I'm really starting to enjoy exercising. In fact, I may be bordering on obsession. At lunch breaks, I browse fitness websites, and read "Runner's World" magazine (because I'm such an athlete, right?); I pack ridiculously healthy lunches, and I look forward to my workout each day. I've gotta say, this may be the happiest I've been in a long time. I feel healthier, more alive; I enjoy the workdays, rather than just "get through" them...I feel extremely motivated.
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So motivated, in fact, that I have decided to start training for a half marathon this summer and a 10K this spring. I think that, for once, I may actually be healthy for my birthday, a change in pace from my usual bloated birthday bod.
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I've also decided to cut down on toxins in a bigger way than just quitting smoking- I'm going to try not to drink until our family vacation in February and then afterwards, quit drinking while training for the summer/spring marathons.
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All in all, its been a good week. I feel refreshed and very motivated to be as healthy as possible. I know that there's a skinny, fit, runner-biotch in here somewhere. I've just gotta find her. (*And tell her to "get the hell out here!")
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Week 5: Its the most wonderful time of the year (to feel like a fat loner)
I almost cried on the treadmill today. Its not like I sobbed, or bawled, or even really "cried". But there was a moment when the tears definitely wanted to come out.
Yes, I know it, I sorta suck for taking a week off, but now that I know how much my body hates me for doing that, I'm vowing to never do it again. I was weaker with less endurance and motivation and I felt like I was dying. I don't think anyone noticed that I was nearly in tears, but I'm sure it was difficult to ignore my muttered "fuckshitpissin'meoff"s and loud groans of misery. All-in-all I felt like I was back to square one.
In fact, ya know what? I'm pissed off. I've been working my ass off (unfortunately not literally) and I took one week off and feel fatter than ever. I feel like I'm suddenly in even worse shape than before. And I'm pissed about it. How hard could it possibly be to get in shape?! Apparently with my genes and body shape, I would need to be in starvation mode, busting two-a-day practices (which is SO not happening).
Ya know what pisses me off most? What frustrates me most? (*And which, apparently, makes me bitter): There was a girl running next to me on a treadmill; she was probably 75-80 pounds heavier than me. And I can guarantee that in 3 months, she will probably be my size. In fact, she will probably look better than me. Thats the thing about being "average" or "curvy": people who are bigger than you can get down to your size pretty quickly. People smaller than you can get up to your size pretty quickly (believe me, all it took was 4 years of focused heavy-drinking). But at this size the only way beyond it is up! To get down, you've got to be brutal. And I'm ready to be brutal. Bring. It. On.
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I am going to be in a bathing suit in 7 1/2 weeks. I am going to be sunning my body on a beach in front of other people/human beings/males. (*We have a family vacation to Key West in February). Yes, this will occur before my 17-week challenge is complete, but at that point there will be no excuses. If I want to wear anything less than a burka, I must suck it up once and for all. Which means, from here on out, its on. No drinking (after New Year's eve, of course), no fast food, no restaurant food, and no excuses for being too lazy to get to the gym!
----------------------------------------------------
In case you haven't noticed, I haven't said what my weight is this week. That's because I don't know it. And I don't care to. In fact, I'm done weighing myself weekly. Its too much pressure! I will measure my success from here onward by how I feel and by, more specifically, how I feel squeezing into my "skinny" jeans.
----------------------------------------------------
I've also made a vow to myself (and to my family) that I will stop using "negative" talk (aka "ugh, I'm so fat, ugly, etc."). I will strive to see and say things that give me confidence. So for every blog post beyond this, I will be Positive Patty :)
[Tribute-quote to favorite holiday movie "Home Alone"]:
"This is it. Don't get scared now!"
Yes, I know it, I sorta suck for taking a week off, but now that I know how much my body hates me for doing that, I'm vowing to never do it again. I was weaker with less endurance and motivation and I felt like I was dying. I don't think anyone noticed that I was nearly in tears, but I'm sure it was difficult to ignore my muttered "fuckshitpissin'meoff"s and loud groans of misery. All-in-all I felt like I was back to square one.
In fact, ya know what? I'm pissed off. I've been working my ass off (unfortunately not literally) and I took one week off and feel fatter than ever. I feel like I'm suddenly in even worse shape than before. And I'm pissed about it. How hard could it possibly be to get in shape?! Apparently with my genes and body shape, I would need to be in starvation mode, busting two-a-day practices (which is SO not happening).
