So, I was all geared up to talk about how I had gone wrong this past weekend, when God and his infinite wisdom pulled the plug on my story and crashed the Blogger server. It was then I had to take a minute and decipher what I really wanted to get out. On my weekly visits to Mamai and Papai's, I usually get on the scale to check my progress. I was scared to do so this week, because I had gone buck crazy this past weekend.
But when I stepped back and thought about my merciless shenanigans, I began to realize I didn't go crazy. I actually ate like a normal person would during a party. For my anniversary, sure I went for broke and ordered Crab Rangoon, but I paired them with Steamed Pork Dumplings. For Diddles' birthday, which made up my lunch and dinner, I had three slices of pizza, two chicken wings and a small helping of General Gau. I practically worked that off in the bouncy and walking around (alright gimping around) and chasing children.
Even during the week I had written my trainer, Jay (shout out to Exercise Solutions RI), telling him I feel like I was backsliding. He set my ass straight by saying I can't cheat on myself. I needed to get a hold of me. Folks, you gotta know, all my life, I've lived by that stupid sin, Gluttony. I always felt like I have to eat that hole chocolate mousse pie. I must inhale that Cool Whip sandwich dunked in Kool Aid. Yes, I must eat the entire box of Lil Debbies thwarting my sister's snacking. Oh, wait, why bring home half that pad thai, when I can finish it now? Ooooooh, Reese's Peanut Cups, mmmmmm! I never realized how to stop or savor a treat.
These last couple of months, it began to sink in that I can eat like a normal person is supposed to eat. A friend of mine, whom I have lunch with everyday (shout out to M. Frank), when I first started the restructure, kept mentioning the portions I was eating weren't enough. I began looking at the meals and started doubting what Mr. Jay had mapped out. Maybe this wasn't enough. I felt full, but was it enough? I had snackies, but were they enough? Hmmm. Then I gots to reading and doing and realized, crap, this is enough.
Still a bit doubtful, I sat down and wrote out an old menu of things I would have in each sitting in one day, then did a calorie count of those things. After I was done, I almost had a breakdown. In fact, I cried by myself.
If you have weak constitutions, I suggest you turn away, folks. This can get a lil' gross:
Breakfast:
Fried egg with the yolk, cheese, pork sausage on a bagel/English muffin - Tim Ho's (540 calories), DD (490 calories), McDonald's (452 calories)
Large buttered caramel coffee with extra cream and sugar - 125 calories
Total caloric intake between 665 - 577 calories
Lunch at Rock Bottom:
2 Titan Toothpicks - 612 calories
Classic Mac N Chicken - 1,430 calories
Total caloric intake was 2,042 calories
Dinner at Apsara:
8 Crab Rangoons - 560 calories
Green Curry Chicken with a bowl of white rice - 512 calories
Dessert from Friendly's Reese's PB Sundae - 1,330 calories
Total caloric intake 2,402
Total Daily intake for just one day was approx. 5,109
Folks, do you feel your heart lurching? Is there bile pressing up against your gums and burning your teeth? That was ONE day in my life of eating. That was me destroying my insides, because I didn't know how to just say, "Stop!" No wonder I was so mean and cold-hearted. NO wonder I was so huge. No wonder my body ached. No wonder I was going for broke week after week. If I could do that to myself, WTF! Breath, breath... Sorry, y'all, I went there again. I sometimes have moments where I get really mad at myself. It's kinda hard to look at the mirror every morning and realize you are your own domestic violence case in one body.
These last 12 weeks have shown me a new look at life and food. It's made me have a new relationship with how I treat myself. I began to learn that whatever I eat made up my framework. I noticed that the more high protein my diet became the more toned I got. The more fruit and water I ate and drank the more my skin looked clearer and rosier. Dude, I looked like I was fit for a coffin - I was so pale. Actually, the cast of Twilight called and wanted me to join. I declined. Thanks.
The more veggies I scarfed the more regular I felt (that's right, I said it - poop happens, deal with it!) . I didn't miss white rice (once and awhile in my sushi was all I needed). Fried foods began to actually taste oily to me. Let me tell you, I paid for those Crab Rangoons with a couple of worships to the porcelain temple for two days.
