Journey With Me

I hurt my back Tuesday night and have been out of the gym all week. I’m totally jonesin’. I’ve been going for so long it’s part of my routine. I am bummed. At least I can walk, but I caught myself earlier today walking hunched over because my lower back was irritated. So, here I sit with a heating pad which I swap out with an ice pack. Fun stuff.

The positive about this week: I don’t have an added 125 pounds pulling on my body. Although being all but stopped in my tracks is slightly inconvenient, I’m just glad I’m not dealing with all the crap I was dealing with prior to losing the weight. After my appointment tomorrow night I’m going to try the elliptical and see how I feel.

Small NSV (non-scale-victory for you non-ops)-I’m officially in the smallest size pants I’ve ever worn. I was also able to pick up a weeks worth of shirts from Old Navy (for less than $35.00). I have never been able to buy anything from Old Navy. I no longer have to buy from the plus-sized section! (Insert strange Cabbage Patch dance here)

Today was chalked full of several…um…incidents. The first involved a new sports bra and a fitted tank. My cousin Tina told me to try running with a high-impact sports bra to keep the girls in line when doing my C25K stuff, so I knew it would be helpful in spin class because the girls out of line in there, too. Yesterday I picked up a couple of those, another pair of gym pants, a fitted tank and another fitted shirt with a shelf bra (I have two of these).

What I didn’t realize (nor did it ever cross my mind) was high impact sports bras run small. So the size I normally wear – I’d have to get the next size up. This I did not do, I grabbed the size I normally wear. So this morning when I took it out of the bag I had a fleeting thought it looked a tad…little. I, however, am very determined.

As soon as I attempted to pull the fabric down I knew I was in trouble. I got stuck. Unless   you’re double-jointed, there is really no effective way to get your hands behind you and up to your shoulder blades without bending in some incredibly strange positions…just to get fingertips in the general vicinity. So I wigged myself out and decided it needed to be stretched.

There I am pulling this way, and that. I try extending one arm out with a firm grip on one side of the bra and pulled on it with the other. Then I switched. I gave thought for just a second to wrapping it around the closet door handle, then thought better of it. Knowing my luck, I would have smacked myself right in between the eyes. My last attempt

Nobody is this happy after getting into one of these things!

involved placing my hands inside, pulling, putting my hands on my thighs and trying to use my arms and legs to stretch the fabric.

Can you even imagine?

After all this, I almost got myself stuck again. It took a full five minutes to untangle the fabric and get myself…situated. Then I put on a fitted tank, which did fit. I looked freaking great…until I had to breathe. Holy crap. Who makes this stuff??? So, back to the default of a fitted shirt with a shelf bra. It’s the same size as the tank, same manufacturer. I don’t get why they fit differently, but I’m sure in two weeks it won’t be an issue.

THEN…ab class!

I must be out of my flipping mind. I decided to take the class because A: the instructor who teaches spin teaches the ab class; and B: I have no abdominal muscles at all. Really. Wednesday night Mark had to stand on my toes, and I still had to grab my legs to sit-up. But, I thought since I’ve accomplished so much, why not give it a go?

Only some of the stuff I could do. Blair said we were working obliques. I’m all, “I have obliques? Where??” Later she had us staring at our toes and doing sit-ups, hugging a ball and doing sit-ups, left-elbow-to-right-knee-and-switch sit ups, blah blah blah.

This was me.

I piped up with, “Do you have an alternative for those who can’t get off the floor?” One gal over in a corner started laughing. I was serious! OMG - who makes this stuff up??

Best part was was planking, which looks like this gal here in this photo.

But we had mats, not bare floor. Blair said it would be a lot easier to do the planks if we kept our shoes off the mat. Sole of the shoes gripping the floor, my smart self thought. I had my arms on the mat, I’m doing my best to stay put, my arms are shaking. Then…my arms slowly slip forward on the mat. I keep trying to get back into position, but I’m sweating so much by this point I’m doomed.

I kept going down….zip!

