Results, Part 1

Okay, so I've been out of touch. But I have some pretty good excuses. Like, Theresa's cardio kick boxing class. Val's abs class. Muscle mix class. Pilates, pilates and more pilates. Interval training. Trainer days.

So you may have noticed the deadline for the contest has passed and I'm crazy excited to announce that I was the individual biggest loser. HOLY COW. Today I started with another group eight week training program (not a contest this time but for the most part my same buddies and a couple new ones) and I am stunned and thrilled to announce that I've lost 50 pounds. In 11 weeks. In a healthy, correct way.

I've learned a lot too. While I have a looooong way to go, I am truly almost to the middle of the rack. Last night I went out to a sports store with my youngest daughter and tried on golf outfits. Cute ones. In a regular size. THEY FIT and looked good. I cannot explain the joy, and the sweet thing was, my teen shared it with me. "Mom, try this one on too!" And, "Hey, soon we can share things!" So sweet.

So what have I learned so far? Here's a run down.

*I was absolutely using food to sooth myself, and while it has not been easy, I feel like I'm moving on past that. Life is never easy for any of us, and I've had my days of wanting to just dig into something yummy, but for now, every time, thinking about what my real issue is and deciding that I don't want to hijack all this good work with a meaningless pig out had trumped giving in. I may never be totally over that, but I'm addressing it and winning. One day at a time.

*Working out can be very self-absorbing. I'm not sure that's a bad thing. I spend a LOT Of time at the gym. Today for instance: Tennis from 9-11, Workout with trainer 12-1:15, then I'll be back for Val's killer abs class 5:30-6 and then Pilates 6-7. That's a LOT of time spent just focusing on me. I'm not completely comfortable with that yet, and I'm finding a lot of people who have come to expect me to be available in and instant are kind of shocked when it takes me a couple of hours to get back to them. But in the long run, it will be worth it. Hey, I've spent decades focused on everyone else (and I don't regret it. I have a good marriage and two amazing kids to show for it, as well as some big awards for volunteer work). Now I'm making up for lost time. I'm not sure I can be one of those women at the gym all day long forever, but for now, it's working. I'm sticking with "selfish."

*Skinny women do NOT have it easy. I have learned that while they DO eat a lot of what they want, they also balance it out with good workouts. Today, a really fit friend named Linda was next to me in a tough training. As we all sweated it out she said, "This is what I need to do to eat delicious foods!" I loved that. And realized that some day down the road I'll be in maintenance like her and be able to enjoy some treats by balancing things out.

*People respect and respond to success. Hey, I'm still overweight and I'm certainly NOT the thinnest person at the gym. But I've become a kind of hero for everyone there. I hear them talk about me after I pass by, saying how great I look and how hard I work and how they are inspired. My Goodness. Thin people are inspired by me. That's a big leap from the first days of the contest when I was embarrassed to be in the gym working out.

*Flaunt it. The other day a friend came up to me in the gym and said "Okay, ENOUGH of the huge clothes, Moira. BUY SOME LYRCA." Lycra? me? For real? So I did. Today, for the first time in EVER maybe (I've only played tennis for about 12 years) I put on a form fitting, adorable, kind of tight (in a good way) tennis outfit. I was very nervous when I got to the gym and hesitated taking my jacket off. When I did, my tennis chums all CHEERED. I might not be thin-thin yet, but my friend was right. I'm healthy and I look good. No need to hide it. As we started playing I felt self-c0ncious at first, but in time I embraced my new attire. And I won. In a big way.

*I still don't want to set a "real" goal. I like the idea of: when I reach my goal weight, I'll know it. Heck, I still weigh more than I did when I was nine months pregnant with both kids. But, I looked on a "suggested weight chart" and realized when I was nine months pregnant, I weighed what the suggested weight is for my height. Goodness. No need to go overboard. Instead, I'll know it when I see it. Or feel it.

*I don't need to overachieve. I've been an overachiever all my life. But this time, I'm focusing on one day at a time and small victories (like being able to do a side plank into star! OMG.) I'm going to savor the small wins and move along with them. No more overshooting and then feeling like a failure if I don't make it.

More soon. I'm hoping to take some more weight off these next eight weeks and announce I am officially in the Middle of the Rack. Oh, and I can now do 27 push ups.

Can you believe it?

