Running one day is inspired. Running the next day is dedication. Running the day after that is, well, INSANITY. My legs are burning. I don't know what I was thinking. In fact, I am now so tired that I am unable to think of anything, period, including something interesting and creative to finish this blog. So I'm just going to stop now.
Instead, I will leave you with a snippet of my childhood - amusing for most of you, but especially so for anyone who spent any amount of time in Washington DC metro area. Don't forget to sing along and wink appropriately:
Friday, March 23, 2007
Monday, March 19, 2007
taking it day by day
Today's one of those hard days. You know what I mean by hard days: the days where you definitely have stuff you should do, you have to do, but it feels harder than normal to do those things. Things like doing schoolwork, cleaning the kitchen... and most of all, eating right and getting exercise. It's just HARD today.
I had... HAVE... every intention of getting out on the trail today and running. But I woke up this morning at 5am with all this, well, GUNK in my head. Gunk that must have traveled along my throat at some point, because my throat was super-sore. My nose was stuffy. My sinuses felt packed with cotton. UGH. I took a nap later in the morning and woke up, miraculously, without that sandpaper-throat feeling... but I still feel kinda draggy and stuffy-headed. Do I run? Do I not? I don't know. I'm not terribly sick, so my inclination is to say it's okay. But my body has other ideas.
And when I get sick, do I want to eat healthy? Nah. Luckily, I have so far today. But I just now saw this commercial for these really delicious-sounding chocolates, followed by a pizza commercial, and yeah, I want me some pizza and chocolate. I'm trying to jolt myself back to reality by attempting to picture those slices of pepperoni and truffles laid directly on my hips, thighs, and stomach, but it's not really working to keep me from wanting it all!
It's almost 5pm, and I still have at least two hours of daylight ahead of me. I am reminding myself that I have never regretted getting outside and exercising, though I have occasionally wished that I would have gotten out on those days I chose to stay inside. But that packed-head feeling is making me wonder...
I had... HAVE... every intention of getting out on the trail today and running. But I woke up this morning at 5am with all this, well, GUNK in my head. Gunk that must have traveled along my throat at some point, because my throat was super-sore. My nose was stuffy. My sinuses felt packed with cotton. UGH. I took a nap later in the morning and woke up, miraculously, without that sandpaper-throat feeling... but I still feel kinda draggy and stuffy-headed. Do I run? Do I not? I don't know. I'm not terribly sick, so my inclination is to say it's okay. But my body has other ideas.
And when I get sick, do I want to eat healthy? Nah. Luckily, I have so far today. But I just now saw this commercial for these really delicious-sounding chocolates, followed by a pizza commercial, and yeah, I want me some pizza and chocolate. I'm trying to jolt myself back to reality by attempting to picture those slices of pepperoni and truffles laid directly on my hips, thighs, and stomach, but it's not really working to keep me from wanting it all!
It's almost 5pm, and I still have at least two hours of daylight ahead of me. I am reminding myself that I have never regretted getting outside and exercising, though I have occasionally wished that I would have gotten out on those days I chose to stay inside. But that packed-head feeling is making me wonder...
Saturday, March 17, 2007
a little bit more, a little bit more...
I went to my weigh-in this morning at WW... and the grand total is:
-26.8 (-2.6 for the week)
Woo-hoo! My goal this week was not to be neurotic about my food: making good food choices every meal, instead of trying to "make up" for one meal with the next (like having cupcakes one meal, then just salad the next - not cool). I also upped the ante with my running: I was going at a pretty comfortable pace each time I was running, and I don't think my heart was getting the workout it needed. So, I pushed myself - on a scale of 0-10 of effort, I'd say I was now running around a 7 or an 8 instead of a 5 or a 6. Pushing yourself is harder than just coasting along, but the reward you get at the end is greater - the exhilaration of having given yourself a really great workout instead of wondering, "Did I enjoy that? Did it do anything for me?"