I clued into the problem and put a towel under my arms. But not before Blair called out the next move, which looks like this:

There I am, sliding along the mat again, trying to kick out my leg. I re-position myself and try kicking the other leg. I’m doing nothing but managing to slide myself all over the floor and off the mat. Best part is yet to come.

Because I was sliding, shifting, and slipping all over the place my shoe came off.

Tid bit for the weekend: I asked Mark to take measurements on Saturday. He said, “We haven’t measured the chest yet, right?” I said, “No.” As he is taking the measurement, my aunt walks across the garage with her boobs pushed out and says, “You can measure mine.”

My cousins and my aunt will get a kick out of this: I was headed out to the grocery store and almost hurled myself down the stairs. My sneaker got caught in my pant leg (obvious sign I need to invest in pants that fit), I lurched forward and immediately threw my hands out to either side. I thumped the side of the house, my keys sounded like someone dragged them down a ladder. I also thumped the rail of the staircase. Anyone who’s been to my place understands: rapidly falling bodies will not be steadied very well by said stair rail. I’m happy to report, I’m fine. I almost blew out my left knee (Mark would have loved that).

The t-shirt thing at the gym has gotten old. Truth be told, it’s the bunching that’s gotten old. The bigger a t-shirt is, the more it travels. They get in the way of movement, bunch, gather in unattractive places. They’re also revealing – especially after spin class. My neck, sleeves, back and area under my lady lumps all wet – but my chest…totally dry. Really? Guys don’t do that. Just sayin’.

Anyways. I decided to invest in a couple pairs of pants, fitted shirts (like the one I posted on FB this morning), over-the-shoulder-sports-boulder-holders, socks, and just for giggles: underwear. Laugh, if you must…but I tell you (hey…a pun!) your chonies won’t bunch if they fit right!

In the next couple of weeks I have to work on getting running shoes. Which means a trip to Hanson’s to first get fitted. I wonder if Velcro is still cool on sneakers?

Toodles.

-Traci

I can’t believe I said I was going to do a 10k. I must have been insane! Honestly, that was my thought tonight after doing my C25K program.

After the elliptical I hopped on the treadmill. Well, one doesn’t necessarily “hop” onto a piece of cardio equipment. True story. I see not one single person excited to jump and go on a treadmill, and neither was I. But I made a commitment and for a train full of personal reasons, I have to see it through.

OMG. Running is HARD. First…if you’re a girl you already know where this is going…they’re in the way. Two completely unnecessary lumps in the  middle of my chest pinned down (or so I thought) by a sports bra. Get on a treadmill and bump the speed to 5.0. They swing up and to the left, they swing up and to the right. If they weren’t trapped as they were, I am convinced I would have sported two very black eyes. Second…Traci got back. I do. It’s the slowest disappearing object on my person, and as I ran I was very aware it was there. Plop. Plop. Plop. Thirdly…I have absolutely no coordination. I was all over that treadmill. It was horrible. There’s this gal next to me with a beautiful stride, running herself to nowhere, and there I am…about to fly off the belt…you’re laughing because you can imagine ALL of this, can’t you?

Before my treadmill thrill, I said hi to a lady I see almost every day I’m there. She’s about two inches shorter than me, and severely morbidly obese. She doesn’t move very fast, stairs are a real chore for her. Like me, she has a temperamental knee. At least once a week she half-heartily jokes about quitting. I keep telling her she can’t, she’s making progress, and I added I enjoy seeing her. Last week I shared my story with her because something was telling me to let her know I understood where she was at. Tonight she called me skinny and I wanted to crawl under the stairs and die. It really messes with my head. I’m comfortable talking with her because I totally know what it’s like to be that overweight. I think when we talk I still feel like the almost 400 pound woman.

Now I’m going to try to hit the sack. I have a spin class I signed up for at 5:45a.m. My duffel bag looks like I’m about to take a weekend trip.

Toodles.

I made this goal I want to hit by my surgery anniversary date (aka “surgiversary”). Although I haven’t said much about it lately, I’m still wanting that goal. After last night, now more than ever.

