Okay. *cracks neck* Taking a day off from the deep historical introspection stuff today, because a) good news from today I want to talk about, and b) frankly, hauling all that junk out of the closet with me is exhausting. Break time.
My job requires employees to maintain a certain level of fitness. Nothing extreme, just making sure that we're still in good enough shape to get the basics done and not be as prone to injuries and the kinds of medical conditions that accompany being overweight. They're pretty reasonable about it, just check weight and basic physical performance every six months.
Er, yes. About that. I am somewhat LESS reasonable. As in, I know what a reasonable level of activity and eating and stress-management (okay, it was only recently that I learned how much that last one had to do with it) would be. But, rather than do anything reasonable like adjust my lifestyle, I have a pattern of mostly eating what I want, going to extremes on exercise, doing my best to ignore stress (not always - most of the time, I deal with it fine, but when you consider that prolonged loud noises and short sleep are forms of stress...), the result is rather predictable.
And the result of THAT is that about two months before my next weigh-in, I start savagely checking my weight every day. And going a little nutsy with the extremes. Quit eating carbs by THIS date. Quit eating meat by THIS date. Work out like mad, start fasting at THIS point, dehydrating at THIS point, do everything I can (within what's legal) to get everything out of my system, get full night's sleep and go get weighed first thing in the morning after I hit the bathroom so my spine is longer (compresses over the day - if I'm an inch taller, I'm allotted three more pounds)... it's insane.
And oh by the way, I start measuring my value by the numbers on that scale. Every pound down is a triumph. Every pound up is a failure. I berate myself, hit the bike, and work feverishly - or I hit a point where I consider it hopeless, give up entirely, come out of that funk in a few days and berate myself for it, then hit the bike and work feverishly.
As my Dad says, "Dis is nutsy."
So, somehow, all of this came out in one of our semi-counseling* chats with Corpsmentor and Kidcrazy**. And once I'd finished snuffling my way through half a box of Kleenex, KC and I had a chat about my concept of personal value. CM had a point - an idea, really.
*Naming it "counseling" sounds so formal - these are friends, who consider the Gentleman to be family, and thus me by association. They just happen to be a more experienced married couple, and sometimes when a big issue comes up (like, say, Firefly doing some pretty unhealthy stuff to make herself LOOK healthy)
**That's her name for herself. The rest of us think of things like light and pure-heartedness and how she gets up at 5 to work out before the kids are up because she won't get a chance otherwise.
See, the Gentleman never steps on a scale. He's fit. He enjoys working out, hiking, and lifting. (He does NOT enjoy running, but he enjoys being with me, and I enjoy running.) He has a rough idea of his weight because he works for the same employer, and so gets the same six-month test. And I'm fully aware of all this, in an, "Oh, wow, but I could never do that." Nope. Because I am soooo close, that constant monitoring is the only route I can see - anything else is to risk failure.
CM didn't suggest that I do the same as the Gentleman - I'm not sure he knows of the Gentleman's practice. He simply suggested that I not get on a scale at all between that night and my next weigh-in. If those little numbers were affecting how I saw myself, what would happen if I couldn't see those little numbers anymore?
This was scary. BIG scary. I didn't agree to do it because it made sense. I'm not sure I even agreed with it that night. (I'm not sure I ever told the Gentleman I'd agreed to do it, but that's more because there isn't time to tell everything in a day.) But to myself, I did agree - just on the grounds that I really trusted CM. Scary-trust, like when I'm going down a rock wall and can't see how the next part goes, but knowing the person belaying me.
I made a deal, privately. And it actually came about one morning when I knew I was running late - I realized that looking at the clock wouldn't get me there any faster. My job was to do the best I knew with what I had to work with, and leave the results up to God. Looking for the clock, the finish line, the scale numbers - all of those, I realized, were actually me doing LESS than my best, wanting to know how much slacking I could get away with, or at what point I could quit trying because I'd already made it.
I had an alternate practice in mind, which was also a healthy one, but would require regularly checking the scale. I was willing to try what CM said, and even willing to take the penalty if I failed, just so that I'd KNOW. I was tired of cheating, of all the extra maneuvers I do to try to push the numbers down so they won't know that I'm not living healthfully. The Gentleman is happiest when I'm at my most healthy - emotionally, physically, socially, spiritually - all across the board. When I'm not, he notices, and I notice that HE'S...off, somehow, I don't know how to explain it.
It's kind of comparable to when I really want to give someone something for Christmas. I know I don't have to. It's not about what I have to do - it's that I honestly really truly want to do this. Usually because the person makes me happy, or because I really just enjoy seeing them happy. I'm that way with the Butterfly, too, which can be frustrating when I have no idea what will make her happy.