Ya know what pisses me off most? What frustrates me most? (*And which, apparently, makes me bitter): There was a girl running next to me on a treadmill; she was probably 75-80 pounds heavier than me. And I can guarantee that in 3 months, she will probably be my size. In fact, she will probably look better than me. Thats the thing about being "average" or "curvy": people who are bigger than you can get down to your size pretty quickly. People smaller than you can get up to your size pretty quickly (believe me, all it took was 4 years of focused heavy-drinking). But at this size the only way beyond it is up! To get down, you've got to be brutal. And I'm ready to be brutal. Bring. It. On.
---------------------------------------------------
I am going to be in a bathing suit in 7 1/2 weeks. I am going to be sunning my body on a beach in front of other people/human beings/males. (*We have a family vacation to Key West in February). Yes, this will occur before my 17-week challenge is complete, but at that point there will be no excuses. If I want to wear anything less than a burka, I must suck it up once and for all. Which means, from here on out, its on. No drinking (after New Year's eve, of course), no fast food, no restaurant food, and no excuses for being too lazy to get to the gym!
----------------------------------------------------
In case you haven't noticed, I haven't said what my weight is this week. That's because I don't know it. And I don't care to. In fact, I'm done weighing myself weekly. Its too much pressure! I will measure my success from here onward by how I feel and by, more specifically, how I feel squeezing into my "skinny" jeans.
----------------------------------------------------
I've also made a vow to myself (and to my family) that I will stop using "negative" talk (aka "ugh, I'm so fat, ugly, etc."). I will strive to see and say things that give me confidence. So for every blog post beyond this, I will be Positive Patty :)
[Tribute-quote to favorite holiday movie "Home Alone"]:
"This is it. Don't get scared now!"
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Week 4: "When it comes to the treadmill, never underestimate the curviest girl in the room" or "Don't be afraid to sweat like a man"
Week results: 155 lbs. BMI 25.1. So what if I didn't drop much? Its still an improvement, right? Yes, I think so. I am not basing my success of the past week on what the scale says but, rather, on how I feel. (Which is awesome, I might add).
First of all, I took control of my weekend. I had fun, but I didn't get carried away (and by "carried away" I mean that I didn't give myself a beer-bloated belly so big that, by Sunday, I floated off into the night sky). I worked out on Saturday for the first time in several weekends. And by Monday, despite giving into my temptation to buy a Hot-and-Ready pizza Sunday night, my choices had paid off.
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My greatest fear, when it comes to working out, has always been the treadmill. I've pretty much avoided it at all costs for the majority of my life. Lately, however, I've decided that running is my best option for amping up my cardio fitness routine. And because of this, and the fact that I made better choices last weekend, my endurance was through the roof Monday night. And Tuesday. I out-ran the fit Asian break-dancing guy who's always giving me workout tips (I think he has a crush on me, but hey its a confidence boost) and the skinny indie girl who I caught (more than once) checking my treadmill screen to most likely see my time and intensity levels. Speaking of the fit break-dancing guy, I believe his exact words were "wow, you're a beast!", which isn't exactly "you're such a sex pot, marry me now" but definitely beats "move fatty, you're blocking the chin-up bar".
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The best decision I made over the past week, despite those I have mentioned, was to read an article in SELF magazine (yes, I'm officially obsessed) that recommended "working out like a guy". Its changed my whole perspective and approach to working out. When I workout like a "girl" (myself) I worry about how my butt looks in the yoga pants, and whether or not a certain move will make me look dumb/butchy/fat. But if I workout like a guy I don't care if I get sweat all over my shirt, I can grunt, and I'm in constant competition with myself to do one better (as opposed to being in constant competition with the other girls). Perhaps it was the "guy" in me that brought out the beast.
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Something new: I'm craving healthy foods for the first time in my life. I have always eaten fairly healthy, but there was always a certain degree of force behind the whole thing. Lately, I've been able to recognize which foods make me feel good and also satisfy whatever craving I may be having.
Motivation: Bought a fabulous new dress for the Christmas parties I have to attend over the next few weeks and it makes me feel amazing about myself. Cannot wait to wear it!