And, can I just say, the right foods can make you feel sexy. I love sashimi! Especially, salmon. After eating that, I feel like I can do a photo shoot for Italian Vogue - naked (with a satin blanket). Yes, I have thought about it. Anyway, the only casualty to this restructure thing has been my hair from all the sweat I've doused on it, but that can be fixed with a trip to Ms. Shanna's hair studio.
As I continue with this internal redecorating, be aware, I am 2lbs less (I finally did brave the scale), 24lbs lighter overall, 8lbs to my wedding weight, and have elliviated 144lbs of pressure from my knees (thanks, Jay, for teaching me that) . My RA bothers me, but I can actually fight it better. My hope is rising. My relationships are better (I can play tag with Diddles and that is awesome). The house is starting to look good, too.
Over three months ago, I was so scared, people. I hated everything (no really, I did). I dreaded waking up. I dreaded walking. I hated taking my meds. I hated my clothes. I hated my skin. I was so done with it, but humans are quirky. Sprinkle a little tragedy and cellulite on'em and some of them just bounce up ready to brawl. I'm glad I'm fighting and I know a lot of y'all are fighting with me. Thanks. Pray for me, y'all.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Curse of the Cardio
So, for the passed two weeks, my trainer, Jay, has stressed I need to get into cardio routine. Logically, I know the man is right, but emotionally and mentally I hate it. I have never been the runner. For physical fitness tests at school, I failed any running relays. During recess, when friends would play tag, it took me way longer to catch anyone. That's why I never volunteered to be It. Lord knows, if I went walking with either my sister or father, someone needed to bring an oxygen tank or else I was on the side of the road gripping my side and huffing myself blue.
It was a psychological trauma when anyone would say the word run. I was defeated before I even started and worst of all, I just felt like everyone looked at me like, "what a shame" or "you lazy ass." Pretty much, I fell into the roll and never got out of it. Now, here was Jay saying, "C'mon, Che, you got this."
No, no I don't got this. I want to hide behind lifting weights and beating my muscles up. Leave my lungs and heart alone. Don't shake your head at me. Tell me you don't feel the same way when you get strapped to a treadmill. Ok, I sound like a punk, but breaking from a characteristic that has pretty much been you is not easy. Sigh.
I guess everytime I've ever made a valiant effort to run or do step or whatever other cardio exercise thrown at me, I have felt hedious. You heard me. Hedious. God forbid if I was doing this with my sister - Queen of the Long Distance Run. Ugh. I just could not keep up and felt useless trying to.
I know I am having a moment right now.
The only time I never felt this way was when I danced - alone. I can remember long hours of leaping from one end of my parents house to the other in graceful swirls. That livingroom was my stage and I owned it. Each step I choreographed was in sync with the music and I told a story with my hands and feet and body that I could never tell anyone else. I created a character that broke all the previous models of the lazy me that my family were more than well-acquainted with. In those moments, I could run and my heart didn't beat too quickly or my sides didn't kill nor did my lungs burn. That's why my calves looked the way they did. That's why my stomach was relatively flat for a big girl. And that is why I had a tabletop for an ass.
Now, you're probably wondering, "Well, Che, why don't you take that up again?" Simple, I'm ashamed to try. Can you imagine me leaping from one end of my home to the other? Creating a story with my hands and feet to the latest Kanye or Nicki Manaj joint? Sigh. I guess the Wendy inside me grew up and killed off my internal Peter Pan, because I more than just a Lost Boy right now.
You wanna know the real truth. I still do it. In my head anyway. Since starting the temple restructure, I began listening to songs and coming up with routines that harken back to my old days. Robin Thicke's "Sex Therapy", T-Pain's "Reverse Cowgirl", Alicia Keys' "Trying to Sleep with a Broken Heart" have all received a mental choreography. I'm just afraid to actually spark up the CD player, shove the couches to the side, and just get on my tip toes. Those puppies hurt.
I'm also afraid to look ugly. Ugh! I can't believe I said that. But it is so true. I feel so ungainly and even when I do the simple stuff Jay gives me, I feel like a fool. I sweat and not that cool Flash Dance sweat. It's more like the fat guys from the "Physical" video. The other fear that trumps the looking ugly thing, failure. I am afraid to eph up. I am afraid to make a mistake because then that's it - game over. And worst of all, I am afraid that I will go through this shame and still not get to where I want to be.