So, I stopped doing the extremes. I was tired of cheating. I wanted to live my lifestyle, and if my lifestyle wasn't enough to pass, I wanted to know about it, and change my lifestyle, rather than adding some magic food or extreme workout.
I started walking to lunch every day, and getting a sandwich from the shop about twenty minutes away from my work, rather than the cafeteria junk next door. I started taking just a little less at mealtime, but if I was hungry, I still ate. I started eating more of the plants, less of the packaged. But there weren't any absolutes, as in, I will absolutely not eat thus-and-so. I ran about as often as I normally would to maintain my emotional balance. I tried my pushups a few times, and blatantly ignored my situps (situps are dumb. Flutter kicks I understand. Planks I understand. Sit-ups are dumb.).
I didn't even dehydrate the morning of. I drank the normal water and coffee. I did go to the bathroom right before getting weighed, but that wasn't really a deviation from normal lifestyle for me.
And I came in at the lowest that I'd been in years.
And I ran - well, it wasn't stellar, but it was perfectly acceptable.
And I did my other exercises to the point that would be accepted. Nothing remarkable.
CM got me on a concept. I'd been thinking of health and fitness as ideals that one always pursues but never attains. CM had a thought for me - fitness, being "fit" for something. What do I have to do in my daily life? Well, take sixteen flights of stairs six times a day, run enough to keep my brain balanced, play with the kids, and I'm pleased when I can share experiences with the Gentleman, so at least being cardio-fit enough to keep hiking with him. Carry some stuff for work. I know what my life entails.
And there are other people whose lives have much greater physical demands. I am not them, and they are not me. And there are other people whose lives have different requirements than mine. I can't be forty people, I don't need to be forty people, so why am I trying to do what forty other people do?
Why don't I just do what I need to do?
And while I wasn't completely fearless going in for the test this time around, I at least didn't spend the whole month stressing, and I wasn't hitting that fear-response on it.
(This is a mixed blessing - that fear-response once jacked my heart rate to a breathtaking 208 bpm, and I flew around the track on that. Mind, I also had to be put under medical observation for the rest of the day. Not cool.)
And since I made that deal - well, it looks like I'm done with the scale, and a lot of the other numbers I measure myself by. Now it's just me, doing the best I can with what I've got, and leaving the results up to God.
Which feels like shackles falling off. And now I'm free to run.
My job requires employees to maintain a certain level of fitness. Nothing extreme, just making sure that we're still in good enough shape to get the basics done and not be as prone to injuries and the kinds of medical conditions that accompany being overweight. They're pretty reasonable about it, just check weight and basic physical performance every six months.
Er, yes. About that. I am somewhat LESS reasonable. As in, I know what a reasonable level of activity and eating and stress-management (okay, it was only recently that I learned how much that last one had to do with it) would be. But, rather than do anything reasonable like adjust my lifestyle, I have a pattern of mostly eating what I want, going to extremes on exercise, doing my best to ignore stress (not always - most of the time, I deal with it fine, but when you consider that prolonged loud noises and short sleep are forms of stress...), the result is rather predictable.
And the result of THAT is that about two months before my next weigh-in, I start savagely checking my weight every day. And going a little nutsy with the extremes. Quit eating carbs by THIS date. Quit eating meat by THIS date. Work out like mad, start fasting at THIS point, dehydrating at THIS point, do everything I can (within what's legal) to get everything out of my system, get full night's sleep and go get weighed first thing in the morning after I hit the bathroom so my spine is longer (compresses over the day - if I'm an inch taller, I'm allotted three more pounds)... it's insane.
And oh by the way, I start measuring my value by the numbers on that scale. Every pound down is a triumph. Every pound up is a failure. I berate myself, hit the bike, and work feverishly - or I hit a point where I consider it hopeless, give up entirely, come out of that funk in a few days and berate myself for it, then hit the bike and work feverishly.
As my Dad says, "Dis is nutsy."
So, somehow, all of this came out in one of our semi-counseling* chats with Corpsmentor and Kidcrazy**. And once I'd finished snuffling my way through half a box of Kleenex, KC and I had a chat about my concept of personal value. CM had a point - an idea, really.
*Naming it "counseling" sounds so formal - these are friends, who consider the Gentleman to be family, and thus me by association. They just happen to be a more experienced married couple, and sometimes when a big issue comes up (like, say, Firefly doing some pretty unhealthy stuff to make herself LOOK healthy)
**That's her name for herself. The rest of us think of things like light and pure-heartedness and how she gets up at 5 to work out before the kids are up because she won't get a chance otherwise.