First of all, I took control of my weekend. I had fun, but I didn't get carried away (and by "carried away" I mean that I didn't give myself a beer-bloated belly so big that, by Sunday, I floated off into the night sky). I worked out on Saturday for the first time in several weekends. And by Monday, despite giving into my temptation to buy a Hot-and-Ready pizza Sunday night, my choices had paid off.
-------------------------------------------------------------
My greatest fear, when it comes to working out, has always been the treadmill. I've pretty much avoided it at all costs for the majority of my life. Lately, however, I've decided that running is my best option for amping up my cardio fitness routine. And because of this, and the fact that I made better choices last weekend, my endurance was through the roof Monday night. And Tuesday. I out-ran the fit Asian break-dancing guy who's always giving me workout tips (I think he has a crush on me, but hey its a confidence boost) and the skinny indie girl who I caught (more than once) checking my treadmill screen to most likely see my time and intensity levels. Speaking of the fit break-dancing guy, I believe his exact words were "wow, you're a beast!", which isn't exactly "you're such a sex pot, marry me now" but definitely beats "move fatty, you're blocking the chin-up bar".
---------------------------------------------------------------
The best decision I made over the past week, despite those I have mentioned, was to read an article in SELF magazine (yes, I'm officially obsessed) that recommended "working out like a guy". Its changed my whole perspective and approach to working out. When I workout like a "girl" (myself) I worry about how my butt looks in the yoga pants, and whether or not a certain move will make me look dumb/butchy/fat. But if I workout like a guy I don't care if I get sweat all over my shirt, I can grunt, and I'm in constant competition with myself to do one better (as opposed to being in constant competition with the other girls). Perhaps it was the "guy" in me that brought out the beast.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Something new: I'm craving healthy foods for the first time in my life. I have always eaten fairly healthy, but there was always a certain degree of force behind the whole thing. Lately, I've been able to recognize which foods make me feel good and also satisfy whatever craving I may be having.
Motivation: Bought a fabulous new dress for the Christmas parties I have to attend over the next few weeks and it makes me feel amazing about myself. Cannot wait to wear it!
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Week 3: Weekend Weakness...
Wednesday evening. 6:30pm. Once again, I'm terrified to step on that damn scale. Results? 156lbs. BMI 25.2.
So, not terrible...not great. But I'm not getting down on myself about reeking havoc on my body over the weekend with wine and crab Rangoons. I'm a new woman now. A woman who has occasional slip-ups with her diet and exercise regimen and doesn't punish herself over it, but instead begins each day fresh. (**I'm repeating this mantra over and over to myself until I really follow through).
Back to the weekend. (Because its coming up fast, ya know, and you better be ready this time, Moloney!) I've come to realize that weekends are my weakness. Eat healthy? I can do that. I know what foods are good for you in what ways and how to effectively use portion control. Smoking? Done. Sure, I may crave an occasional social cig, but it doesn't need to control the outcome of my night (or day) anymore. I've realized how happy my lungs are when they aren't filled with toxic, black smoke ("I've got the black lung, pop." *cough, cough*). Exercise? Loving every minute of it. Not only can I feel my body getting stronger and healthier, but I'm beginning to feel better about myself with each jog, pull-up, and hip abduction.
Its those darned weekends that kill me. So I'm taking a stand against weekends. Now I don't mean that I'm going to sabotage any ounce of fun or relaxation that comes into my life, but I just know that I need to have better control over my weekend doings. If I can be a healthy, happy, motivated person during the week, then there's no reason I should need to medicate my weekends with television marathons, greasy food, and booze. I need to find within myself a greater sense of self-worth and self-respect. If I allow myself to keep falling into my usual weekend alter-ego of sloppy, lazy, hungover blob then this whole goal clearly means nothing to me. If I can be a productive, energetic, motivated person instead, then I'm fairly certain I will be a happier, healthier person in the long run. After all, what are weekends for but to motivate you through the following week?
We'll see how this goes...
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On a brighter note:
Current obsessions =
-Nivea skin-firming lotion,
-ants-on-a-log (I know, very elementary. But I recently added this little snack to my lunch and I'm obsessed all over again! Its the perfect combination of sweet, salty, crunchy and creamy),
-SELF magazine (great motivation!),
-Nonni's biscottis (only about 100 cals a piece; I've been eating them with tea for dessert and its the perfect end to my stressful day), and
-Healthy Choice entrees (only $2 a piece and great tasting!)