My treat today is a great lunch at Cracker Barrel with a great friend. Cracker Barrel isn't exactly low-fat or healthy all the time, but hey, I do have some, er, "wiggle room" when I do WW, which is the beauty of the plan. We're going to dine on some fabulous macaroni and cheese and enjoy shopping at my all-time favorite store, Target. Speaking of Target, I downloaded that song off of the new Target commercials - the ones with runway-looking people flying around gracefully. It's "A Little Bit More" by Jamie Lidell, who is this electronica sort of artist, lots of funky things. As it turns out, the beat and his R&B-esque voice is perfect for my run, so I popped it on my iPod yesterday and ran, yes, a little bit more. I pretended I was flying about gracefully with metallic green eye shadow artfully applied up to my eyebrows.
-26.8 (-2.6 for the week)
Woo-hoo! My goal this week was not to be neurotic about my food: making good food choices every meal, instead of trying to "make up" for one meal with the next (like having cupcakes one meal, then just salad the next - not cool). I also upped the ante with my running: I was going at a pretty comfortable pace each time I was running, and I don't think my heart was getting the workout it needed. So, I pushed myself - on a scale of 0-10 of effort, I'd say I was now running around a 7 or an 8 instead of a 5 or a 6. Pushing yourself is harder than just coasting along, but the reward you get at the end is greater - the exhilaration of having given yourself a really great workout instead of wondering, "Did I enjoy that? Did it do anything for me?"
My treat today is a great lunch at Cracker Barrel with a great friend. Cracker Barrel isn't exactly low-fat or healthy all the time, but hey, I do have some, er, "wiggle room" when I do WW, which is the beauty of the plan. We're going to dine on some fabulous macaroni and cheese and enjoy shopping at my all-time favorite store, Target. Speaking of Target, I downloaded that song off of the new Target commercials - the ones with runway-looking people flying around gracefully. It's "A Little Bit More" by Jamie Lidell, who is this electronica sort of artist, lots of funky things. As it turns out, the beat and his R&B-esque voice is perfect for my run, so I popped it on my iPod yesterday and ran, yes, a little bit more. I pretended I was flying about gracefully with metallic green eye shadow artfully applied up to my eyebrows.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
strangers are cool
I was finishing my run this afternoon, feeling draggy and winded, and this guy passes me and gives me the thumbs up with an encouraging smile. And even though I've never met this guy before, I felt this sense of quasi-athletic solidarity with him, he and I, working it out on the long trail, trying to lose some pounds and be healthy. We were suddenly this posse, gang, or similar. We were a force (even while traveling in opposite directions).
When you're out on the trail, YOU BETTA RECOGNIZE. Word.
When you're out on the trail, YOU BETTA RECOGNIZE. Word.
Monday, March 12, 2007
back to basics
It's been a while since I wrote about losing weight, hasn't it?
I went to Weight Watchers today after a few weeks of not being able to go, and the scale read that I lost 3.2 pounds. It wasn't as much as I had expected, and I have to admit, I was a little disappointed, though losing over a pound and a half a week is still impressive. The scale is, overall, going in the right direction! But I still battle with these impossibly high expectations I set for myself.
Now that the pregnancy is done and my body is mostly recovered, I'm hoping to catch a renewed enthusiasm for my health. You know: exercising, nourishing my body with lots of good food choices, enjoying the shrinkage, even if it is happening slower than I'd like. My thirtieth is less than two months away, and as a goal, I'd like to be past the 30-pound mark for pounds lost so far by that day (May 5). So, I'll post the numbers each week - accountability! Here's this week's number:
-24.2 total pounds
That would be about 6 pounds in 7 weeks, which is entirely doable, even surpassable, if I do things well. Good thing my goal allows for a little slacking, if I need it. These last 6 weeks of the semester are gonna be tough!
Here's to fresh starts. Wish me luck.
I went to Weight Watchers today after a few weeks of not being able to go, and the scale read that I lost 3.2 pounds. It wasn't as much as I had expected, and I have to admit, I was a little disappointed, though losing over a pound and a half a week is still impressive. The scale is, overall, going in the right direction! But I still battle with these impossibly high expectations I set for myself.
