It is what it is...

I've gone through periods on this blog where I imagine reading got downright depressing. I've had a lot of struggles over the past few years in dealing with my health condition(s) and trying to come to grips with some things. I suspect I have had some depression, that I've tried to battle as best I can, actually.

Today, may be one of those posts, but it is also one that I'd love to hear back from you on because I'm trying to work through some things.

Today I had a full body scan and then a sonogram done of my carotid arteries for the weight loss program I'm about to begin through my doctor's office. The sonogram I had done about a year ago. I can't remember, but I think I blogged about it. The results, back then, were not pretty. I had the arteries of a 50-something when I'm a late 30-something. The doctor was concerned, put me on cholesterol medication and I tried to get on track.

At my last exam, more than three months ago, the doctor praised me for losing 12 pound in the past year. I didn't even realize I'd done that. When you have such a bad body image that you're never happy with how you look, it takes a lot to really make an impact. I was still overweight, but I admit it felt good to hear that. My blood work was coming back great and he was very pleased, saying I was an ideal patient.

I went home feeling pretty good.

And, then the wheels came off my "ideal patient" wagon and I went rolling out of control. It is time to admit some things I am embarrassed and humbled to admit. Part of getting on track is making yourself accountable, and that is what I'm trying to do.

• I have not consistently taken my medications. I hate medicine and I've allowed myself to "forget" to take my evening pills too often than not.
  
• I have not been testing my blood sugars...uh, for a long time. So long, that when it came time to enroll in this weight loss program I had to actually SEARCH for my blood glucose monitor. My fasting blood sugar is supposed to be around a 70 each morning when I test (usually around 7 a.m.) . Today, the doctor's office tested it at 140--at 8:30 a.m. Not good.
  
• I have not worked out as I should, although this one was not in my control thanks to Ike, then a broken toe. I suppose I could have found something--swimming? But, realistically, I needed to lay off until the foot healed.
  
• I have not eaten as I should. I am not saying I go and order a chicken fried steak weekly, because I do try to pick healthier options when I eat out. But, I have not JUST ordered grilled chicken and steamed veggies either. What I have done is not enough, period. And, I have not curbed my nighttime snacking or my portions at dinner. Now, I pay the price with my waistline.
  
• My body image has now bottomed out. I have had a lot of negative talk and am back to the self-deprecating humor about how I look and how disgusted I am with myself. Again, not good.

So, what happened? Well, I'm not quite sure. But, I think that it happened due to a sense that I was just fine. that this problem was in control and I didn't need all of these steps to stay well. I wasn't exactly denying that I was a diabetic, but I thought I really didn't have to worry at least not now. Not for years, right?

Here is my harsh reality. My father is having surgery for a blockage on his carotid artery next month. And, when I went today as I was being scanned, I could feel my heart racing from the anxiety and fear. And, when the doctor told me the results, I had good reason for that anxiety. My arteries are now that of a 68- and a 57-year old.

And, I am humbled and scared. I realize now that I just can't let loose of my medications, of working out, of eating right like I have done. I can't and will never be able to be like most people. I DO have diabetes and it IS not stable. All drama aside, the facts are this--I am damaging my body and will cut my life short if I continue.

Message received. I am now trying to not get depressed from this news (very hard) and focus on being positive and doing what I need to do to get back to where I was 3 months ago, and then move even beyond that to lifelong healthy eating, consistent exercise and medication and testing my blood sugars daily (for awhile until I learn where I need to be to keep them steady).

One of the hardest things I'm finding about getting older is not watching my age go up on the scale, finding those first gray hairs, or grimacing at crows feet in my mirror. It is realizing that genetics plays a huge role in how we have to live our life for optimal health. And, you can't deny your genes and pretend they aren't there. You've got to accept the hand your dealt and learn how to play with it. I just have to hope that I can do that and win a few hands along the way now...

Of resignations and retail therapy...

Just so I don't keep you wondering after that last post...I did manage to quit my job today. It was an interesting experience.

Let me just say this--I have quit a few jobs in my past. Even with the ones that where I was leaving for a huge raise and/or incredibly burned out...even with the ones I hated with a passion...

I never left those jobs and drove away beaming with an uncontrollable smile and inner contentment as I did in leaving this job.