See, the Gentleman never steps on a scale. He's fit. He enjoys working out, hiking, and lifting. (He does NOT enjoy running, but he enjoys being with me, and I enjoy running.) He has a rough idea of his weight because he works for the same employer, and so gets the same six-month test. And I'm fully aware of all this, in an, "Oh, wow, but I could never do that." Nope. Because I am soooo close, that constant monitoring is the only route I can see - anything else is to risk failure.
CM didn't suggest that I do the same as the Gentleman - I'm not sure he knows of the Gentleman's practice. He simply suggested that I not get on a scale at all between that night and my next weigh-in. If those little numbers were affecting how I saw myself, what would happen if I couldn't see those little numbers anymore?
This was scary. BIG scary. I didn't agree to do it because it made sense. I'm not sure I even agreed with it that night. (I'm not sure I ever told the Gentleman I'd agreed to do it, but that's more because there isn't time to tell everything in a day.) But to myself, I did agree - just on the grounds that I really trusted CM. Scary-trust, like when I'm going down a rock wall and can't see how the next part goes, but knowing the person belaying me.
I made a deal, privately. And it actually came about one morning when I knew I was running late - I realized that looking at the clock wouldn't get me there any faster. My job was to do the best I knew with what I had to work with, and leave the results up to God. Looking for the clock, the finish line, the scale numbers - all of those, I realized, were actually me doing LESS than my best, wanting to know how much slacking I could get away with, or at what point I could quit trying because I'd already made it.
I had an alternate practice in mind, which was also a healthy one, but would require regularly checking the scale. I was willing to try what CM said, and even willing to take the penalty if I failed, just so that I'd KNOW. I was tired of cheating, of all the extra maneuvers I do to try to push the numbers down so they won't know that I'm not living healthfully. The Gentleman is happiest when I'm at my most healthy - emotionally, physically, socially, spiritually - all across the board. When I'm not, he notices, and I notice that HE'S...off, somehow, I don't know how to explain it.
It's kind of comparable to when I really want to give someone something for Christmas. I know I don't have to. It's not about what I have to do - it's that I honestly really truly want to do this. Usually because the person makes me happy, or because I really just enjoy seeing them happy. I'm that way with the Butterfly, too, which can be frustrating when I have no idea what will make her happy.
So, I stopped doing the extremes. I was tired of cheating. I wanted to live my lifestyle, and if my lifestyle wasn't enough to pass, I wanted to know about it, and change my lifestyle, rather than adding some magic food or extreme workout.
I started walking to lunch every day, and getting a sandwich from the shop about twenty minutes away from my work, rather than the cafeteria junk next door. I started taking just a little less at mealtime, but if I was hungry, I still ate. I started eating more of the plants, less of the packaged. But there weren't any absolutes, as in, I will absolutely not eat thus-and-so. I ran about as often as I normally would to maintain my emotional balance. I tried my pushups a few times, and blatantly ignored my situps (situps are dumb. Flutter kicks I understand. Planks I understand. Sit-ups are dumb.).
I didn't even dehydrate the morning of. I drank the normal water and coffee. I did go to the bathroom right before getting weighed, but that wasn't really a deviation from normal lifestyle for me.
And I came in at the lowest that I'd been in years.
And I ran - well, it wasn't stellar, but it was perfectly acceptable.
And I did my other exercises to the point that would be accepted. Nothing remarkable.
CM got me on a concept. I'd been thinking of health and fitness as ideals that one always pursues but never attains. CM had a thought for me - fitness, being "fit" for something. What do I have to do in my daily life? Well, take sixteen flights of stairs six times a day, run enough to keep my brain balanced, play with the kids, and I'm pleased when I can share experiences with the Gentleman, so at least being cardio-fit enough to keep hiking with him. Carry some stuff for work. I know what my life entails.
And there are other people whose lives have much greater physical demands. I am not them, and they are not me. And there are other people whose lives have different requirements than mine. I can't be forty people, I don't need to be forty people, so why am I trying to do what forty other people do?
Why don't I just do what I need to do?
And while I wasn't completely fearless going in for the test this time around, I at least didn't spend the whole month stressing, and I wasn't hitting that fear-response on it.
(This is a mixed blessing - that fear-response once jacked my heart rate to a breathtaking 208 bpm, and I flew around the track on that. Mind, I also had to be put under medical observation for the rest of the day. Not cool.)
And since I made that deal - well, it looks like I'm done with the scale, and a lot of the other numbers I measure myself by. Now it's just me, doing the best I can with what I've got, and leaving the results up to God.
Which feels like shackles falling off. And now I'm free to run.
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