Now that the pregnancy is done and my body is mostly recovered, I'm hoping to catch a renewed enthusiasm for my health. You know: exercising, nourishing my body with lots of good food choices, enjoying the shrinkage, even if it is happening slower than I'd like. My thirtieth is less than two months away, and as a goal, I'd like to be past the 30-pound mark for pounds lost so far by that day (May 5). So, I'll post the numbers each week - accountability! Here's this week's number:
-24.2 total pounds
That would be about 6 pounds in 7 weeks, which is entirely doable, even surpassable, if I do things well. Good thing my goal allows for a little slacking, if I need it. These last 6 weeks of the semester are gonna be tough!
Here's to fresh starts. Wish me luck.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
gratitude and prayer
How easily I get mired in the muck of everyday life and fail to recognize the little (and not-so-little) miracles that make up my day. It wasn't very long ago that each day was a struggle to get through without crying or having some sort of emotional breakdown; now, the waters have calmed, the sun is shining, and I'm breathing some huge sighs of relief. I'm trying to be conscious of my little successes and moments of happy: the skinny jeans that fit once again without pinching, the friendship that rekindled from animosity, the test score so high that it balanced out a failing test grade to put me half a point from an A. But I so easily forget. I move on to the next area of longing and discontent.
My friend Cheryl, filled with beauty and blue-eyed optimism, tells me about how she would write pages and pages in her journals - when she felt inspired to write. She'd have a week of novel-like entries, followed by months of nothing. I was nodding my head furiously in agreement to this - the words of my 9th grade English teacher ring in my head still: "consistently inconsistent". So, instead of having these feast-or-famine entries that chronicled times of struggle instead of day-to-day prayers and thanksgivings, she now limits herself to just two lines each day. One line is something she's thankful for; the other line is her prayer request, something she's asking of God. It may not be as wildly poetic as pages of rambling prose; it's relatively straightforward. But she does it every day, every night before she goes to bed. And this process allows her, so easily, to look back and see all the things she worried about that God took care of... and His faithfulness on the things that delighted her each day, the little miracles that I don't want to forget, either.
So, I've hauled my journal back out. I haven't done much pen-on-paper writing of my journal since I started blogging, but Cheryl inspired me: God's faithfulness is constant, but my memories of it have very short expiration dates. Writing it all down in just two lines a night is something I can do easily, and I hope the difference it makes in my heart is profound.
My friend Cheryl, filled with beauty and blue-eyed optimism, tells me about how she would write pages and pages in her journals - when she felt inspired to write. She'd have a week of novel-like entries, followed by months of nothing. I was nodding my head furiously in agreement to this - the words of my 9th grade English teacher ring in my head still: "consistently inconsistent". So, instead of having these feast-or-famine entries that chronicled times of struggle instead of day-to-day prayers and thanksgivings, she now limits herself to just two lines each day. One line is something she's thankful for; the other line is her prayer request, something she's asking of God. It may not be as wildly poetic as pages of rambling prose; it's relatively straightforward. But she does it every day, every night before she goes to bed. And this process allows her, so easily, to look back and see all the things she worried about that God took care of... and His faithfulness on the things that delighted her each day, the little miracles that I don't want to forget, either.
So, I've hauled my journal back out. I haven't done much pen-on-paper writing of my journal since I started blogging, but Cheryl inspired me: God's faithfulness is constant, but my memories of it have very short expiration dates. Writing it all down in just two lines a night is something I can do easily, and I hope the difference it makes in my heart is profound.
Monday, March 5, 2007
we laughed about this all weekend...
...as we watched it during a church staff retreat. It's just precious, the look on his face after he talks about, er, PITCHING TENTS.
Thursday, March 1, 2007
somebody please buy me this
I know I'm on Weight Watchers, but this is truly the merging of my two of my favorite things in life:
Chocolate Bubble Wrap
Chocolate Bubble Wrap
owwwwww!
Note: this post contains references to blood and female stuff, so if that stuff grosses you out, skip this post. Don't say I didn't warn ya.