I typically cry and get emotional later as I feel bad to let anyone down. It is a hang-up I have, actually. I didn't feel that way for one second today. That really says something.

It also says something that after trying to convince me to keep up the website portion of my job, for I'm sure low pay (which I declined politely), that my publisher flippantly dismissed me without a bit of eye-contact and immediately began typing an email while I was still sitting right in front of her. I am sure she expected me to slink out of her office without saying another word.

I couldn't help myself. I stood up and stuck my hand out in front of her and forced her to shake it thanking her for the experience and walked away with my head held high. And, before my foot stepped outside the door, I had already felt the pressure of a few elephants taken off my shoulders.

And, afterwards I decided that, even though I was taking this all so well, I probably should have a little retail therapy at my favorite out-of-the-way scrapbooking store. (No major financial damage there, hubs, so don't worry. grin)

For the past few weeks, I have been sent a very clear message in many different forms--that I need to be grateful for the life I have been given and start actually enjoying it for a change and start taking care of myself so that I can enjoy it. Today, I took a major step in doing that and it feels really good...

I'm not sure what stinks worse...

In one of my favorite of many highly regarded Seinfeld episodes, Elaine and Jerry jump into Jerry's newly cleaned car only to find out the car has toxic B.O. left there by one of the car wash workers. The B.O. then attaches itself to everything in its path--Elaine's hair, in particular. The whole episode features the two characters in various attempts to rid themselves of the body odor stench in one way or another, to no avail. In the end, Jerry chooses to just ditch his new car--openly waving keys and leaving them in the car in a bad neighborhood in the hopes that a thief would take the stinky auto off their hands.

Body odor can really be a bitch, apparently.

But, what about B.I.? To clarify, by B.I. I'm thinking body image. You know, the way you view yourself in your own skin, warts and all?

So, my question is, why do some of us suffer the smothering cloak of bad B.I. and others feel just find in their own shoes? What makes a person have this unhappy image of themselves? And, without drastic measures or an extreme makeover, can "bad B.I." be reversed? Or are those who have B.I. condemned to its stench, just as Jerry was to his odoriferous car?

I have bad B.I., I'll admit it. I look back at pictures of myself in high school and college and marvel at how thin I was. Then, I remember how even at that size I constantly worried and obsessed about how fat I was in my eyes.

Although, today I can look at my body and see areas that I do like. I have strong legs and they are decent looking. When I've been working out, I am pleased with the power in my shoulders. I like being a little taller (5'8), but not amazon-like. I have a "rack" that is all my own and not a 2K doctor's job. I don't have "junk in my trunk," and I like it that way. My truck is just right. I am curvy, and that's not a concern to me.

But, my issues start just below the shoulders and end right about the hipbones. My torso is my mortal enemy... both with my bad B.I. and with my health problems (diabetes).

I didn't realize how bad my B.I. had really progressed, until the other day. I noticed in my workout class how many of the regulars were positioning themselves near the mirrors and watching their reflections on each exercise. I was puzzled by this. Were they just looking at their form? Or did they really just like looking at themselves in the mirror that much--which seemed unthinkable to me, based on my image?

And, then I realized that most days when I work out, I keep my eyes fixed either on the instructor, or at the floor 6-10 feet in front of me, never looking up at myself at all. And, it became obvious to me that this was not normal.

So, I gave myself a trial run, making sure my step was lined up where I had full view of the front and side mirrors. And, I began a rather basic and less challenging step class, while watching my own body move in the mirror. Instantly, I had quick flashes of being proud of myself for sticking with it, the muscles in my hamstrings that have been prominent since my long distance running days, and so forth.

But, almost as quickly as these positive thoughts emerged, they were smothered by my bad B.I. I began to scan the room and compare. "Yep, that girl's smaller than you in the waist. So, is that one. So, is that one." And, in a panic I realized that based on my midsection I was, in fact, the largest person in this class. And, then I start to feel like throwing up right there on my cross trainers.

It wasn't that my class was filled with perfect bodies, by any means. There were tons of people with thick legs, larger butts, and cellulite on their thighs--none of which I have. But, no one else had as big of a gut/midsection as I did. And, so I could not see past that to anything postive for the rest of the class.

