announcement

Change is in the air at our house!

Spring.  Pre-adolescence.  Adjusting to new jobs.  New kittens.  New blogs.

WHAT?!?!  NEW BLOGS?!?!

Yep.  My little blog is all grown up now.  You can find it at More

I hope you enjoy the changes, and while you're there, be sure to check out links to loriekaufmanrees.com and The Joy Project.  Exciting goings on around here!

See you there!

no post today...

...got something cooking up for you!

the tenacious ten: day nine

If surrender is part of the key to freedom, then it must be determined what, exactly, is being surrendered to.

Surrendering implies a battle.  A resistance.  A fight.  So that then begs the question: What am I resisting?  And why?

These are the questions that will lead toward surrendering to the right things.  What I've determined so far is this:

Discipline. I resist discipline because I am rebellious.  Because I don't like being told what I can't do or can't have.  Because I am tired of not having what I can't have.  Because I am tired of not having. 

Reality.  I resist the reality that my body responds to certain things better than others.  Because I want to eat what I want to eat.  Because I rationalize this is practicing all things in moderation.  Because I don't like my reality, and I want a different one.

Rest.  I resist being still because I am afraid I will get fat.  I am afraid I will get lazy.  I am afraid I will get complacent.  I am afraid I will get comfortable.  I am afraid I will get lost in the silence.  And so I don't allow for it.

Leading.  I resist the promptings of the Holy Spirit because I am afraid of what he's going to ask of me.  Because I don't trust he truly has my best interests at heart.  Because I suspect he cannot, or more accurately will not, meet my deepest needs. 

Intimacy.  I resist drawing near to God, to my husband, to my own inner being.  Because I don't believe their love is unconditional.  Because I fear opening my heart to them only to be rejected.  Because I question their motives.  Because I question their hearts.

These are the battles in which I am engaged.  The entities to which I must surrender if I am ever to be captured by Freedom.  I question if I am able.  But I am told I can do all things through the strength of another more powerful than I...

There are battles we all fight.  Things we all resist.  Truths to which we must surrender.  When you feel that fear or rebellion within your own spirit, what is it you are resisting?  Feel free to tell me about it...

for the record...

...looking at Sugardaddy's brownies is not helping the carbohydrate cravings. 

I'm just sayin'...

the tenacious ten: day eight

It is probably not a coincidence, it occurs to me as I struggle to get back on track after a weekend of swerving on and off my path, hands frantically gripping the wheel, that I am currently getting ready to write the part of my book that is about surrender.

Probably not.

I suppose it might be helpful, maybe, to actually practice what I'm preaching.

Maybe.

Just maybe.

No matter how far I've come, no matter how much weight I've lost, no matter how long I've kept it off, it still comes down to this: I can't control it, but I can't not control it.

My weight. My body. My eating. My appetite. My will power. My desire. My thought life. My life, in general. I have no control. But I can't, for the life of me, stop trying to grasp for it.

The Word says he who seeks to save his life loses it. Does it logically follow that she who seeks to lose her weight gains it?

Surrender. Yielding control. Taking my hands off the wheel. Screaming in terror as my car heads toward a tree. Do I hit the tree? Or do I find my way through the forest?

I don't know.

It's out of my hands.

the tenacious ten: day seven

Spent the weekend with a houseful of people and pets, thanks to our alma mater's collegiate choir being in town on their spring break tour.  Entertaining company is always a challenge for me when I'm trying to lose weight.  Or maintain.  Or any time that involves eating, which is all of my life, as I tend to eat on a daily basis.  I have the best of intentions, but once there is Mama Mimi's pizza fresh out of the oven or breakfast casserole likewise fresh, well, the intentions that were so black and white suddenly fade to gray.

One more piece of pizza won't hurt, I tell myself.  Then it's another.  And another.  Suddenly, I've had five over the course of the entire evening.  Why do I do that?  I don't know.  I wish I could figure it out.

I hate it when other people are eating things I enjoy and I can't eat them, too.  I feel punished.  It feels unfair.

I can't stand knowing there is are special foods in the house.  I cannot stop thinking about them until they are gone.  I become completely obsessed.

Here's the weird thing.  We gave up sweets for lent.  So the cookies were not even a temptation.  Why not?  I don't know.

This is what I know, and what I don't know.  The difficult truth is that this eating thing continue to be a mystery to me, despite so many, many things that should make it not a mystery.  I will think more about it tomorrow.  Tonight, I am spent.

the tenacious ten: day five

I wasn't going to weigh myself today.  Then I was.  Then I wasn't.  Then suddenly I was standing on the scale in the middle of my bedroom, holding my breath and hoping I wouldn't regret the un-decision.

146.6

I exhaled with no small amount of relief.

The weight-loss gods have smiled on me and my small, square, electronic device.  We have found favor in their eyes, and they have rewarded me with a smaller number than the last time I stepped on this cursed piece of machinery.  Five pounds.  Again.  I figure that's about 5,000 I've lost, total.  Over, and over, and over.

The next milestone is 145.  And then, The Blasted Plateau. 

There are those for whom a red flag would raise at the thought of my emotional state being dependent upon the green number at my feet.  I get it.  To them I would reply, You don't get what it's like to be me.

There is no accurate measure of success in my life with scales.  The number fluctuates.  The fit of my clothes fluctuates.  The feel of my body fluctuates.  This is what works for me.  Roughly every two to three weeks, occasionally sooner if I'm feeling particularly neurotic, I get up first thing in the morning and I go to the bathroom.  If I'm feeling brave, I head back to the bedroom, strip down to my birthday suit, pull out the scale, and step on it.  I move it several times to accommodate the inconsistencies in our 100 year old wood floor.  I take the lowest number that pops up more than once, and I let my poor, trampled little sense of hope run with it.  (Unless, of course, the number is higher than the last time.  Then, well, you know what happens then...)

