband (and I hate saying that, because it never sounds honest.... it sounds like a prelude to my saying "but..." And yet, it's true. He's pretty damn wonderful.) My child is not me, and that's ok. She's good at math, and has sticky points with reading. But she's very well behaved, enthusiastic about stuff in general, positively cheerful most of the time, and not particularly whiny. I get along with my parents, mostly. I love my step-parents. Most of the time. I'm friends with my relations, after seventeen years of NOT being friends with them. I even like some of them rather a lot. I get second looks in the grocery store. I've been whistled at in the street. (There needs to be a word for that feeling of being simultaneously creeped out and yet flattered at the same time, there really does.) I have enough money to pay the bills, buy some stuff I want, and yet not have everything I want. (Who really wants to have everything they want? I mean, if you have everything you want, you start wanting really complicated, world-domination sort of issues. And who wants that?) I have good friends. And even beyond my good friends, I have a wide circle of acquaintances. I'm comfortable with my life.

So what's my problem?

Today, I feel pretty damn good, actually. So... not much.

Maybe I should try being more aware of what I have and what I've done than worrying about those things I haven't fixed yet. There's still tomorrow, after all, and tomorrow is another day.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Quitting my Job

Conversation I had today on Twitter:

tisfan tisfan Made it to the gym, 35 minutes on the elliptical and now I'm all shaky. No more gym skipping. Bad me!

Liz Brooks
dragoneyes @tisfan You get points back for going back, tho!

tisfan tisfan @dragoneyes well, yes, but if I didn't let the damn wagon get so far ahead of me when I fell off, I wouldn't have to run to catch up.

Liz Brooks dragoneyes @tisfan Yah, well, your job is to beat yourself up for your transgressions. My job is to congratulate you for your triumphs

tisfan tisfan @dragoneyes my job sucks.

Conversation I had the other day with my husband:

Me, hands on hips, looking around the living room, "This house is a mess! I have been such a slacker recently."

Husband, soothingly, "We've been busy and Darcy's been sick. You've had a lot to do..."

Me, "Yeah, well, nothing says 'I suck' quite as much as a filthy carpet."

Him, "You are SUCH a perfectionist."

Me, harumphing, "You'd think if I was a perfectionist, I'd be better at it!"

Him, "You say that like being a perfectionist is a good thing. You need to say enough, sometimes. You keep striving for something that's not possible. You do your best, and that's enough."

Me, "This isn't my best, though. This isn't even CLOSE to my best."

Him, "This was your best for last week. Next week, you'll have different problems."

It's one of my more aggravating tendencies; this refusal on my part to ever recognize accomplishment.

Pride... is one of those emotions I'm not very familiar with. It's sort of like... I don't know, liking your parents. You know you should, but most days, you just don't feel it. (Ok, when I say "you" I mean me. I don't know how you feel about your parents. Mine and I have a whole separate airplane to ship our baggage.) People see me and they're all "Wow, you've lost so much weight, I bet you're really proud!"

Well, I should be.

But. I'm not.

At all.

I can see, in comparative pictures, how far I've come. And yet... I can also see how much farther I have to go. My house is never clean enough, I'm not thin enough, my writing is never done, my parenting style is somewhat lackadaisical. I don't volunteer enough, I don't keep up with my emails. I don't, I can't, I'm not.

Gyah. Reading it isn't even a wake up call, it just makes me feel even more pathetic.

What does pride feel like? I really don't know.

People compliment me a lot these days, and I've trained myself (mostly) to stop saying "Yeah, but..." I still downplay my accomplishments, and even when I don't, I still don't feel like they're all that. The 3-Day, for instance... it wasn't hard. It wasn't tons of effort. I trained for it, I was ready. I got it done, and that's what I set out to do, but... anyone could do it. (Yes, in my head, I recognize that while many people could do it, quite a lot of people don't. And that's what makes me different.) And still, all I can see is how much more/better I could have done.

My job sucks.

I think I'll quit.

Someone want to give me a severance package?

Friday, January 15, 2010

Monday, January 11, 2010

Not There Yet

About a week ago or so, a group of us went to see Avatar 3D... (If you haven't seen it, you should go. Not for the plot, which is ridiculously Ferngully/Dances with the Wolves/Last Samuri-ish... but because the 3D effects are brilliant. Even if, honestly, I'm getting a little sick and tired of 3D. But that's another story...)

Anyway, somewhat after the movie, me and Leslie were discussing the costuming, and she mentioned that she'd like to dress up like Neytiri.

"You realize she's mostly naked, right?"

"Well, she's wearing those boob-things."

"She doesn't really have boobs."

"Well, really," Leslie continues, "I'd just like to be that comfortable with my body."

Thomas adds, "Hey, I'd like to be that comfortable with her body."

I shrug. "I don't think I would."

I get a pair of blank looks, so I expand. "I mean, I don't want to be that comfortable with her body - " Thomas and I, you must understand, have this semi-joking agreement that if we're ever in a situation where we can't reasonably be expected to be faithful, it will be forgiven. Now, the chances that either of us are EVER going to be in a situation where we've got the opportunity to bang a celebrity are so low, I don't think it's something even my mutant worry brain can latch on to as something to fret over. "Well, seriously... would you be comfortable with YOUR body, next to hers? Would you really want to have sex with that woman, knowing she's perfect and you are... rather less than?"

"I'd like to find out," says Thomas.