I cannot relay how badly this hit me after this realization--I have a serious problem with my body image (B.I.) and I don't know how to repair it. Is bad B.I. something we can ever rid ourselves of? Or will I be forced, like Jerry and Elaine, after many attempts to rid myself of its stench, just to leave myself out there...in the wind, hoping that someone else will take away my problem instead?

Here I go again on my own...

Why did the words to WhiteSnake's "Here I Go Again" song pop into my head as I began typing this post? No, I'm not longing for the big hair bands of the 80s, at least not THAT much. And I don't have the strong desire to gyrate around in barely anything on top of a car. But, if you've read my blog for any length of time, you will soon understand as this post will sound all too familar. Is it Deja Vu? Not really...I just seem to be repeating the same patterns in my life.

This has been a year of questioning for me. Questioning the path I have chosen, questioning my abilities as a parent, questioning my health and why I can't seem to get on the right path there, questioning my marriage with its ups and downs...just plain questioning. I don't know if it has to do with being close enough to see the big 4-0, or how long I've been married, or the various decisions I've made until now, but I have a lot of unsettled business to take care of in my life. And, I've decided that it is high time that I start doing that. Not to be crass, but it is time that I get my shit together, people!

Part of my Get My Shit Together (GMST), plan has to do with my weight. I have a lot of little buggers in my genetic makeup that seem to be plotting against me on this and they are winning the war currently. I have Type II Diabetes and an enlarged thyroid/hypothyroidism and am at least 20-30 pounds overweight, and yet I'm not obese and many say I need to lose just 5-10 when they see me. I don't. I need to lose 20-30 to have the hope of getting off my diabetes/thyroid medications.

I take an unmentionable number of pills a day. And I freaking hate taking medicine. This is not working for me. Until now, I have found myself in one of two camps on the pill taking: 1>taking them and cursing under my breath while becoming more and more depressed or 2> not taking them at all and conveniently forgetting to take them as often as possible. The latter has been happening more than the former. This is not good and it has to change.

What else has to change? Well, let me cut to the chase here and make this longer post wrap up a heck of a lot faster with a tidy little list for myself.

MomCat's GMST Goals:

1. Work out at least 5 days a week, every day if you can--even if it is 15-30 minutes of jogging on the treadmill. Try to find a balance of cardio, weights, and strength training.
Actions: Revisit this each week to see how you did and make adjustments as necessary.

2. Cut out the cokes and avoid caffeine whenever possible.
Actions: 1st month-only 1 coke per week. Then, cut entirely. Watch tea in the PM.

3. Cut way low on carbs and eat more veggies and fruit. Plan out meals and snacks in advance so there's less room for failure and shop for the body I want.
Actions: Hummus, raw veggies, and lowfat popcorn for snacking this week, make meal plan.

4. Work hard to find a better balance in my life between work, family, fun and fitness. Make sure one doesn't outweigh the other three if I can help it. Once I find a balance, KEEP IT no matter what!
Actions: Wrap up next issue of magazine and research ways to streamline and make things faster next time.

5. Hold myself to this plan for at least 3 months, and then see where I am. Do NOT GIVE UP!
Actions: Weekly, write a blog post about my progress and admit where I screw up. Forgive myself and stay with it. After 3 months, post my results and see where this needs refining.

One of my favorite blogs is The Amazing Shrinking Mom. Melodee is so inspirational. She has lost 60 pounds and continues to stay with it. She has chronicled her weight loss struggles and victories and is brutally honest on her blog when she has a bad day. She has held herself to an exercise every day rule for longer than I can remember. In short...she is DOING what I need to do!

So, I'm going to follow her lead here and I'm going to publicly talk about this really difficult part of my life so that I feel somewhat pressured, if for nothing else than avoiding public humiliation, to keep up with what I'm trying to achieve.

Today was Sunday, July 1st. On July 24, I will turn 37 years old. I will not allow myself to reach 40 without achieving what I must with regards to my health and weight issues.

July 1 - Sunday's Progress:

• Worked out at the gym even though I was worn out and had tons of work at home to do.


• Breakfast, dinner and post dinner snack were healthy. Lunch? Uh, not so much.

July 2 - Monday's Plan:

• Do cardio class late in the day due to packed morning schedule.


