Chippy Returns

I've been to the gym 3x this week and I've decided that I like working out at night. Folks at night really want to be there. They are making a point to be there, you know? Instead of camping out on the couch watching sitcoms (which I often find myself wishing I was doing!), they are at the gym. I see Fast Precor Lady a lot now. She's always going about 25 mph on that thing, with her pretty sweat beads and her big hiney. She's fantastic. She's working so hard and she's a machine, I tell you. I've never seen anyone go as fast as this chica--or go as long. The other day I did a 40 minute session (more on that later) and she was there before me and was still going like a madwoman when I hobbled out of the cardio room.

Funny thing. I actually had lunch with Chippy today. The weird thing is that I've met her before. She is the friend-of-a-friend of mine. She and I met when I was visiting a playgroup last year. I thought she look familiar but couldn't be sure. You know what else? Chippy is 20 weeks pregnant. I saw her cute little perfect belly today at lunch. As much as I tried, I couldn't hate her, though. She's got her fair share of hang-ups, too.

I realized we are all on the same team, playing the same game...But we each have different somethings we are running toward: for me it's the 3 DAY, in all capitals, looming ahead like a big scary bookie. If I don't pay my dues now, I'll never survive. More than that, I'm leaving behind more than just my body in it's present state, but years of not really owning my own body. Four pregnancies in as many years, three beautiful children, and years of breastfeeding have made me feel like I don't really own this skin I'm in--like I've been farmed out and am just plain tired.

I can feel the cogs of change turning, turning, turning. It's starting to feel really good. I still hate the first half of my workouts, but by the second half I can at least manage to smile a bit when I think about what my body is doing.

I spent 40 hard, sweaty minutes on the machine on Wednesday. I did a really burley course. You know those blinking indicator lights that tell you how much resistance you are fighting against? Yeah, well I was at the dot just below the TOP dot. I was going really, really, really slowly, but I was doing it. For like four minutes at a time, I was climbing a friggin mountain. Then it would shift to a small hill and I'd feel relief for a spell. I would get used to happily plugging along and WHAM! Back up the mountain. It was like slamming into a brick wall. All I could do was listen to my music and think of all of you out there, cheering me on, up that hill of my own fear and self-doubt. And so I climbed.

~J

Boxes

I hate them. There are too many of them, too many reminders of an unorganized life, of things mis-placed. They are also hopeful: hidden treasures, sweet memories and the stuff of everyday life. Like them or not, I have more than my share to tackle this first week in our new home.

The weekend was spent trying to get from one place to another, keep the kids sane and safe and, for me at least, not rip anyone's head off. I tend to get a little punchy these days. It's good to have the 3 Day to think about and plan for. No matter how wrapped up in my everyday I get, knowing that I have this huge commitment out there--a comittment bigger than me or anything I am doing right now, makes me pause and reassess.

So I'm back on track today. I have officially lost 20 lbs since I began keeping track on January 2. Did I mention that my husband's family is having a friendly little contest? Whomever can lose the greatest percentage of body fat by June 15th will be declared the Biggest Loser and win big: a dollar a pound for every person that is playing (there are five of us) and wish granted by the other partipants. My father-in-law has lost the most so far, but I am not sure about who is in the lead percentage-wise. I have lost a lot of weight--20 lbs is nothing to sniff at--but I don't really feel like I've lost that much. Still, my clothes fit better and I do feel more limber.

This week's plan: the gym three days and two walks. I'd like to get 10 miles under my belt this week.

Perhaps my humor will return after I stop being so cranky. Here's to hopin.

~J

Day 4-5

Hello my beautiful knitty gals

I got stuck in a time warp yesterday: sucked into a vortex whist trying to finish a newsletter for my midwives. Too many cooks in that pot and I ended up spending much of the day with Publisher on the brain--took an unexpected trip to Olympia and we all raced like madwomen to "get er done." It came off smashingly and I got to hang with two of my most favorite people in the world--my beautiful friends and former midwives. I got to see them in action, behind-the-scenes, and it gave both temperance and inspiration to my dreams of midwifery.

My body hates me. It keeps yelling at me to quit moving so much. My brain is full with the stress of moving. I just need to release and succomb to the whole thing, as much as I hate to. I'm on the cusp of total chaos in the house--you know, the point at which all of your stuff begins to creep in and make you a little scared by how much of a consumer you are.

I'm afraid I'll need to take a short break from this wonderful river we're racing down. I'll be back with more stories next week and ready to begin again. I saw the graphics for FAA and I'm in love. We're gonna be such hotties.

~J

Day 3

Day 3 and it's all getting so...natural. Sort of. I couldn't go on the walk today because I can't walk with my kids (we don't own a double-jog stroller). This may end up as a problem, we'll see. It's going to mean I train by putting them in daycare at the Y or doing it when Mike gets home. It will work out, this much I know.

So I went to the Y when Mike got home, at around 7:30 pm. It takes a half-hour to get there. One thing good about our upcoming move is that it will cut my commute time in half. Did I mention we move on Saturday? Yeah. I'm counting it for part of my training--just you try and stop me.