So, not terrible...not great. But I'm not getting down on myself about reeking havoc on my body over the weekend with wine and crab Rangoons. I'm a new woman now. A woman who has occasional slip-ups with her diet and exercise regimen and doesn't punish herself over it, but instead begins each day fresh. (**I'm repeating this mantra over and over to myself until I really follow through).
Back to the weekend. (Because its coming up fast, ya know, and you better be ready this time, Moloney!) I've come to realize that weekends are my weakness. Eat healthy? I can do that. I know what foods are good for you in what ways and how to effectively use portion control. Smoking? Done. Sure, I may crave an occasional social cig, but it doesn't need to control the outcome of my night (or day) anymore. I've realized how happy my lungs are when they aren't filled with toxic, black smoke ("I've got the black lung, pop." *cough, cough*). Exercise? Loving every minute of it. Not only can I feel my body getting stronger and healthier, but I'm beginning to feel better about myself with each jog, pull-up, and hip abduction.
Its those darned weekends that kill me. So I'm taking a stand against weekends. Now I don't mean that I'm going to sabotage any ounce of fun or relaxation that comes into my life, but I just know that I need to have better control over my weekend doings. If I can be a healthy, happy, motivated person during the week, then there's no reason I should need to medicate my weekends with television marathons, greasy food, and booze. I need to find within myself a greater sense of self-worth and self-respect. If I allow myself to keep falling into my usual weekend alter-ego of sloppy, lazy, hungover blob then this whole goal clearly means nothing to me. If I can be a productive, energetic, motivated person instead, then I'm fairly certain I will be a happier, healthier person in the long run. After all, what are weekends for but to motivate you through the following week?
We'll see how this goes...
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
On a brighter note:
Current obsessions =
-Nivea skin-firming lotion,
-ants-on-a-log (I know, very elementary. But I recently added this little snack to my lunch and I'm obsessed all over again! Its the perfect combination of sweet, salty, crunchy and creamy),
-SELF magazine (great motivation!),
-Nonni's biscottis (only about 100 cals a piece; I've been eating them with tea for dessert and its the perfect end to my stressful day), and
-Healthy Choice entrees (only $2 a piece and great tasting!)
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Week 2: Maybe I've been living alone too long, but the maintenance guy (Don) is looking pretty good.
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Over the weekend I did a 4.5-mile trail run with my dad, sister and Aunt Nancy. Although it was a pain in the ass (and thighs, lungs, lower back and pretty much every other area of my body) I felt extremely confident in myself that I had done the whole thing. The following day I went on a short jog with my sister, and since then I've noticed that my stamina for cardio has gone up. I'm doing 45 minutes cardio (30 treadmill, 15 elliptical) and 30 minutes weight training. I can actually run without feeling like I'm dying! But the strength in my arms has gone down a bit. I figure its probably some side effect of slowly getting into better shape.
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Awkward gym moment: on Monday I finished my reps at an ab machine and proceeded to stand there, completely zoned out for the better part of 2 minutes. (I was probably planning out what to make for dinner, but who can remember). Suddenly I realized a handsome married man (aka: DILF) was asking "are you done with this?!" (referring to the machine) and who knows how many times he had to ask before I awakened from my brief standing-coma. I mumbled something and walked away a little faster than a person should in such a casual setting.
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Since I've started working out, I've been sleeping like a hybernating bear (and if you know me, you know that I have no problem falling asleep). I've been sleeping heavier than ever and have been going to bed at 9:30 to ensure that I don't sleep in for work in the morning. This, however, has been interrupted by my noisy, partying neighbors whose music literally shakes the walls of my bedroom. I finally called the 24-hour maintenance line to give a noise complaint last night and the nice little cutie named Don stopped by to make sure he got the correct apartment. Henceforth, the title of this blog.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Week 1: Nature is my drug
Noticeable changes: My arms. Its the only major physical change I can see so far; they appear slightly slimmer and more toned. (*Note: I actually started my gym membership in mid-October, so I've actually been working out for a month now.) My skin also appears healthier; I don't know, glowy? Sort of.
Surprises: I actually feel full at every meal. I've been focusing on eating lots more fruits and veggies (even though I'm usually pretty good about getting my greens). For dinner tonight? A heaping serving of green beans with garlic butter and half a pack of veggie-medley rice-a-roni.