• Plan out and eat healthy meals and snacks.


• Purge refrigerator of the bad and plan to stock with veggies and the good.


• Plan next day's exercise and menus thoroughly before going to bed.

OK, it's all out there now. No turning back! Wish me luck!

Finding my way back...

It's hard to really pinpoint exactly where I lost track...of the goals I'd made in January, the places I wanted to be by now, and the hopes I was so close to reaching for myself for the very first time. But, I know the events that helped derail my hard work now, in retrospect.

After working out with a trainer for close to six months, I saw only about a 2 lb loss on the scales. Yes, my bodyfat percentage went down greatly and I was no longer even considered overweight. Yes, I felt better than I'd felt most of my adult life. And, yes, people were noticing that my shape was changing and that felt good as well. But it was not enough and I could not let go of the fact that my weight had not gone down much.

Even still, I was making huge strides towards my ultimate goal of getting fit enough to get off of at least some of the 10-12 pills I take every day for Type II Diabetes and a thyroid condition.

And,then I went to my doctor's office, where I was praised for a great A1C reading and bloodwork numbers. The doctor could see my progress physically as well. And, then before I left, he performed a new ultrasound scan of my neck, to see the level of plaque in my carotid artery. The results of this quick test would tell my arteries age versus my own real age.

And, I could tell before he said the results that they were not good. Despite being told I'm a perfect success story kind of case on paper, he told me that my arteries were well into their 50s, while I am only 36.

I think that the aftershock of this news is what sent me downward. After killing myself for all of those months, eating more controlled and healthy and working out harder than I have ever worked out, I was basically told that I'm the classic story of someone who could keel over dead at an early age if I had not had the test done. The doctor doubled my cholesterol meds and said that was the best way to improve the lousy hand heredity and my genes had dealt me in life. "Keep up with what you're doing," he'd told me, "because it is definitely going to help you in the long run."

And, inside my head, that jaded and negative part of me chortled heartily at his statement. I'd done everything right and was still told I was on the fast track for a lifetime of problems. And if my neck arteries were such a mess, how were the ones leading to my heart--where I have the family history of nightmarish health problems?

So, now that I look back, I know this is when I gave it all up, even if it wasn't consciously.

I have not completely quit working out, but I have slowed weight training greatly. I stopped working out with my trainer completely. I have not been eating as I should, although I still in fairly in control most of the time. I didn't worry if I missed a pill, or two, or three, here and there. I quit checking my blood sugars entirely because they always came back fine and what the hell did it really matter, right?

But, I realize now that it really does matter. It matters to my children, my spouse, my family and my friends. And, most of all, for whatever reason that caused this realization, it matters to me. I miss how I felt six months ago. I wish I had that feeling right now as I am facing so many life changes.

I have been handed the job of a lifetime and now can call myself employed after 7 years of staying home with only occasional part-time work. I am learning that I may have been born to be a magazine editor, because the work energizes and excites me in a way that I have not felt since I worked as a TV news producer in college. I LOVE THIS JOB. (Knock on wood, says my inner pessimist.)

I have been blessed with a husband who works harder than most anyone I know and who is a great father to my kids. He is my best friend, no matter what problems we have. We know how to make one another laugh and we have so much in common.

I have two great kids who dazzle me every day with their amazing minds and quick humor. I have closer relationships with my family than I ever thought I'd have and great in-laws to boot. I have wonderful friends and I live in a great home and am blessed enough not to ever really worry (so far) about how the bills will get paid or the food gets to the table.

It is time to start being grateful for what I have and let that help me get back on track. Tomorrow I will go to my first Chamber of Commerce meeting in my area and be introduced as the new editor of a local magazine with a great reputation. I will hold my head high as I network, and not think about the few pounds I have put back on. Instead, I will focus the progress I have made...both physically and mentally. I will keep promises to myself and learn to permanently change bad habits and take care of myself the way I should. It is time to find my way back again...

BOSU Buster

I've had a lot of things going on, which explains my less frequent and possibly less entertaining blog posts as of late. One of the things that has been consuming me for three mornings a week is this...