Yesterday I registered for the Oak Apple Run 10k, to be held in Royal Oak on June 2nd, 2012. I am so excited for this because Amy Cremen is going to run it with me, and Mark has informed me he’ll be there yelling encouraging things like “MOVE!!!”. I also registered for the Detroit Free Press 5k on October 21st, 2012. My cousin Tina is running the Detroit Free Press Half Marathon the same day. I’m not doing a half, but I figure I can cheer her on when I’m done!

I’ve started doing leg-work again. Squats, lunges, I hit the stairs. I also threw my sneakers (more about that some other time). I started the C25K program, and I have a B210K (“Bridge”) which will pick up at the of the other. THEN…I spent about an hour setting my schedule up in Outlook – which is leashed to my phone – for the gym. Mostly because I have something on Mondays through April that shifted Monday things to Tuesdays. And, I like to know what I’m doing (plus, it makes my calendar looks BUSY!).

• Mondays – Rest day. I have something after work I can’t change.
• Tuesdays – Training with Mark. Elliptical. C25K.
• Wednesdays – Training with Mark. Spin class with Blair.
• Thursdays – Elliptical. C25K.
• Fridays – 5:45 a.m Spin with Blair. Elliptical in the p.m.
• Saturdays – Elliptical. C25k. The Boot Camp with Mark.
• Sundays – Spin with Blair, followed by Abs with Blair.

It leaves me with plenty of evening to sit with God even though I can’t physically get to the church on time during the week (there’s a joke in there somewhere). I do follow mid-week service online. The Whosoevers are live every Friday night, and I’m at service every Saturday night (just about). Also…I’m putting myself on restriction from going out to eat once a week (more about that in the other blog).

This is so different, considering the biggest event going on in my life a year ago was watching Spartacus on Starz (I know…major fail), the 8 DVD’s out-at-a-time from Netflix, Moose Tracks ice cream, and hiding in my flat. I’m excited.

Oh…before I sign off. Mark decided to teach me how to duck. Obviously, I failed because he nailed me with a full-on plow straight to the forehead. I have a knot and a bruise brewing.

Toodles!

-Traci

Last February I was making tentative plans to have weight loss surgery. My surgeon’s office had been told by my insurance company they would have to resubmit my file after I reached the “six month’s of supervised visits with a weight loss doctor”. Fairly standard requirement. I wasn’t shocked or surprised. Plus, I was half way there. The waiting didn’t seem so long at that point.

Backing up to the beginning of January 2011: I had taken my very first spin class. The cycles were arranged in a circle, each rider could see one another. I was so nervous I dropped my water bottle onto the floor, it exploded and created a puddle that was about four feet in diameter. I was also the biggest person in the room. I spent the entire hour parked on my bike. I couldn’t stand up, let alone do a push up, climb hills, or do sprints. I could…pedal. The instructor spoke with me after and encouraged me to come back. I didn’t.

Walking was a chore, typically it’d cause a spasm in my lower back. I couldn’t do stairs as an activity, you should have seen me when I climbed the stairs to my flat! I wouldn’t go near the elliptical. A very angry man made that machine. No way. So in short, I wouldn’t do much of anything in the scope of physical activity.

My inner-me voice would go through this whole dialog with my brain as to why going to the gym wasn’t an option. People aren’t clean. It’s a long drive (it’s under four miles). It’ll cut into my “time”. There’s a movie on Starz. Something got recorded on the DVR. Maybe someone will call for dinner (so they could be completely put out by my limited seating options). Pajamas were more comfortable than the tight pants I had on. There’s ice cream in the freezer.

The list went on.

I had no motivation. Even after my surgery. At three months my doctor got on my case about my activity level and the need to increase it. Admittedly, I had this warped thought the weight would just magically fantastically fall off. Yeah, no. Weight loss surgery provided me with a necessary tool to change my eating habits. I had to make other changes.