Again, this is what works for me.  And that is, after all, what I tell clients they need to do.  Sort through all the advice, rules, and cautions, and find what works for them in the long run, provided it's not illegal or immoral.  Weighing myself every few weeks, and being affected by the result, is, to the best of my knowledge, not illegal or immoral.  And so I will continue in this manner until something else works better.

I'm okay with the number today.  I'm okay with how my pants fit.  I'm okay with how I feel.  Today is okay.

I won't tempt my luck again any time soon, however...

the tenacious ten: day four

I wish someone would have reminded me that too much protein powder does not make one's stomach happy.  No reason.

Day four was uneventful.  The Kashi Go-Lean Crunch has stopped calling me, as it is no longer in the cupboard.  It can't call from within my stomach--I figured that was the safest bet for all involved.  So I am free from that temptation.  It was a tough sacrifice to have to eat it all before it drove me crazy.  But sometimes you just gotta do whatcha gotta do. 

The Zone bars, on the other hand, are very quick and easy and have CHOCOLATE on them.  They need to be gone so there are no more temptations calling me from the pantry.  Sigh.  More sacrifice.  Woe is me.

Aside from the bloatedness driving me to distraction, it has been a decent day, albeit a long one.  I will retire with a good book and try not to think about how pathetic it is that I am craving a Zone bar or about how FAT I feel after a day of IBS.  Another busy day awaits me, then another, and then another.  

But by then, the Zone bars will be GONE, and I will be home free. 

the tenacious ten: day three

I'm pretty sure exercise isn't supposed to make you cry. I'm just sayin'.

Okay, so I didn't cry. This time. But I wanted to. That and I wanted to throw up. Well, not that I wanted to throw up, but you know what I mean.

Exercise and I have never quite become BFF's. Oh, we're friendly and all—don't get me wrong. But believe me—I'd ditch working out in a heartbeat for reading a book or going out to dinner or even taking a hike, literally. The minute I get a better offer, all previous plans are considered null and void.

So it's not unusual for me to not like working out. It's also not unusual for me to avoid it for as long as possible. But what has been unusual these last two weeks has been both my sheer dread of exercising and my complete lack of energy and will power to do so. I just don't have it in me. And I don't know why.

For a month I was truckin' along with Jillian Michaels and her 30 Day Shred DVD. I was feeling strong, feeling energetic, feeling optimistic. I didn't LIKE it, but I wasn't dying. Not much, at least. But something has completely wiped me off my feet here lately, and I barely have it in me to finish my 3-4 mile walk, let alone get my butt kicked by "TV's Toughest Trainer." This doesn't bode well for trying to get Stripped, Shredded, or Slenderized.

Mostly what it does is make me feel discouraged and a little weepy, especially toward the end of a work-out, when there are still 50,000 crunches to go and I feel like I'm going to hurl already and I just want to lay on the floor and not move. But I have to move—I have no choice but to move. And that creates dissonance in my spirit.

I wish I could learn to love this path. I wish I enjoyed protein and veggies more than anything made from a grain. I wish I would rather lift weights and crank my metabolism with some interval training than stroll through the woods or read a good book. Or even a mediocre book. But I don't love these things. I've made peace with them, but that's just not the same.

I don't know yet what to do with this dissonance. I have peace, but, because I don't love it, I need discipline. I don't always have discipline. So I need motivation. I don't always have motivation, either. And frankly, what motivates me typically is FEAR, and that is in conflict with peace. In the end, I'd much rather have JOY in it all. But I'm just not there yet.

And I'm not sure what the path in that direction looks like.

I will continue ramping back up, yet again. I will fight and scratch and claw back to my previous level of fitness, only to have something else derail me, yet again. I suppose this is life. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. In the mean time, tomorrow is a rest day, by virtue of the fact that I work 13 hours. So I will give my body a rest, and then drag my fanny back in front of the TV on Friday, hopefully ready and raring to go.

And if it's not ready and raring, well, it will just have to hang in there and bear through the ride.

the tenacious ten: day two

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst, for they are sticking to their diets.

Author Unknown
 

I'm hungry. Really. Not just "I think I'm hungry because I'm bored or depressed or existentially dissatisfied." I'm really, truly, HUNGRY.You would think that would not be the cause for much concern. If you're hungry, you just eat. It's just that simple. But in my world, nothing is JUST. And nothing is SIMPLE.

For the record, I am getting up to get a low-fat cheese stick. I am not so legalistic that I will not feed my body when my body says feed me. But I am also not so disciplined that I can get away with doing this at my body's every whim. And I am not so confident that I can navigate the mire of my psyche well enough to not come completely unglued with each non-sanctioned meal plan choice. So I must tread with caution.This morning was a departure. A bowl of Kashi Go-Lean Crunch instead of my "clean" oatmeal. The box was calling to me. Loudly and persistently. It needed to be emptied so it would STOP. I have no better excuse.

Dinner was a departure. A Zone bar instead of a chicken breast and broccoli. I had exactly 30 minutes to get a walk in after work before my family got home, and I needed to eat. I couldn't take broccoli for a walk. The Zone bar was convenient. It was a logical choice.The cheese stick is a departure. I'm hungry. I can eat a cheese stick. For the moment, it's "just that simple."

None of these things are particularly bad, other than the fact that they are manufactured and that the first two contain sugar, which I am trying to avoid. But they are not BAD, and, therefore, I will not feel BAD about them. Or at least I will try not to.I am sticking to my diet, even when not sticking to my diet. I can let go of the legalism and embrace the grace I am so desperately in need of.

And then, tomorrow, I can endeavor again to follow closely that which is set out for me.