This, my friends, is a BOSU fitness trainer. That's B-O-S-U. Until a moment ago, I had no idea what that acronym meant, but I've just learned it means "Both Sides Utilized." Well, I've come to live in the land of BOSU, and I am telling you that definition is a complete and total understatement. BOSU has made a BOZO of me and I'm not very happy about it.

I signed up just before the holidays for a group training class, in part because it was a lot cheaper than paying to see my trainer every other week. But, also because I liked the idea of a small class and working out more on the BOSU. Oh, what a silly, naive fool I was...I have to sit back and laugh now that I actually asked for this sort of punishment.

The BOSU trainer is really one side fitness ball and one side plastic disk with small handles. You can do most step aerobics type of exercises on the BOSU, and it works your core muscles. (For those of you who are apple-shaped, like me, that means your midsection or GUT.)

Our class meets three days a week and there are four of us in the class. Two women are in their early 50s, there's a college-aged girl, and me, as usual somewhere in the middle. In our class, there are definite fitness levels as well, only they are not what you might think. My trainer had encouraged me to switch from a different training class to this one because she said she was afraid I would be bored in the other class. She said this one would have more people at my fitness level.

She was really wrong, I think.

The 50-somethings are kicking my arse and taking names, people. These two ladies see the trainer three times a week for an hour and ALSO take these killer classes three times a week. Oh, and they work out on other days too. They can do one-handed push ups, squats until next Thursday, and neither one of them has an ounce of fat on their body. In short, they are pumped with a capital "P."

And, you can safely check off a "No" next to all of those things for me. I am in better shape than the 20-something girl. But, today I proved that I am definitely not the most coordinated person on the planet.

Previous classes have had us jumping on BOSU, running and carrying BOSU over our heads (not as easy as it sounds, believe me), and doing sit-ups and push-ups on BOSU. BOSU was our friend. He was a friend that wasn't always easy to be around, but we still felt some love for Mr. B. He was our ticket to physical fitness, or so our trainer would have us believe.

BOSU is not my friend anymore. In fact, should BOSU call me, I will not answer. And, if I had the choice, I wish I could move far away from BOSU and never see him again. BOSU was a bad boy today, everyone. BAD! BAD!

It all started when my trainer got the Fit-and-50s to demonstrate what we would be doing first for our workout. And, it involved turning Mr. BOSU upside-down, so that the curved ball side was down. This was fine. We've all learned to carefully step up on the flat side and balance ourselves while we do arm weights. It isn't easy, but each of us has managed to balance in our own special way.

Today was different. No, today she wanted us to jump as high as we could in the air, LANDING on our friend BOSU, then do two squats, and then jump back off of the ball. I am sorry, but I must have missed the requirement for the class that said, "Must have been trained in circus highwire acts or a professional trampoline artist."

The trainer had us spotting each other in teams of two, just in case. So, up the Fit-and-50s go. And, they're off and doing swell. They are laughing and having a jolly good time while 20-something and I stand with our mouths open and ask one another repeatedly, "Um, are you going to go first?"

I finally took the leap and landed shakily but safely on top. I went through a few rounds and started to feel more comfortable. And, that's when my foot got caught on my way off of BOSU and I ended up firmly landing on my buttocks. (Or Maybe BOSU grabbed my ankle, I'm still not quite certain.)

Now, let me explain here that this was not an empty gym. There was another class of men and women who meet just across from where we work out. There are windows all down the wall next to where we work out and another aerobics class with people waiting outside on the other side of those windows. Yes, most every member of our gym saw me take the fall.

But, hey. It happens to everyone, right? I'm a good sport. Ha! Ha! Ha! Given what we were doing, it was expected that at least one of us would fall. I hopped up, hoping to erase the image in everyone's mind of my legs flying up in the air and arms flailing sadly as I landed on my derierre. I shot out some self-deprecating humor, my strong suit, and told my partner it was her turn. She took a long time to try to jump on, but once she did she did great. The fit-and-50s were already on their second set. I felt the pressure to keep up with the elders, so I hopped on quickly.

And, after about 2-3 jumps, it happened again. I jumped too far to the front and that scoundrel BOSU flipped behind me. This time, I went flying and landed very painfully on my backside again with both wrists under me. This time, everyone turned to look. And, I think that Mr. BOSU must have taken my sense of humor with him when I was somewhere between feeling like I was a BOSU-master and inspecting just how much dirt and hair can end up on a gym floor in one morning. This time, I was not laughing.