"I know I wouldn't be," I said. "It wouldn't matter if Oded Fehr were here this exact moment and wanted to take me to bed. I wouldn't want to. I wouldn't be comfortable enough with myself."

Leslie gives me an exasperated look. "I'd think by that point you'd be enjoying yourself too much to worry about it."

"I'm not in that place yet," I said. "I really wouldn't. Hell, even with Thomas, who was perfectly happy to have sex with me when I was 220 pounds, I worry now, during, what he thinks of how flabby and nasty I look, and I can mostly push it aside, but it's always there. With someone who was perfect... I really don't think I could do it. I wouldn't enjoy myself. It would be mortifying."

"You are weird."

Well, yes. I've been told that before.

Monday, January 4, 2010

Say you want a Resolution... (with apologies to the Beatles)

Well, glad that's over.

That being "the holiday season."

I haven't been enthusiastic about Christmas since, oh, I dunno, when I was thirteen or so. I'm not religious, I don't always like my family very much, and I never have as much money as I'd like to have.

Therefore, the holidays are stressful, expensive, boring, busy (I often wonder how boring and busy can go together, but just because I'm running around like a chicken minus its brainpan doesn't mean I'm interested in anything I'm doing...), and on top of that now, a major stumbling block towards my healthy-eating thing.

My brother-in-law came down for Thanksgiving (with his dog). This is the first time I've seen the man since I married his younger brother... TWELVE FREAKING YEARS AGO!

(Quick story; when I met his brother, I glanced between Thomas and his brother... and thought as far as looks went, I was getting off second best. Which is not to say I've ever thought my husband was UNattractive, but compared to his brother... well, let's just say 75 pounds doesn't really look good on anyone... and now... well, the two of them still look astonishingly alike, but I think I came out the long-term winner... his brother is still whippet thin, but he's also about two inches shorter and has an unfortunate tendency to dress in orange. Which made him quite popular with my child, whose favorite color is *also* orange, but doesn't really do great things for his complexion.)

And then we drove 10 hours down to Georgia to spend a week being bored with my mother. St. Simon's Island, Georgia might not be quite as bucolic as my dad's farm up in Spotsylvania, but... you're taking two complete geeks and dropping them someplace with 1 computer, dial-up connection, a 15-inch TV, no working DVD player, and no cell phone reception. Also, it was still cold as all get out, and my mother was recovering from knee replacement surgery. All of which means we had nothing to do and a lot of time to do it in. (We did give my step-dad a DVD player for his Xmas gift and the first thing Thomas did was set it up so we could watch teeny tiny star trek...)

And then we drove 10 hours back and my brother-in-law came back for New Year's. (with the dog again.)

Busy. And yet, boring.

I did gain some weight, but only about 3 pounds, and according to the Wii, I've already taken it right back off.

Maintenance sucks, just so you know. I thought it would get easier, but it doesn't. I really need to get my shit together and drop another 5 pounds or so, just so I have a little more wiggle room. I've already had to pay for one meeting in December. (I was 1.6 over my 2 pound tolerance... which is actually 3.6 pounds up from goal... blah!)


This year, I'd like to give myself the following:

Continued good health.

I intend to achieve this by dropping to at least 129 pounds (at the moment, that's a needed loss of less than 5 pounds). I further would like to keep in shape by continuing to go to the fitness center at least twice, and preferably three times a week. I would also like to get in at least 30 minutes of yoga per week.

Less stress.

I intend to achieve this by continuing with my good housekeeping skills. I also intend to start keeping a budget, so that I can track why we never seem to have any extra money. I am keeping a weekly calendar as well, so I can better track my daughter's homework and school stuff, appointments, and birthdays, so I can stop stressing out last minute when I either remember that I forgot something, or find out that my cousin's birthday is TOMORROW.

More time with friends.

This year, to try to cut down on the amount of money I spent on people's Christmas presents, I gave my closest friends a small token gift and a certificate. These certificates are set up that I will spend one afternoon/evening with each of my friends (once a month), take them out to dinner and a movie, or go to a museam, or a baseball game, or whatever... this will allow me to spend more time with the people I care about and also to spread a Christmas budget over the course of a year, so that I'm not overwhelmed with it.

Better family.

I would like to try to continue relations with my aunts and cousins and my brother-in-law. I intend to do this by mailing out cards for holidays and birthdays, calling to chat once a month (rotating through the couins and aunts, so that I don't call anyone more than twice a year... the phone lines do go BOTH WAYS...) I'd also like to spend more quality time with my daugther. Once a month, I'd like to do something for her - go see a movie, go to a museam, go to the park, etc.

Continued improved self esteem.

I'm starting with a professional photo shoot tomorrow, in an attempt to get some better pictures of me in the house. I'd also like to continue with my social service. Once a month, I'd like to give something back to the community; volunteer my time or give blood, or select a charity and make a donation, or give items to the Thrift store.

The gift of reading.

I have recently reaquired a library card, and I've selected (from recommendations) 12 books to read over the course of the year. My goal is to read 2 "new" books per month.

So, those are my goals for 2010 (that's pronounced twenty-ten, thank you very much!)

1 - lose ~5 pounds and maintain my weight
2 - get to the gym
3 - do some yoga
4 - keep up with Flylady
5 - budget!
6 - use weekly calendar (track daughter's homework and projects better)
7 - more time with friends
8 - keep in touch with my relatives
9 - work on self-esteem
10 - read 2 new books every month

How about you? What's on your plate for 2010?