Without delving into all the gory details, I've been waiting for this miscarriage to finally resolve itself, and last night, it did. And let me tell you, I have never felt pain quite like that! It was the kind of pain where you writhe in bed and your whole body tenses up. I actually moaned. Thank God it only lasted for about 45 minutes: I had called the doctor-on-call because I was worried that I was losing too much blood, and she told me to pop 4 ibuprofen every 6 hours for the pain/bleeding. Blessed, blessed drug. When it kicked in, I was a new woman.
And I know that kajillions of people say not to weigh yourself every day, but I do: I find it usually stays pretty consistent as long as I keep the conditions the same (no clothes, emptied everything, no breakfast yet). All this week so far, the number on the scale has read the same. No big deal to me - I don't expect three days to do a whole lot. I remembered yesterday's number as I got on this morning, thinking I had to have dropped at least a pound with all the water and everything gone from my body (pregnant women retain everything, it appears). I stepped on the scale... FIVE AND A HALF POUNDS GONE. Holy cow. It was quite possibly the fastest 5 pounds I've ever lost, though by no means the easiest. It was no fluke of the scale, either: my skinny jeans fit again. My abdomen looks - to me - visibly reduced. Amazing.
Overall, there's a great sense of relief. I think all the tears and the emotion had been shed weeks ago, and maybe there will be more in the coming days, I don't know, but I am definitely feeling closure and a fresh-start feeling now that this small chapter of my life has closed. I am looking forward to getting pregnant again, though I'm wanting the next pregnancy to be planned, not a surprise, and maybe I'll hold off telling the world until I hit my 2nd trimester. And I'll also not run to celebrate the pregnancy with a large cookies and cream milkshake from Steak and Shake every day. After this experience, I can't say I won't be a little cautious or scared with the next pregnancy - there are no guarantees, it seems. But overall, I am hopeful, and that feels good, finally.
Without delving into all the gory details, I've been waiting for this miscarriage to finally resolve itself, and last night, it did. And let me tell you, I have never felt pain quite like that! It was the kind of pain where you writhe in bed and your whole body tenses up. I actually moaned. Thank God it only lasted for about 45 minutes: I had called the doctor-on-call because I was worried that I was losing too much blood, and she told me to pop 4 ibuprofen every 6 hours for the pain/bleeding. Blessed, blessed drug. When it kicked in, I was a new woman.
And I know that kajillions of people say not to weigh yourself every day, but I do: I find it usually stays pretty consistent as long as I keep the conditions the same (no clothes, emptied everything, no breakfast yet). All this week so far, the number on the scale has read the same. No big deal to me - I don't expect three days to do a whole lot. I remembered yesterday's number as I got on this morning, thinking I had to have dropped at least a pound with all the water and everything gone from my body (pregnant women retain everything, it appears). I stepped on the scale... FIVE AND A HALF POUNDS GONE. Holy cow. It was quite possibly the fastest 5 pounds I've ever lost, though by no means the easiest. It was no fluke of the scale, either: my skinny jeans fit again. My abdomen looks - to me - visibly reduced. Amazing.
Overall, there's a great sense of relief. I think all the tears and the emotion had been shed weeks ago, and maybe there will be more in the coming days, I don't know, but I am definitely feeling closure and a fresh-start feeling now that this small chapter of my life has closed. I am looking forward to getting pregnant again, though I'm wanting the next pregnancy to be planned, not a surprise, and maybe I'll hold off telling the world until I hit my 2nd trimester. And I'll also not run to celebrate the pregnancy with a large cookies and cream milkshake from Steak and Shake every day. After this experience, I can't say I won't be a little cautious or scared with the next pregnancy - there are no guarantees, it seems. But overall, I am hopeful, and that feels good, finally.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
the million-dollar question
One of the reasons running has been so good to me, other than getting me off my tush and reducing said tush, is the "me" time that I have to think, to pray, to reflect. Sometimes, it's just as simple as thinking about what to make for dinner (particularly if I am already hungry during a run). Other times, I get deep. And lately, this week, I've been getting deep.