"I'm done." I told the trainer firmly. "Once is funny, twice is just embarrassing and sad." As we continued our workout with other exercises, my trainer tried to make up reasons why I might have actually fallen twice in an attempt to make me feel better. But, the nagging ache in my buttocks and up towards my tailbone kept me from rebounding back to bounce again on Mr. BOSU.

So, BOSU was not my friend. I knew the truth now. I knew now that all along he'd been waiting to make a fool of me. Waiting until I felt confident on top of his perch...waiting until I felt like I was actually pretty good at jumping on him...just waiting for the right moment to attack.

I think the makers of BOSU torture came up with that positive acronym "Both Sides Utilized" to hide the real name of their product. I'm fairly certain that BOSU really stands for:

Bounces Often Sting Underthere

Monday, BOSU and I will meet again. And, I don't know how the face-off will go, but I know that I must be prepared to let him know who is boss. Now, excuse me while I get up off of this pillow and go take some pain pills.

The enemy within...

Complacent. I'll admit I've grown complacent with my healthcare. A newly-diagnosed diabetic of about a year and a half, I just grew tired of testing my blood sugar levels and taking all the medications. So, I stopped checking them as much. OK, I stopped checking them at all for a few months. This complacency grew mainly out of many good reports of health from my diabetes doctor. My blood work always came in great. My levels usually came in normal when I checked them. I was working out like a fiend and eating pretty good.

And, so when I finally went back for my check-up this time, after working out with a trainer for many months now, I assumed my bloodwork would come back excellent. And, I was right. My doctor told me I was an "ideal diabetes patient" and all my levels were great. I complained of being unable to lose weight, and got little information back from him. I'd assumed as much. The scale is something I have to do battle with on my own.

At the end of this visit, my doctor explained to me that they had new technology that with a simple ultrasound of the neck, can measure the amount of plaque built up in your arteries. Even though my various levels were all in the very good range, he thought it prudent to check with the scan given my family history of heart problems.

As the technician was running the device over my neck, I got a sinking feeling. I had no real reason for this feeling in the pit of my stomach, other than a sense that I have always had--a fear, you might say. I have never shared this with anyone but my husband, but I have always felt there was something wrong with me that might shorten my life in the end. It isn't that I go around worried about this or upset about it, it is just something I have always felt inside.

As the doctor came back into my room after the test was complete, I knew that I was about to get confirmation of that sinking feeling by the look on his face. The scan, he explained will show your carotid artery's "real age" as compared to your own real age. Based on my bloodwork and the medications I'm on, he had hoped my levels would come in right in the mid 30s or even younger than my age.

They did not.

I learned today that, no matter how much I have been working out, no matter how many times I turn down bread with dinner or try and eat healthy, no matter how many medications I have taken to try and be proactive with my diabetes, my arteries have an age of 56. That's 20 years older than my actual age, and a mere 4 years younger than my father who is living with a heart that functions at about 50 percent.

At this point, it is safe to say that I hate food. Food is my enemy. It always has been because of my lovely apple shape and ability to put on a "gut" easily. But, now I officially despise food completely. Because everything I like to eat, I should not eat. And, all the things I don't really care for, are what I am supposed to be eating most of the time. And, I have to pay attention to every little thing that I eat every second of every day. Do you know how exhausting that can be?

And, the real irony in all of this is, as much as I just feel like not eating at all anymore because of all of this stuff, I can even do that. I couldn't even develop a pretty little eating disorder if I wanted to, because my blood sugar would drop so low I could end up hospitalized, thanks to my diabetes.

The doctor is doubling one of my medications and says this is the best way to treat this. But, it didn't go past me that he explained that this scan was crucial in cases like mine. People who look absolutely perfect on paper, but have a hidden death trap developing inside. (No, those were not his words, they are mine.) He described the middle-aged man who suddenly drops dead of a heart attack with no previous health problems. Gee...that's comforting, isn't it? (Not to bash my doctor, because he is really great.)

I just don't know what else to say at this point. I am dumb-founded and down-trodden. And, now, I'm sorry for unloading that on all of you. Happier posts soon, I hope...