Revelations . . . Part 1 . . or something like that

As I've spent the last month re-adjusting my body and mind to life with less food, better eating and better health, I've come to see a few things more clearly. First, simply: I think I'd made food my new best friend.

I honestly never thought of it until this effort. When I'm alone at night, it's food that keeps me company. When my husband travels for work, it's food (eating out) that my youngest daughter and I fill our time with. When I have one of my many long car rides for work, it's not just XM radio but food that keeps me company along the way.

I don't know why I didn't notice it before. The trick here is having absence make the heart grow less interested in that companion.

So where did it start? I mean beyond the usual that everyone faces down? I think back to being sick when I was a kid. It was a lush experience. My mom would hunker me down on the family room couch with a comfy blanket and then get me whatever food made me feel best: a sub from Maria's in Scituate Harbor; KFC; when I was younger, Spaghettios. But that couldn't have been it: I was thin, athletic and not at all obsessed with food well into my early 30's. (Okay. I thought I was fat once and went to Weight Watchers where I learned I was just four pounds from goal weight at the start. Oh, those were the days).

I think the point that food became my best friend and most reliable comforter had to be 12 years ago, the very day my youngest daughter, then a brand new kindergartener, was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes.

Because I promise you, nothing, not anything at all, can prepare you for the excruciating agony of accepting a life of constant fear, worry, medical intervention and wavering health for your child. A friend's son was diagnosed with Type 1 recently, and we've talked a lot. One day she called me, almost in tears and said, "Moira. All those years you struggled with this, I thought I got it. But I never did. I get it now." How could she? I told her (and that I wished she never had). It's a pain that's (thankfully) unrecognizable to most.

And for me, from the start, a pain that could be smoothed somewhat with food.

Think of how we use food to smooth things out. Bake a cake and pull it out of the cake pan, only to see it crumble in spots. A few swipes of thicker frosting here and there and: voila! Perfect cake. You can do that with your life too. Have to spend an entire day struggling with shots and finger pricks and charts and boluses and graphs and hospital phone calls just to get your kid through a day? Simply smooth it out with some Chinese food. or a Clark Bar. Either works well. And that, I think, is what led me, over the years, to the point I've found myself at.

And it was all so comforting. My weight was like my security blanket, or my shroud of grief as I've come recently to think of it. Under it, no one could see the crumbled cake of a heart I was carrying around. (Do you see the irony here? My daughter's body uses carbs to attack her without the proper medical intervention; I'd be using carbs to insulate mine. Not to go all Dr. Phil on you but . . gosh).

So this shedding of weight that I've been relatively successful with this past month has come with pain other than the pain related to the awesome workouts I'm taking part in almost daily.

At night, when it's quiet, instead of smoothing over my rough spots with food, I'm facing them and thinking them through. It's not easy. I've cried a few times. But the shedding of this shroud of grief can only be a good thing. First, I need to be strong and live long for my daughter (and the rest of my family). Second, only by facing down these feelings can I move on to a better place with them. Twelve years of mourning is more than enough thank you very much, and perhaps it's time to move on to a next level. Acceptance? No, I'll never accept that my daughter's life cannot be better (and thus my work for a cure). But I can accept that with a happy, healthy mom who faces it head on and with no crutch, she's only going to do better.

Betcha didn't see that one coming. Promise to be hilarious again next time. Until then, I'll be keeping company with my new friends: a crackling fire (I light one every night now, alone or not), a good book, some on line Scrabble with my far-away friends and the knowledge that I'm shifting -- personally and physically -- to a better place.

There's no (wh)I(ne) in TEAM

It was some time in the winter of 1976, and I was a fledgling competitive ski jumper. Now, you've seen those freestyle jumps, right? The half-moon shaped arcs of snow built out of the ground that throw the skier almost straight up in the air, where they must not only catch air but do amazing twists, turns and even inversions? Yeah. I did that.

So this particularly day I was at the top of the jump course waiting my turn. I was surrounded by my teammates who were competing too. Freestyle jumping -- like the Ryder Cup or the Davis Cup -- is an individual sport that has team results. I wanted to jump big and jump well for me, but I wanted to do it for my team even more.

The jumper just ahead of me pushed off, sped up toward the lip of snow, went up in the air and then disappeared on the other side (because of the jump shape and the steepness of the trail, those above cannot see the landing). Then we all heard it. A scream. Then ominous silence.