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On Saturday I went for a looong walk on the trails at Hemlock Crossing. I had never been out there, but have been wanting to give it a try. I just walked and walked and absorbed the nature; it literally made me feel like I was on drugs. All these thoughts were just unleashed and I said to myself, "if i can get out here just once a week, I'll be just fine." Cheesy? Probably.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
I'm 22 years old. I'm 22 years old and I've literally been on a diet for more than half of my life.
When I was 11 years old I rode the dial-a-ride home from school. The dial-a-ride took me from my Catholic elementary school to my house, just blocks away on North James. On the ride home from my Catholic elementary school one day, a certain encounter with a certain young boy shattered a certain degree of self-esteem I once possessed. "Pumpkin Butt" was the name he donned for me. And Pumpin Butt I would be for the following eleven years.
It was the first time I can remember feeling humiliated. It was the first time I can remember having feelings of shame and self-loathing. It was the start of an incessant battle for perfection and the death of my childhood bliss. Just a few weeks later I forced my mother to purchase, for me, a 24-pack of Slim Fast shakes. Her words of encouragement were that I was just "big-boned".
Since my Pumpkin Butt dial-a-ride days, I have made many failed attempts at getting to a healthy shape and mind-set. Many of those attempts included failed diet plans: from "no sugar, no flour" to a 14-day body cleanse. With each failure came a depleted sense of self-esteem and worth (followed, inevitably, by fried food and ice cream binges).
Just days ago, while at work, I was asked to complete a health profile at webmd.com. As I pain-stakingly punched in my weight (160; my heaviest yet) and height (5'6") I saw before my eyes the cold-hard proof that I had bottomed out at my least healthy state yet. I have told myself, for the past few years, that I am probably better-looking to others than I am to myself; that I can't possibly look as bad as I feel and that what the scale says doesn't matter. But after 4 years of battering my body with 2am Taco Bell runs and weekend all-night parties I have come to the conclusion that my body really has come to its worst state, both on the inside and on the out. It has become too difficult to force my thoughts towards the positive when I'm hiding behind a cloak of insecurity. It is time for a change towards health, which brings me to the point of making this blog.
I have made goals for myself, and I have chosen to blog about my attempt to become a healthy, happy human. For the next 17 weeks I will be making a more conscious effort to cut unnecessary calories and burn what I can at a local gym. The thought of having my trials and triumphs made public will hopefully motivate me to do the best that I can to achieve these goals. (If you are still not convinced, just keep in mind that there will surely be many embarassing moments along the way).
Here goes nothing...
It was the first time I can remember feeling humiliated. It was the first time I can remember having feelings of shame and self-loathing. It was the start of an incessant battle for perfection and the death of my childhood bliss. Just a few weeks later I forced my mother to purchase, for me, a 24-pack of Slim Fast shakes. Her words of encouragement were that I was just "big-boned".
Since my Pumpkin Butt dial-a-ride days, I have made many failed attempts at getting to a healthy shape and mind-set. Many of those attempts included failed diet plans: from "no sugar, no flour" to a 14-day body cleanse. With each failure came a depleted sense of self-esteem and worth (followed, inevitably, by fried food and ice cream binges).
Just days ago, while at work, I was asked to complete a health profile at webmd.com. As I pain-stakingly punched in my weight (160; my heaviest yet) and height (5'6") I saw before my eyes the cold-hard proof that I had bottomed out at my least healthy state yet. I have told myself, for the past few years, that I am probably better-looking to others than I am to myself; that I can't possibly look as bad as I feel and that what the scale says doesn't matter. But after 4 years of battering my body with 2am Taco Bell runs and weekend all-night parties I have come to the conclusion that my body really has come to its worst state, both on the inside and on the out. It has become too difficult to force my thoughts towards the positive when I'm hiding behind a cloak of insecurity. It is time for a change towards health, which brings me to the point of making this blog.
I have made goals for myself, and I have chosen to blog about my attempt to become a healthy, happy human. For the next 17 weeks I will be making a more conscious effort to cut unnecessary calories and burn what I can at a local gym. The thought of having my trials and triumphs made public will hopefully motivate me to do the best that I can to achieve these goals. (If you are still not convinced, just keep in mind that there will surely be many embarassing moments along the way).
Here goes nothing...
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