Four months ago and forty pounds I still couldn’t do stairs. Friday I did four flights. Yesterday I did a freaking truckload of squats, a handful of lunges (careful lunges), played catch with a ten pound medicine ball (truth be known…I actually whined about being left out on that one). Most days I do five miles on the elliptical (or a little over). I average 17-19 miles in spin class (I eventually went back). Today I did 21.7 miles in spin class and started running. Running. If anyone told me a year ago I’d be running, let alone committing to a TEN-k, I would have fallen into hysterical laughter with an ice cream scoop in my hand.

I’m going to tell my therapist the same thing I’m about to blab to all of you. I have had a lot of changes over the past nine months, most of which my brain hasn’t caught up with yet. I look at that list of what I couldn’t do and the one of what I am doing (oh…and the fact I’m suddenly getting hit on by men)…I see myself in several mirrors every day and think, “Look at me! I’m no longer a hot-fat mess.”

And nobody gets to tell me I “can’t do” whatever “it” is. I’ve tossed myself over a huge hurdle: me. Soon I’ll be scaling mountains.

(Sort of…I’m really not interesting in mountain climbing. I like sleeping in a bed.).

-Traci

For you no-ops out there, an NSV is a Non-Scale-Victory. For everyone else, Phat means “great, wonderful, terrific” (not to be confused with “fat”, which is a word never to be uttered about my cute self ever again!).

Back in October I weighed about 40 pounds more than what I weigh currently. My trainer seemed to love the stairs, but for the life of me I couldn’t master them because my knees would just bawk in the most painful utterances you could imagine (okay…I could imagine – you know, like they called me names and cussed me out). Anyways, we stopped doing stairs and moved onto other things (like boxing!).

I had been itching to get something else incorporated into my routine, but tweaking my knee held me back a week. So today (the day after I did 19.4 mile in spin class) I took to the flight of stairs at back entrance of the gym. I jogged up once, then down, then back up. I did this four times. Took about a 45 second break, did the routine four more times. Took another break, and again four more times. I was pretty freaking proud of myself. Seriously, four months ago – only four – I couldn’t bounce up those stairs. And tonight, girlfriend here bounced!

My second little NSV came through a private messaging session with someone on Facebook. We were working out some details about a thing next week, and I mentioned I decided to do the Oak Apple 10k Run on June 2nd. I asked if they had any pointers for someone like me new to running (I am planning to get to Hansons to get fitted for runners within the next week). I was completely thrilled at the reply which included, “Count me in for the 10k!”. I felt like a rock star. I know, it’s silly. Understand, a year ago…I couldn’t get into a booth and I didn’t exactly have a line of people who wanted to hang out with the fat lady. Now…dude! Rock star! I have no idea how this will work, all I know is it’s six measly miles. I do five on the elliptical most days and almost twenty in spin twice a week. I already feel like a rock star! So..bring. It. ON!

Finally, the third and final NSV (which left me freezing my butt off outside for almost half an hour tonight) came through bumping into my neighbor when I got home after the gym. I got checked out, head to toe to head to toe again. He said, “What are you doing, chisling it off? Look at you, skinny!” Aaaand we spent the next 25 minutes flirting. Which really sucks because although he’s gainfully employed, owns his own house and car, he drinks too much. Setting that aside, it was absolutely THRILLING to be called all but hot. He commented on my face, my neck, kept pointing at my legs.

Yes, total Gloat Post…and I loved every minute of it!

After having an evening of disgust at the gym, I thought I’d share my own list of “Do’s” with you all (aren’t you just dying to see them???).

1. If you pee, wash your hands with soap AND water. The fact I even have to put this in print is disgusting. However, tonight I was at the sink after I peed and vigorously washed my hands (anyone who’s seen my dry, cracked knuckles knows I’m a teensy weensy bit OCD about this). A staff member from the gym peed, pretended to squirt soap on her hand, turned on the faucet, ran her fingers under the water, dove for the paper towel dispenser (I swear she did), then left. That took all of ten seconds. I washed my hands for 30 (in case you were wondering). 