"Hold up until course cleared!" a voice crackled over the handheld that the starter had. Seconds slithered by like hours. What had happened? Was she okay?

"Jumper up. Just wait for us to clear the blood from the course," the radio voice crackled again.

*Clear the blood from the course?* You have got to be kidding me. At once, my steely resolve disappeared. Cleared the blood from the course? And I'm next? I was horrified, something a freestyle jumper simply cannot be.

But this jump was important. Not only were there some good scouts in the crowd below, but my team wanted bragging rights against at least one other team there. Sensing my horror, my teammate Nancy grabbed my shoulders and looked in my eyes.

"You. Are. Going. To. Do. This." She punctuated each word. Then she said it again. One by one, my teammates joined in. "You. Can. Make. This. Jump." "You. Are. In. Control."

The course cleared (of the blood!) I fed off the fuel of my teammate's confidence and pushed off, launching a pretty durn great jump. 

I still have the medal I won that day. For me, it's an extra special one of the many I earned over the years, because it's the one that I won with thanks to my team, not myself.

In this fitness challenge, I can feel some of the same energy. Okay, it's not as scary to have to work out way more and eat better as it is to launch of a giant ski jump. But it's scary nonetheless. I've had my moments of doubt these four weeks. Like the other day. I was feeling down and thinking about how very far I have to go to get to a good fitness and weight level. I was staring down the toughness I'd have to show and cowering. Somehow, my Fitness Challenge teammates picked up on it. Patti, the heart-0f-gold wisecraker (okay, we might all be wisecrackers) of the group pulled me aside, saying she needed to talk to me. Uh-oh. Did I owe her money? What was up.

She pulled me to a private spot and looked me in the eye. "You. Can. Do. This." She, like Nancy all those years ago, punctuated each word. And like Nancy, she fueled me to move beyond my doubt and keep forging ahead.

That's what teamwork does. This challenge made me realize that. Maybe one of the things I've needed at this time was allies . . . folks on my side who want me to win just as much (or more sometimes) than I do. I have that. With that, a description of my  team.

MARY: We call Mary our team captain because she's determined, funny and yeah, a little bit bossy. Mary has a gruff voice and is quick to tell you exactly what she thinks at any time. She also would quite literally give you the shirt of her back at any moment you should need it. She's a good soul with a wicked sense of humor. I have a feeling if we were in high school together the teacher would NOT allow us to sit next to each other in class. Mary brings to the team determination and ideas (like: let's all go to Saturday morning aerobics!). I love that every time we have a hard workout she says at the start "I'm only going to be able to do half today," and then at the end she's still there suggesting we do more.

Patti: I promise you if I knew Patti when I was a kid she would have been a kid I would have wanted to hang out with. Patti's a very "real" jock type: a mom, volunteer, golfer, great tennis player who you can just tell would beat you in an arm wrestling match any day, any time. But there's a softness about her too. Noticing I was wavering and doing something about it is just typical Patti. She's easy to crack up too. I have a feeling if we were in high school together they would not let us sit next to each other in class.

Cathy: Cathy is just plain nice. I've never heard her say a mean word about anyone, and she always has something good to say about any situation. She's not a bragger either. I happen to know from just a few *really smart things* she said about a few things that she's really flipping smart. Her son is going off to an Ivy League School in the fall and she's tickled pink. She's also a digger. Give her any exercise and any challenge and she quietly digs deep and goes for it. Very impressive. She likes a good joke too though. I have a feeling if we were in high school together we would not be allowed to sit next to one another in class.

Karen: I just met Karen through this challenge (the others have been tennis friends for a while). She's probably the most fit of us all (maybe tied with Denise), but she's working just as hard as all of us. She can sing like a munchkin (I thought I was the only one!) and she comes to our workouts pumped up and ready in a way that is completely infectious. She's quick with a compliment and while I just got to know her, I realized when we put our yoga mats next to each other the other day that if we were in high school together, they probably wouldn't let us sit next to one another in class.

Denise: Denise is our earth mother. She is a certified yoga instructor (something she didn't advertise but we could all see by the way she embraced her stretches there was something special there). she works with horses and children, and is just that kind of Ivory girl type of gal you just feel healthier being around. I think it took her a little while to get used to my, ummm, rambunctiousness, but she has. She's quieter than the rest of us, and brings a sense of calm determination to the group. I have a feeling if we were in high school and she sat next to me in class, I could get her to laugh pretty easily and then they'd move us apart.