I often ask Jason what he would do if he had a million dollars, or if every job paid the same, or if he could do anything in the world, what would it be, etc. He's good most times I ask and won't say "two chicks at once", though that makes me laugh because I love that movie. Anyway, no use asking the question of your truest love if you cannot ask yourself the same question. Up until recently, I was quick to answer even my own self with a default response: well, nursing, of course. And every week I would trudge off to class, excited to be starting my new career and soon be earning a steady income and not have to worry about having the electricity turned off or the phone cut off or whatever. It's true: I am excited about it, and not just for the steady income part. I do love helping people.
Sometime recently - the exact day I cannot pinpoint - I started getting honest with myself. After my first attempt at grad school didn't work and I came home afraid to sing for anyone, I quickly concluded that the Performing Life was not for me. And I was quick to tell other people that, too, and because I have such smooth acting skills, I convinced a lot of people that it was true, including myself. Being in the competitive arena in a musical style not 100% natural to my voice made me extremely unsure of myself, especially when I heard people who were completely at home singing classically. I started hating the experience so much that I told people I was having panic attacks (I wasn't) so I could have a more solid excuse to quit and go home instead of "nah, don't like it, sorry." So I wrote the whole thing off - I wasn't made for it, and it was not for me. Looking back, I can say with certainty that yes, classical singing, while I had moments of "good" and "pretty" in there, was not really my path. And I can also say that I'm fascinated by the human body, and I'm good at this nursing stuff, and I know that it will be a good fit for me.
But about that honesty thing: if you asked me what I would do if I had a million dollars, or if I could do anything at all, do you think I would say nursing?
I didn't think you did.
Jason and I have been struggling with massive life discontent lately. It's made me sit down and really examine myself: am I doing what God wants me to be doing? Am I discontent with circumstances I should be content with (but am not because I am - choose one - separated from God/selfish/lazy/clueless)? Do I want to sing for a bigger audience/congregation because I want to reach more hearts or because I want more people to like me and compliment me?
There have been some really extraordinary people God has dropped into my life: people so encouraging to me, just by their lives alone, that I want to scoop them all up and surround myself with them 24 hours a day in some sort of Encouragement Commune or whatever. (I have not told them about this idea, naturally.) People who have inspired me because they threw aside doubt and fear and just went for it, whatever "it" happened to be for them. Moving to opposite ends of the country and even the world because it was something that would make them happy, truly happy, even though it involved personal risk and sacrifice. So many days, I stare these possibilities in the face and get scared to my core, feeling very much like Marlin from Finding Nemo when he and Dory are in the whale's mouth:
Dory: We gotta go. He said it's time to go now.
Marlin: How do you know, Dory? How do you know nothing bad's going to happen?
Dory: (pause) I don't.
And maybe I'm just getting sick of needing a 100% guarantee before I do anything anymore. Every Sunday when I stop singing, I wish we had more songs to do. I love my time up there, and for the first time, I feel totally confident of the gift God gave me and how He can use it to reach others when I am up there leading worship. I can't ignore that, but at the same time, I have no clue what to do next with it (other than what I am already doing now). So it all begs the question: if it's something I love to do more than anything else on this earth, why oh why am I looking in another direction? I just don't have a good or easy answer for that question. But I also don't want to hit 70, 80 years old, look back on my life, and kick myself for not having gone after what I loved, what God has distinctly wired me for. No, I'm not dropping out of nursing school or abandoning that path, no way. But I cannot stand still in the status quo anymore and expect to feel good about my life.
This is one of the scariest revelations of my short life thus far. It turns everything I built in my head pretty much on its ass and also begs the question: what next? Well, I don't know. But I have to do something with it. I really want to blame it all on stress from nursing school, except that deep down, I have felt this way pretty much ever since I found out I could sing at all, so the stress excuse doesn't hold. Stress might explain why it's just now coming to surface, though.
The few souls in whom I have confided this have told me, "Oh, you should go for it!" but I don't know the first thing to do next, so I'm freaked out. All I can think of right now is to ask God for opened doors, seeing as I am so clueless about all of this. If any of you feel inspired to pray for me, please do. This is all new ground!