So, there you have it. Need cardio to drop the pounds, but I'm too vainly stupid to just deal with it. Sorry to be a downer, guys. Just, pray for me, y'all.
It was a psychological trauma when anyone would say the word run. I was defeated before I even started and worst of all, I just felt like everyone looked at me like, "what a shame" or "you lazy ass." Pretty much, I fell into the roll and never got out of it. Now, here was Jay saying, "C'mon, Che, you got this."
No, no I don't got this. I want to hide behind lifting weights and beating my muscles up. Leave my lungs and heart alone. Don't shake your head at me. Tell me you don't feel the same way when you get strapped to a treadmill. Ok, I sound like a punk, but breaking from a characteristic that has pretty much been you is not easy. Sigh.
I guess everytime I've ever made a valiant effort to run or do step or whatever other cardio exercise thrown at me, I have felt hedious. You heard me. Hedious. God forbid if I was doing this with my sister - Queen of the Long Distance Run. Ugh. I just could not keep up and felt useless trying to.
I know I am having a moment right now.
The only time I never felt this way was when I danced - alone. I can remember long hours of leaping from one end of my parents house to the other in graceful swirls. That livingroom was my stage and I owned it. Each step I choreographed was in sync with the music and I told a story with my hands and feet and body that I could never tell anyone else. I created a character that broke all the previous models of the lazy me that my family were more than well-acquainted with. In those moments, I could run and my heart didn't beat too quickly or my sides didn't kill nor did my lungs burn. That's why my calves looked the way they did. That's why my stomach was relatively flat for a big girl. And that is why I had a tabletop for an ass.
Now, you're probably wondering, "Well, Che, why don't you take that up again?" Simple, I'm ashamed to try. Can you imagine me leaping from one end of my home to the other? Creating a story with my hands and feet to the latest Kanye or Nicki Manaj joint? Sigh. I guess the Wendy inside me grew up and killed off my internal Peter Pan, because I more than just a Lost Boy right now.
You wanna know the real truth. I still do it. In my head anyway. Since starting the temple restructure, I began listening to songs and coming up with routines that harken back to my old days. Robin Thicke's "Sex Therapy", T-Pain's "Reverse Cowgirl", Alicia Keys' "Trying to Sleep with a Broken Heart" have all received a mental choreography. I'm just afraid to actually spark up the CD player, shove the couches to the side, and just get on my tip toes. Those puppies hurt.
I'm also afraid to look ugly. Ugh! I can't believe I said that. But it is so true. I feel so ungainly and even when I do the simple stuff Jay gives me, I feel like a fool. I sweat and not that cool Flash Dance sweat. It's more like the fat guys from the "Physical" video. The other fear that trumps the looking ugly thing, failure. I am afraid to eph up. I am afraid to make a mistake because then that's it - game over. And worst of all, I am afraid that I will go through this shame and still not get to where I want to be.
So, there you have it. Need cardio to drop the pounds, but I'm too vainly stupid to just deal with it. Sorry to be a downer, guys. Just, pray for me, y'all.
Monday, September 13, 2010
A Decade of P and Che
September is a very huge month in the house. Not only is it our son's 2nd birthday or our 3rd wedding anniversary. It is our tenth year together as friends. I know many of you have heard the bumbling, oftentimes mad rantings of a possessed woman when I've referenced P in my blogs. Lord knows, he has never been shown in the best of light. And, true, he has done some stupid, callous things that have incurred my wrath, but (and don't tell him I said so, because I will deny it) I am no perfect angel to his flawed saint.
What has made me and P work for this long? Honestly? P has. In all my years of letting people walk in and out of my life (and sometimes not even giving them a thought once they've gone), P is the only person I cannot see my life without. Even when he gets me boiling mad, there is that part of me that wants to hug him and love him.
So, I want to actually take this blog and exalted Mr. P on the several things I never blogged about him that I think people should know:
Giving his last dime
P is generous to a fault. I can remember this one time when I had been ranting about money and not being able to pay my car note. I was panicked and couldn't turn anywhere else for the shame of it all. P drove to the bank and pulled out all that he had (which hadn't been much) and dumped it in my account without a single "pay me back..." When I asked him why he would do this, his response, "I'd rather let my account go dry then see you stressed like this."