So that's us. We're bonded together as team Trophaem Uxor, which is Latin for, loosely: Trophy Wives. We like that name because we want to LOOK like trophy wives, but we are all smart and accomplished (so we can say it in Latin). 

I know this journey is not an easy one. As you can see by prior blogs, I've chickened out before. But now I have my team, cheering me on, boosting me up, pushing me ahead and yes, making sure there is no evidence of anyone crashing before me.

Go team!

My country for a Push Up

A push up. A push up. My kingdom for a push up.

Okay, so I did it again: started out strong and determined and then disappeared into a cloud of beer foam and snack foods. But I'm back again. And you know what? That's better than not being back at all.

This time there's a twist. I've joined an eight-week Fitness Challenge (a la Biggest Loser 2.0) at my gym. I saw the sign when I came out from a tennis match recently and for some reason, despite my dismal weight control and fitness efforts of late, I felt a surge of urgency. "I'm doing this." I said out loud, (it was like my mouth was telling me what to do). A tennis buddy next to me jumped on board and before we knew it, we had our team of six.

We compete against other teams for the top prize: bragging rights I think. The group that's lost the largest percentage of weight and inches and increased their fitness with things like push up count and sit up counts wins.

Now, I'm nothing if I'm not strong. Once, only a few years ago, I had to pick up a washing machine from a relative's house. When I got there, I found there was no dolly to move it and no one willing to help me. I shrugged, picked it up, carried it to my car, put it in the car, drove it home, took it out and carried it in the house. Just like that.

My husband was amazed when I explained how it had gotten in the house. A few months later, we were talking with friends about water skiing and I was reminiscing about how I could once get up on one ski in a snap. I asked him if he thought I still could.

"With a washing machine strapped to your back," he quipped.

yep, I'm strong.

So, imagine my shock when on the first day of the fitness challenge I  dropped to give them 20 and found I could only do . . . .

Zero.

Zip.

That's right. I cannot do a single blasted push up. That's what things have come to. I'll admit it, I was a bit despondent  that day. But now I'm on a mission. I promise you: I am eventually doing push ups. Note the plural.

Eventually is key here. I need to move past the notion that there are quick fixes. The reason I'm starting strong and failing is because I'm expecting too much and not being patient. I need to slowly adapt . . and enjoy what comes with it.

I'm going to my fitness classes, and adding gym classes in between. I'm eating the healthiest I have in maybe forever. I'm trying to treat myself well.

I'm getting a bit stronger every day and dropping a little weight.

I'm getting closer to that push up. And I'm going to do it.

With a washing machine strapped to my back.

Lulled into a False Sense of Security

Okay so we all know tennis is really just a metaphor for -- okay -- my entire life. I use tennis to work out my demons; to build up my esteem. Tennis shows me things about people and teaches me things about myself.

What a lesson I learned last night.

I've joined a USTA Summer League -- kind of a twist on the SUMCCWHHTPITMOTW League (and by now you should know what that stands for). We travel around the region and play other women with the goal of winning our region and going on to districts, states and even nationals.

So last night my partner and I got out to warm up and I quickly realize that even though this league is supposed to be made up of rated and ranked players, one of the women we are playing as quite possibly never held a tennis racquet before in her life. No, seriously. She could barely make string contact with the ball. And her serve? I cannot even call it a serve.

But here's the thing: we lost.

Because watching her dink the ball and mishit the ball just to have it go over the net enraged me to the point of possible insanity. I had a mental meltdown. And learned something about myself: confidence can be a dangerous thing.

It's the same with weight loss I think. One of my big issues has always been: I kind of rather like me. So while you hear of the thin women who look in the mirror and see a heavy person, I look in the mirror and thing "I'm great!" When, really, I should be thinking "I need to work hard so I can be the best I can be." Just like playing the horrid player. Instead of thinking, "I will focus on making smart, sensible choices," like good ball placement or not overhitting, I thought "Durn it! no way should she win even a point!" and finally, "Oh screw this!" It lost me the match.

And it's gained me some weight in the past. I might think I"m great, but if I face an odd situation and it does not go as I expect from the start, I give up and lose control.