The workout. I think larger people work out at night. That's my big generalization for the evening, anyway. There were a lot less Chippy's there tonight. There were my kind of people. People with large butts and flabby arms. People with funky smells and real sweat. People who don't look like workout Barbie, but like people who are putting themselves though hell in order to make a positive change in their life. I felt very warm and optimistic tonight as I was working out. There was a woman--fortyish--going like a madwoman on the Precor. She was moving fast, fast, fast on the thing. Really. And she wasn't kidding. Her back was sweaty; she wet patches all over her t-shirt. Her grey hair was pulled back in a pony tail and she had about 10 little hand-towels she used to wipe the sweat off of the back of her neck. As I walked my walk on the treadmill, she blasted through her workout. The thing is, and the reason I couldn't harbor any of my normal angst about her abilities, is that her body was realistic. She wasn't 0% body fat--she was healthy. She was REAL. She showed me that even real people can kick some serious ass on the Precor. No only was she flying fast and furious, she was READING A FREAKING BOOK. La, la, la. Like it was nothing unusual. Her pages were actually being held back by a binder clip that she would jauntily manipulate when she needed to turn the page. Me? I would have flown off the pedals and my sorry, tubby, white hiney would have splattered against the back wall.

I didn't get to do 3 miles. I ran out of time. I did 2.5 or so, though. My average speed was about 4 miles per hour, so that is good. The folks on the 3Day say that they'd like to see participants at 3 mph on the walk.

Oy. My aching dogs.

Days 1-2

February 14th, 2005. Day 1.

Let me be your feet. You may not be able to literally, physically walk the 60-mile route in the 3-Day, but I will. I will train, I will go through the physical rigors of the event. I promise to write about it, too. I will be your presence and your voice. When I am weary from the journey, I will think of all of you--your hands that knit love into each stitch as you created a scarf or hat or socks that will comfort a breast cancer survivor or a dear friend. The love and support you offer, the faith you bestow on me to walk in honor of dear ones who have fought hard and lost, or those who are still fighting, will not go unrecognized or unappreciated.

The journey begins now. I'm proud to have you as my partner.

February 15th, 2005. Day 2.

I had my first day of training today. I joined the Y last week. As body types go, I am not a petite feminie flower. I'm more of a strong, strapping lass. I felt very strapping today, I have to admit. I walked into the cardio room full of torture devices and chose one that looked fairly simple--the Precor machine. I've done it before and knew that I wouldn't fly off or fall over when I tried to use it.

I couldn't get the damn thing to program. I'm standing there in my stupid workout outfit that shows fat I usually hide quite well and I can't get the machine to program. I push buttons, hold down the reset...nothing. Then the chippy next to me says, "You have to start pedaling." I don't make eye contact, but I say thanks. She is young and perky and I wonder why she is excercising. Part of me hates her and part of me wants to be her.

So I enter my weight. I've been larger and I've most certainly been smaller. I was skinny most of my life--until college, that is. Somehow in college I gained about 80 lbs. I am both blessed and cursed by a very large frame that hides weight well. Because I can hide it well and because I am a generally confident person, I think I just let myself go to some extent. It's easy to do, that's for sure.

Three kids later, I want my body back. I want to once again feel light when I run. I remember a time in my life when I could run a mile and actually feel like I was flying. I ran fast. Effortlessly.

Today my body fought each step on the machine. I grew to hate the indicator lights that seemed to blink at me, "Time to pack it in, good game." I wanted to quit at 17 minutes into the workout. I nearly did. Instead, I cursed the fans for not being on, I cursed the guy working out next to me in his short shorts and fast repetitions. At one point, I snuck a look over at his machine beacause I thought that I was keeping up with him. "This isn't so hard!" I thought to myself. His resistance was twice that of mine and I was sweating like a stuck pig. Then the fans magically turned on. I was nearly 3/4 of the way done with the workout. I knew I could finish.

And I did. I wasn't happy, but I finished. As I got off the machine, it took all I had not to fall over from the lack of motion on solid ground. It was like walking on the ground after jumping on a trampoline. Your body expects there to be motion. Chippy, my Precor neighbor, got off her machine too. All I could do was concentrate on not listing into her as I walked. She was going for the disinfectant. She was going to get it first. We would have to have a freaking fracking discussion about who got it first. That settled it, I hated her.

With considerable effort, I turned around and found another disinfectant spray--ACROSS THE ROOM. In the front, no less. Because Chippy McChipperson was faster than me, I had to walk in front of every skinny non-sweating person in the whole room. Me and my beet-red face, sweaty hair and crotch-riding shorts. I really hated Chippy. Somehow, by sheer will, my legs carried me across the room and back to my machine. I dutifully cleaned off my sweaty hand prints from the machine. I also accidentially sprayed Chippy.

Really, it was an accident. I swear.

I walk 3 miles tomorrow.

Originally posted on WoolyWonder forums:
http://woolywonder.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=4252&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0