You can't imagine how that made me feel. He was giving me all he had to make me feel secure and stress free. Statistics always reference that money is one of the main killers of a relationship. Couples quibble over a dollar and everything else falls apart around them. Hell, I even read how one guy ended his engagement because his fiancee had $170K worth of debt. Dang! But no matter our money woes, P has always stuck to his word and we've worked together to figure out how to get by. I guess we get the part about, "for richer or poorer."
He's No White Knight, But He'll Do
Many know the story of my Tercel loosing control on 93S. But it was the after effects that stick in my head. P had gotten me back to 63 Merriam and I was a wreck. Crying, sobbing , ranting like an idiot. And he held on to me. Finally, when it had hit me that he had said nothing the whole time, I looked up and he was crying. He just looked at me, stroking my braids, tears rolling down his cheek and he uttered, "When you're phone dropped and the last thing I heard was you scream, I thought I lost you." He said how he racked his brain trying to figure out how to get to me and couldn't. He said he felt lost. That's when I knew. If I could make this 6 foot giant of a man breakdown into tears and express his vulnerablity, I knew I meant a whole lot to P.
Tragedies can bring couples close together, but they can also test the bounds of their love. The one thing I know about P is that no matter what tragedies befall us, great or small, I am assured he will be my shoulder to cry on. I guess we understand, "For better or worse."
Road to Anywhere
Before P, I had only known the four corners of the New England area. I was reluctant to walk outside the lines and see what the other side looked like. But P took my hand and dragged me places that has given me great stories. I will never forget our first road trip to Washington, D.C. to pick up the infamous futon. It was a one day trip, but it was chocked full of adventures. The Intrepid rental that didn't have pull down back seats. P and Jacques trying to load it in. The State Trooper at the gas station, after seeing P held prisoner by the futon in the back seat, commenting, "That's the way to keep'em, girlie. " Driving back in the rain with the window open.
From that first, we knew we'd have an adventure everywhere we went. From ATL to San Fran, there's more fun to be had. Oh, by the way, we still have the futon frame.
Um... Happy Valentine's Day... Daddy
For those of you who know P, he is the talker. He forever has something to say about anything. But there was final one time I was able to silence him. It was Valentine's Day 2008. For a week now, I had suspected something was up with my womanly systems and had decided to do a check. Before we sat down to eat dinner at home, I dipped the stick and left it there. I didn't even mention to P what I had suspected, because a part of me didn't believe it. We joked at the table as we usually did, then I proceeded to clear the table. That's when I remembered, "Oh crap, the Test." I ran into the bathroom and checked the results. "Oh my," was all I thought, then laughed to myself.
Walking out into the livingroom where P was watching TV, I plopped down on top of him with test in hand. He was already talking some mess about something else, when I said, "Happy Valentine's Day, Daddy" and showed him the big ol' positive. P was silent. He was shocked. His mouth hung open. I was in hysterics laughing.
Once he regained his composure and tongue, he couldn't stop yapping about his son and he still is. I don't think I could top another Valentine's Day present.
Loving me for who I am
Many folks have told me how sweet and friendly and charming I am. Some folks have called me a bitch, tempermental and overly dramatic. But no one has truly accepted me for me, like P. He is never afraid to let me know when I'm being mean or need to reel in my claws. But he also reminds me on occasion that I have a tender, loving side and that I really am a good person. I truly cherish the rare moments when he steps outside himself and tells me how my skin is the softest he's every touched or that he loves loving me or that my hair looks nice or that that outfit is sexy.
He ain't romance novel romantic, but he lets me know I am special to him in his own P Diddy way.
On this September 14th, P and I celebrate the first time we said, "I love you." I know it's cheesy y'all, but it is this day that is the most important, because this is the day that we let each other know with three little words that "I can't live without you", "I miss you when you are gone", "I'm broken, fix me", "I can see you having my kids", "I can see being with you forever." And yes, I love you, Big Man. Pray for us, y'all.
Happy Anniversary!
What has made me and P work for this long? Honestly? P has. In all my years of letting people walk in and out of my life (and sometimes not even giving them a thought once they've gone), P is the only person I cannot see my life without. Even when he gets me boiling mad, there is that part of me that wants to hug him and love him.