I often ask Jason what he would do if he had a million dollars, or if every job paid the same, or if he could do anything in the world, what would it be, etc. He's good most times I ask and won't say "two chicks at once", though that makes me laugh because I love that movie. Anyway, no use asking the question of your truest love if you cannot ask yourself the same question. Up until recently, I was quick to answer even my own self with a default response: well, nursing, of course. And every week I would trudge off to class, excited to be starting my new career and soon be earning a steady income and not have to worry about having the electricity turned off or the phone cut off or whatever. It's true: I am excited about it, and not just for the steady income part. I do love helping people.
Sometime recently - the exact day I cannot pinpoint - I started getting honest with myself. After my first attempt at grad school didn't work and I came home afraid to sing for anyone, I quickly concluded that the Performing Life was not for me. And I was quick to tell other people that, too, and because I have such smooth acting skills, I convinced a lot of people that it was true, including myself. Being in the competitive arena in a musical style not 100% natural to my voice made me extremely unsure of myself, especially when I heard people who were completely at home singing classically. I started hating the experience so much that I told people I was having panic attacks (I wasn't) so I could have a more solid excuse to quit and go home instead of "nah, don't like it, sorry." So I wrote the whole thing off - I wasn't made for it, and it was not for me. Looking back, I can say with certainty that yes, classical singing, while I had moments of "good" and "pretty" in there, was not really my path. And I can also say that I'm fascinated by the human body, and I'm good at this nursing stuff, and I know that it will be a good fit for me.
But about that honesty thing: if you asked me what I would do if I had a million dollars, or if I could do anything at all, do you think I would say nursing?
I didn't think you did.
Jason and I have been struggling with massive life discontent lately. It's made me sit down and really examine myself: am I doing what God wants me to be doing? Am I discontent with circumstances I should be content with (but am not because I am - choose one - separated from God/selfish/lazy/clueless)? Do I want to sing for a bigger audience/congregation because I want to reach more hearts or because I want more people to like me and compliment me?
There have been some really extraordinary people God has dropped into my life: people so encouraging to me, just by their lives alone, that I want to scoop them all up and surround myself with them 24 hours a day in some sort of Encouragement Commune or whatever. (I have not told them about this idea, naturally.) People who have inspired me because they threw aside doubt and fear and just went for it, whatever "it" happened to be for them. Moving to opposite ends of the country and even the world because it was something that would make them happy, truly happy, even though it involved personal risk and sacrifice. So many days, I stare these possibilities in the face and get scared to my core, feeling very much like Marlin from Finding Nemo when he and Dory are in the whale's mouth:
Dory: We gotta go. He said it's time to go now.
Marlin: How do you know, Dory? How do you know nothing bad's going to happen?
Dory: (pause) I don't.
And maybe I'm just getting sick of needing a 100% guarantee before I do anything anymore. Every Sunday when I stop singing, I wish we had more songs to do. I love my time up there, and for the first time, I feel totally confident of the gift God gave me and how He can use it to reach others when I am up there leading worship. I can't ignore that, but at the same time, I have no clue what to do next with it (other than what I am already doing now). So it all begs the question: if it's something I love to do more than anything else on this earth, why oh why am I looking in another direction? I just don't have a good or easy answer for that question. But I also don't want to hit 70, 80 years old, look back on my life, and kick myself for not having gone after what I loved, what God has distinctly wired me for. No, I'm not dropping out of nursing school or abandoning that path, no way. But I cannot stand still in the status quo anymore and expect to feel good about my life.
This is one of the scariest revelations of my short life thus far. It turns everything I built in my head pretty much on its ass and also begs the question: what next? Well, I don't know. But I have to do something with it. I really want to blame it all on stress from nursing school, except that deep down, I have felt this way pretty much ever since I found out I could sing at all, so the stress excuse doesn't hold. Stress might explain why it's just now coming to surface, though.
The few souls in whom I have confided this have told me, "Oh, you should go for it!" but I don't know the first thing to do next, so I'm freaked out. All I can think of right now is to ask God for opened doors, seeing as I am so clueless about all of this. If any of you feel inspired to pray for me, please do. This is all new ground!
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