You Can't Get There from Here

     Imagine, if you will, that you're driving along the Road to Fabulous, minding your own business when someone suddenly points at you and yells, "HEY,DOOFUS! YOU'RE DRIVING IN REVERSE!" Whoa, dude - Ithought something was wrong with the scenery! Fact: you cannot get to Fabulous going backward.The whole wrong-way direction my health was headed was what spurred me on to this little blog experiment in the first place. My overall health and well-being seemed to be going from ok,to bad to worse in a hurry. Gaining weight is bad. Gaining 15 lbs. in a year and a half is tragic. Gaining 5 lbs. in 2 weeks is a cry for help. Gaining weight after you've publicly announced you were getting healthier is downright embarrassing.

     Things had gotten so out of hand that I could have been in my own Subway sandwich commercial. You know, the one where peoples' buttons go popping off or they break their chair the moment they take a bite of food? Yeah, that's me. Sad, but true. Case in point: a couple of weeks ago I was looking for a book along the bottom shelf of a bookcase, so I had to bend down. When I did, ziiiiiiip, the zipper on my skirt broke. (And then I was late for work. Bonus!) I'm down to probably two pairs of pants and three skirts that I can wear comfortably.

     I'm what they call an emotional eater. So I pretty much eat my feelings. But the worst part is that I sometimes know when I'm doing it and do it anyway. Let me introduce you to my crazy self, Self-Sabotage. Self-Sabotage is such an idiot that when she's angry or depressed she says, "I'm angry or depressed, so I'm going to eat all of these chocolate chips and this box of Cheez-Its." That's when rational Kate says, "Um excuse me, crazy self, but that's emotional eating, and it really isn't helping the situation." To which Self-Sabotage replies, "I don't give a crap! I'm angry or depressed so I DESERVE this delicious treat! And I will eat it. Now! BWAH HA HA HA!!! chew, chew, chew." Insane, I know. The inside of my head is kind of like a traffic circle in Shanghai. You never know where anyone is coming from or where they might be going.

     Speaking of chocolate chips, (see what I did there?) another little bump in the road is that I like to bake. Do I like to bike? No. Too sweaty. I like to bake. And I bake cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. I usually bake around ten dozen or so a week. Christopher brings Mrs. Hayes' Not Really Famous but Sort of Locally Well Known Chocolate Chip Cookies to study hall on the night he proctors, occasionally he'll bring them to class or to his advisees. The kids have come to expect it, and I enjoy doing it for them. I'm pretty good about not eating the cookie dough (raw eggs, ewww!), but quality control is important, so I have to test a few once they're baked. Sometimes we have a dozen or two hanging around the house. When that happens, I end up eating one or two for breakfast, or maybe lunch, or when I'm just passing through the kitchen... So there's a little issue with self-control in the kitchen. I do not want to end up like Paula Deen. Hey y'all, Type II Diabetes is fun! Let's fry us up some butter in a little butter with some butter on the side. Soooo good y'all!

     Now that I've gotten the transmission in my Fabulous Roadster repaired (meaning I’ve got my head screwed on straight), I've started to see some progress. I'm being more careful about what I'm eating and Christopher and I have been walking around the track in the evenings. I walk the dog twice a day, but this does not count as exercise; it's meandering. A Facebook friend said about his dog, “he examines every blade of grass as though he's searching for a lost contact lens." Yeah. It's a lot like that.

    The next step in the journey, I think, is to find another form of exercise that I enjoy. Right now the only one I like and do consistently is walking. And that's fine, but I think I need a little variety yes? So perhaps the object this summer is to investigate various options. I'll check out some yoga, maybe some Zumba; I'm sure to look absolutely ridiculous.

     But if I'm going to look like a doofus, it should be because the wind's in my face as I speed down the road to Fabulous, not because I'm traveling in reverse.    

The Road to Fabulous

“I feel a whole lot more attractive at Wal-Mart than I do at the gym”

A while ago, a friend posted this little blurb about Wal-Mart on Facebook and said that it had garnered the greatest number of responses, likes and shares than anything she’d posted before.This isn’t all that surprising, really. While I’m sure there’s a tiny minority who look in the mirror, wink at themselves, and think, “HeY! You look fabulous, as usual.” it is more likely that most people are a little less egomaniacal. To them mirrors tend to be utilitarian, used to help them shave, floss, check for signs of life, etc. The mirror may not be their best friend, but it’s not the enemy, either. Then there are those of us who prefer not to look in the mirror at all. The best you are going to get from someone in this group on a good day is, “ok, I look bad, but at least I don’t look as hideous as Mrs. X”. This comparison is what I call a “low-point barometer”. The low-point barometer, for the insecure among us, acts a self-esteem monitor/booster. We say to ourselves, “I can’t possibly be the least attractive person on Planet Earth as long as Mrs. X is around”, and it makes us (me) feel a teeny bit better.

Unhappily, twice in the last couple of months, I have been mistaken for someone else. If you’re following along, I’ll bet you can guess whom that might be. Yes, sadly I was mistaken for… my own personal low-point barometer. Karmic justice, I suppose, for keeping a low-point barometer in the first place. For some, there may come a time when the reflection staring back from the mirror is completely unrecognizable and distressing. Perhaps even more horrifying, the reflection looks a lot like your dad’s scary Aunt Edna. So what if you have become someone else’s low-point barometer? What do you do when you realize the image you hold in your mind’s eye is very different from what others see when they look at you?

Some options:

1. Throw yourself off a cliff. Not a great alternative for me, really. There are no suitable cliffs within walking distance, just lots of big hills. Big hills are not terribly useful for this purpose as there is no dramatic drop that would enable one to complete a successful launch into thin air. Graceful as I am, I would be more likely to trip and fall, causing me to roll down the hill and sprain an ankle; this would render the whole undertaking rather pointless. My dog would probably miss me, anyway. 
2. Make a change to one’s personal appearance. Get a dozen tattoos! Liposuction! Spray tan! Ok, well – I got my hair cut. I may not be fabulous, but my haircut is! 
3. Get fit. We all know this will make us look and feel better. I have tried every diet plan known to mankind. There are a gazillion to choose from with more on the horizon every day. Hell, even the TV show GCB has a character that is “Losing it with Jesus” I will bet you dollars to donuts (mmmm…. Donuts) that someone is already trying to cash in on that idea. I am well aware that one needs to eat less and exercise more to effect a “lifestyle change”. It is a tricky thing though, to change your lifestyle. I’ve tried. My lifestyle changes generally last about three days. 
4. Keep a journal. Journaling is supposed to help with self-esteem, weight loss and fitness provided you write down everything you do – every emotion felt, every move made, and every morsel tasted. While I enjoy writing, I generally don’t last more than three days with this method, either. The problem is, that as author and sole reader, the writer is accountable to no one but him or herself.

“I enjoy writing” is the first positive thought I have had in days weeks. It might be productive to write/blog about my journey towards fitness, dismantling my low-point barometer, finding inner peace or… something. I  do not enjoy reading yawn-inducing crap like ‘Day 87: Intake: Two lettuce leaves, a radish and half a peach. Mood: hungry and crabby. Exercise: 10,000 steps. Pounds lost: 0’ and I think that sort of approach may not be of interest to other people, either. Something along the lines of a periodic progress report with random observations could work. I mean, other than weight, what do I have to lose? While the belly-button gazing, potential for public humiliation format is generally better suited to Reality TV, it could also be what keeps me focused and honest- to myself in particular. Hell, looking like I do, I experience a little public humiliation every time I step out my front door anyway; a little more exposure will not kill me.

Besides, if I fail, I can always hang out at Wal-Mart.