I need to change that. I don't know if I ever want to play that woman again. It wasn't even fun. It wasn't what I call tennis. But as tennis always does, it taught me a lesson. Be realistic. Face your possible faults. And don't always assume you're automatically a winner.

More laughs next time!

Well, you saw that coming

Okay, so I'm nothing if I'm not obvious. Of course I was going to start this off with a bang. Of course I'd be cocky and overconfident. Of course I'd crash and burn. But (Ahh-nold voice here:) I'm baaaaaaaccckkkk.

True, it's almost summer and my dream of pulling off a long, a bit loud Lilly dress is not even a pound closer, but gosh, it's still cold out here so you never know.

Today, I pick myself back up and begin again. My plan:

*I'll walk the two miles to the beach club each morning once it opens. Okay, maybe twice a week. But I'll do it. The kid are wrestling me for cars anyway, and with gas $4 a gallon, I'll be helping my personal economy as well as my waistline.

*Summer tennis. Ahhh yes. I can play seven days a week if I so desire. And I've joined ANOTHER league, (although it hosts the same SUMCWWHTTP league ladies. Come on, think back. You know what it stands for.) This will mean Thurs nights, three hours of solid play. And just for good measure, I've volunteered for SINGLES. Yowza.

* Eat healthy. Just to be sure, I googled Bethany's skinny girl margaritas. Going to try one and see if it could be the drink of the summer. Here you go: bethanybakes.com/skinny_margarita.htm

maybe we can have one together. Watch the video. I LOVE that she feels counting to four is a smart drink amount. And she's skinny so it MUST be. Oh, I guess eating healthy involves eating too. I'm thinking grill, grill, grill. Let's see if I can pull it off.

But I need some support. Oh so powerful Moira is feeling sheepish . . . I let it fall apart again. Now I need to begin again.  I need to remember that it's not about an exact goal (although I do have a FAB bday party coming up at the end of Oct in FLA for a friend. Hmmm. Wardrobe alert!) It's about feeling good. it's about liking how I look, within reason. It's about finding that center of the rack.

I hope I'm back on track. Check in and see.

Reality strikes!

But Am I Really Healthy?


Change is a good thing, particularly when it’s a change in taking care of your body. In recent weeks, I’ve been vigilant; eating well, exercising regularly, very regularly. And I did realize I was feeling – for lack of a better word – peppier. I was sleeping better; I was waking up with energy. And I didn’t notice it until this week, but other things were changing for the better.

Which makes me realize, thing were not that good. Look at my first blog. I talk about being fit but fat; being able to play tennis and ski and do all I want. But as I’ve transitioned to good eating and more exercise, I noticed I was playing better, running better feeling better. Still, I thought it was just from good to better.

Then I fell off the wagon. I knew it was going to happen. After all, this is my pattern: I get all charged up, change my ways to the point of over-perfection for a few weeks and then, bang, it’s over. Only this time, I had not just changed my eating, I had changed my life.

So last Monday, I headed out to play tennis without working out beforehand for the first time in weeks. Since my beginning of change, I’ve been doing a half hour of cardio (the treadmill at 4.0 speed, 5.0 slope for a half hour; just enough to raise the heart rate and sweat a little) followed by a half hour of weights just before taking the court. I’d eat a banana, jump on the court and play. So Monday, I was crazy busy, Deadlines, life, you know the deal. I thought, “I’ll skip today,” and I just showed up at tennis time. Man, was I creaky. I mean, I could really feel a difference. It took me a while to move; my bones and joints weren’t ready to play. Which made me wonder: did I always feel this way before my workout change? Was this creaky play my old “normal,” the normal I thought was okay?

Wednesday I did not repeat that mistake. I got my work out in and then played a match. My partner and I crushed our competition, and the women, who have played me before said, “Wow! What came over you?” It’s a life change, I thought. Even my pro was awestruck.

Then Weds afternoon I went to a holiday party and ate the wrong thing. I mean, really wrong. Guess, what, that night I was smacked down with a horrific migraine. I realized, laying in the dark and suffering, I had not had ONE of these migraines that had started haunting me about a year ago since I’d changed my eating habits. Go off the norm this day and, bang! Migraine.

So today, for me, is about a reality check. I was NOT the healthy but overweight person I thought I was. I really needed change. And that has pulled me back on track. For now.