2. Do your “ohmygoshigottalookcute” routine at home. Really. Nobody…and I do mean no-baw-dee…cares what you look like, how your make-up is, how big of a latte you got; nor do we desire to be suffocated in the locker room because you found it insanely necessary to share an entire bottle of hairspray with the girls…

…like it was Ultra Klutch. 

3. Scrub the machine as if you were going to claim it for your own. In other words, like you were going to lick the handles. 

4. If your gym has a no cell phone rule…follow it. I realize this is up for debate because some can carry on conversations and text like there’s no tomorrow as they’re running for their lives or climbing a mechanical Mount Kilimanjaro. However, check out the people who don’t know how to do either…they’re disruptive (loud) and they practically stop what they’re doing. Personally, I don’t text while on a machine because my coordination is in question. Just for the record…there is such as thing as cell phone karma. 

5. Park in between the lines. There’s a reason the parking spaces are marked in white, yellow, and or some other bright color. So you’ll park properly. It’s like coloring, but with consequences. If your the dipwad who parks two inches away from my truck like you did tonight, you deserve to get your door biffed. Just sayin’. 

I bought Trader Joe’s Frozen Spinach Lasagna on a whim one weekend. It sounded good, and I’m mildly open to trying something different. I also would like to add here that I’m more apt to eat cooked spinach than dry, leafy spinach (salad style). Plus, it had cheese – huge win. I love cheese. I love hot cheese and enjoy watching it get all long and stringy when it’s melting. Yep. Love cheese.

My spinach lasagna could be heated in the oven or the microwave. The boilers are on full-cook-me-in-my-flat heat mode, therefore I decided the oven wasn’t going to be an option. I’d have all the windows open in a heartbeat and my head would have been stuck in the freezer. I stuck it in the microwave for about 15 minutes and proceeded to finish cleaning the kitchen.

I got excited over the aroma. It smelled like lasagna. After the microwave dinged, I let it sit for a few minutes (per the instructions), took it out and transferred it to a bowl. The disappointment began to set in when I noticed the only cheese on this little concoction was what melted (crusted) to the top. It didn’t even string. The spinach mix was watery, the pasta was blah. No sauce. Lack of cheese. Tasted…bland.

I gave serious thought to driving my bowl over to TJ’s and asking for my money back. Truly a disappointing experience. Think next time I’m in the mood for lasagna I’m going to raid the Bariatric Foodie blog.

Toodles.

Kind of catchy, don’t you think? I should forewarn you, the reader: you may find this post a little unnerving. The title says it all.

I posted the picture which will appear at the end of this blog (no peeking) on a forum I lurk on for those who have had or are considering some form of weight loss surgery. It was in response to a thread about a picture that has been floating around Facebook that “promotes a more realistic view of body imagery” (that’s a quote – thank you N.M.!). I think the picture promotes a view of body imagery from the male photographer’s perspective, or the magazine exec’s, or the editors.

That warped perspective is plastered on every single magazine cover found in the check-out lane at the grocery store, on T.V., on radio. It’s caused significant damage to our self-esteem, and far greater damage to teenagers and young women who feel they have to live up to this stuff….they can’t enjoy life because they’re too busy trying to have the perfect body.

News flash: no body is perfect, and real women don’t look like that.

Anyway, in the thread discussion someone had mentioned they were tempted to take a picture of themselves in a tank top and underwear, but weren’t that brave. I have NO idea what came over me. Emblazoned permanently in cyberspace for like….EVER…. I had responded with: “I’ll do it! I’ll do it tonight after the gym.”

You’re thinking, “Is she inSANE?”

Maybe.

A little impulsive. But you know, real women aren’t airbrushed. Hair…uh-uh. Never looks that good without the aid of a professional (or a great wig). Also, I see real women all the time in the gym – in all shapes, sizes, colors, and clothes – they work their butts off.

So this is the real me. A real sixteen. In my tank top, next to my unmade bed,  and…uh…in my underwear.