So, I want to actually take this blog and exalted Mr. P on the several things I never blogged about him that I think people should know:
Giving his last dime
P is generous to a fault. I can remember this one time when I had been ranting about money and not being able to pay my car note. I was panicked and couldn't turn anywhere else for the shame of it all. P drove to the bank and pulled out all that he had (which hadn't been much) and dumped it in my account without a single "pay me back..." When I asked him why he would do this, his response, "I'd rather let my account go dry then see you stressed like this."
You can't imagine how that made me feel. He was giving me all he had to make me feel secure and stress free. Statistics always reference that money is one of the main killers of a relationship. Couples quibble over a dollar and everything else falls apart around them. Hell, I even read how one guy ended his engagement because his fiancee had $170K worth of debt. Dang! But no matter our money woes, P has always stuck to his word and we've worked together to figure out how to get by. I guess we get the part about, "for richer or poorer."
He's No White Knight, But He'll Do
Many know the story of my Tercel loosing control on 93S. But it was the after effects that stick in my head. P had gotten me back to 63 Merriam and I was a wreck. Crying, sobbing , ranting like an idiot. And he held on to me. Finally, when it had hit me that he had said nothing the whole time, I looked up and he was crying. He just looked at me, stroking my braids, tears rolling down his cheek and he uttered, "When you're phone dropped and the last thing I heard was you scream, I thought I lost you." He said how he racked his brain trying to figure out how to get to me and couldn't. He said he felt lost. That's when I knew. If I could make this 6 foot giant of a man breakdown into tears and express his vulnerablity, I knew I meant a whole lot to P.
Tragedies can bring couples close together, but they can also test the bounds of their love. The one thing I know about P is that no matter what tragedies befall us, great or small, I am assured he will be my shoulder to cry on. I guess we understand, "For better or worse."
Road to Anywhere
Before P, I had only known the four corners of the New England area. I was reluctant to walk outside the lines and see what the other side looked like. But P took my hand and dragged me places that has given me great stories. I will never forget our first road trip to Washington, D.C. to pick up the infamous futon. It was a one day trip, but it was chocked full of adventures. The Intrepid rental that didn't have pull down back seats. P and Jacques trying to load it in. The State Trooper at the gas station, after seeing P held prisoner by the futon in the back seat, commenting, "That's the way to keep'em, girlie. " Driving back in the rain with the window open.
From that first, we knew we'd have an adventure everywhere we went. From ATL to San Fran, there's more fun to be had. Oh, by the way, we still have the futon frame.
Um... Happy Valentine's Day... Daddy
For those of you who know P, he is the talker. He forever has something to say about anything. But there was final one time I was able to silence him. It was Valentine's Day 2008. For a week now, I had suspected something was up with my womanly systems and had decided to do a check. Before we sat down to eat dinner at home, I dipped the stick and left it there. I didn't even mention to P what I had suspected, because a part of me didn't believe it. We joked at the table as we usually did, then I proceeded to clear the table. That's when I remembered, "Oh crap, the Test." I ran into the bathroom and checked the results. "Oh my," was all I thought, then laughed to myself.
Walking out into the livingroom where P was watching TV, I plopped down on top of him with test in hand. He was already talking some mess about something else, when I said, "Happy Valentine's Day, Daddy" and showed him the big ol' positive. P was silent. He was shocked. His mouth hung open. I was in hysterics laughing.
Once he regained his composure and tongue, he couldn't stop yapping about his son and he still is. I don't think I could top another Valentine's Day present.
Loving me for who I am
Many folks have told me how sweet and friendly and charming I am. Some folks have called me a bitch, tempermental and overly dramatic. But no one has truly accepted me for me, like P. He is never afraid to let me know when I'm being mean or need to reel in my claws. But he also reminds me on occasion that I have a tender, loving side and that I really am a good person. I truly cherish the rare moments when he steps outside himself and tells me how my skin is the softest he's every touched or that he loves loving me or that my hair looks nice or that that outfit is sexy.
He ain't romance novel romantic, but he lets me know I am special to him in his own P Diddy way.
On this September 14th, P and I celebrate the first time we said, "I love you." I know it's cheesy y'all, but it is this day that is the most important, because this is the day that we let each other know with three little words that "I can't live without you", "I miss you when you are gone", "I'm broken, fix me", "I can see you having my kids", "I can see being with you forever." And yes, I love you, Big Man. Pray for us, y'all.
Happy Anniversary!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
