As I begin to lose weight, I have options, buy all new clothes. Nope. Or rent, yes rent. Find my new size, style and live my former I. Magnin management life. I enjoy clothes that are well made, have lining, and style that is not in every storefront. Now, I am a teacher and cannot afford five digit outfits, but I can look like a million bucks before I walk into a room of preteens and teens if I rent. Some do it to save the planet, I do it to save a buck or two, while walking into the room wearing quality and feeling confident with no itchy tags. No driving and shopping. Just a monthly bill and choices galore that I go through on my phone when I have a minute. Over the summer there are no working days, it will be handbags, sunglasses, and other accessories. Along with an occasional dress.
Rent the Runway is my go to with rental options. The best part is that if you love it you can buy it! From casual daily wear to gowns, you can rent it all. Plans start from five to fifteen pieces a month. The cost is about $100 to $200 a month. Now stop and think how much you spend on disposable wear. My number was too high and I was buying crap and just rebuying yearly. This is my problem solver and not a paid ad!
The four words I long to hear, as I try harder than anyone I know to move my last twenty. “Have you lost weight?” Just combine menopause plus my epilepsy meds that keep me ticking. It equates ounces lost a week not pounds when I give it my all. I am in my ALL phase. Still intermittent fasting, replacing chewing food with protein shakes to cut calories and throw in collagen, greens, and fruit plus now saying see ya to wheat and sugar. Not permanently. I am doing OK. I have not got on the scale. Nope. Avoiding it as it cause me to spiral in the moments of doing it ALL. This new phase of life, which is a daily struggle but getting easier does give me an overall sense of health, energy, and less mental fog. But the words help and they were from my physical therapist who has me touched alot. You know what I mean!
The question today made me feel like a superwoman who will continue down this path, because it’s working. It’s hard but it’s working. Keep it up friends on this path while this is a soaring moment, I have felt all of the feels of pushing myself to get healthy for this forever final twenty.
It happens. I try to play it off or completely ignore big life issues. To me my world is about teaching and the great stuff about family. End of conversation. The rest interferes with my obvious brilliance, after twenty years in the classroom, my Peter Pan existence as a parent, grandparent, and even as a spouse. In essence I ignore reality. I am fine with this existence, but others feel I am ignoring their needs. No, I do my research, prayer, and check off all the boxes of care, and make sure Amazon visits with all the needs. I just don’t want to talk about it, ever as I end up with my strong combination of Irish/Jewish guilt down serious rabbit holes that put me one step away from a white jacket. Yes, the kind you cannot get out of…ever. I care, love, and worry but on my terms. My hubs is having surgery, now the C word is gone, but is it? It never is at Mayo, so he wanted to have me read the novels the clinic sent him home with along with the massive directions for the day. No one needed this. I needed a drink afterwards and had nightmares for nights and three new wrinkles. Reading the preview was too much for me, but he needed this for him. I told him I would have asked every question from the doctor, you bet, but this reading meant something to him, not to my panic and worry, but to him. So, out of love I read. Drank, and read over again. I worry differently. Obviously, packing a flask to the hospital, just in case. But I worry. Intensively, in a happy way. Most will never see my constant worry. We all have our moments, and our concern comes out differently. My thoughts are hidden, only I can tap-in as needed. I sometimes outright avoid everything, but they are there and felt, as that is part of humanity. However, on any given day let me just be happy, play the role of Peter Pan, and give away the gift that was given to me, the ability to entertain at any level at any given moment. I am more of a cocktail party kind of gal. Not the big stuff. But to my Senator. We got this! You will find me entertaining the Mayo Staff or a stray child, as that is my coping strategy, but always worrying.
It is all in the habits that are built through time and effort that equate weight loss or the healthy weight or size or feeling your desire.
I start. I stop. I start. I stop. I start. I stop. I start. I have a magic number, don’t we all. But truly not sure if my number is above or below my possible fantasy.
I know what to do and how to do it. We all do. Life never gets in the way of success. It is us. There are good alternative decisions everywhere and time abounds for movement. It does. It comes down to us. Always. We stand in our own way and diet gurus capitalize on our own lack of discipline.
On the last day of the parent teacher conference, life hit me hard. I have had this parent in my life for almost two years. I have seen her happier and moving easier. Not today. The parent admitted to just having a stroke. Her movement is impaired and no longer can she work. Big. She is a nurse. Or was as she doubts that will ever be her path again. She is twenty years younger. It is obvious that care was not something she gave herself, but as a nurse she does know how to take care of the human body or was it the above excuses we make about foods and fitness plus the stressors of life that caused this scary period of her life. Who is to say. I teared up at her story. It could be anyone. Anytime.
So, I did what anyone with the “habitual excuses syndrome” does, I ordered pizza. I enjoyed it and today is a new day. Not of excuses or deprivation but one that copes with the good foods and special yummy choices without guilt. At almost sixty starvation is not my thing. I get bitchy. Let super models live that life. Last night, no guilt, which is new for me, as I usually have pounds of guilt added to my already full scale of weight. I realized that I try to build all the good habits at the same time and instead of pure success I am stuck in the partially proficient model. That never works. So, I am starting with my “almost gotcha habits.” For me I “almost gotcha” daily spinning, I “almost gotcha” on water intake, and on my weekly Weight Watcher meetings. I don’t almost gotcha perfect food choices, but I am pretty much sugar and low carb on most days. So, I am going to finish my February with water, movement, my weekly Weight Watcher meetings, (love the virtual option), and making better choices. Let’s call this cognizant eating. Right now, my crockpot is humming with pork ribs and sugar free sauce. Yes, this is ok, ask Weight Watchers and tomorrow in the crockpot will be chili. That will keep our small family fed for the week along with a chicken sausage night with Alexia sweet potato fries. Simplicity for our family of two, is key, due to my ability as a chef and my husband’s palate. So, with twenty to lose and my new understanding that all new habits cannot be built overnight as the diet gurus profess, the building habits slowly and completely will get me across the finish line, while still enjoying life, and staving off the constant excuses and guilt that comes with enjoying life, making a mistake, or just not feeling it that day because let’s face it until your needed healthy choices become part of your daily routine you will never be at the goals you dream of. Never.
So, write down your goals, start with the simple routines you can feel successful with, and keep adding new ones and follow through until it becomes a daily need. not a chore. May I suggest Weight Watchers if you need some guidance, they fit my needs, and have the healthiest relationship with food and life. Not Noom, not the Metabolic Guru, not intermittent fasting, nope Weight Watchers. This is not a paid ad. Just saying.
My next zero is big. Very. I am the second oldest on my campus. That’s weird. Half of my brain misses my grandson to the point of wanting to retire and move closer now. The hubs can come later. The other side of my brain realizes a proper retirement is important. I fear illness, death, and being without my bestfriend. Note: I am healthy and he is sitting next to me, but you get it. If you do not, you are in the wrong age category. I am not done. My kid still needs my direction. I need to see his completeness. I need to see so much of my nugget and their life together. My drive for health works 2/3 rds of the day, but on a daily basis. Winning. My worst part of the day or week, the weekend. That drink looks great, unhealthy food can be split at restaurants making it ok, right? A few crackers. Ok. Too much sleep after getting the house in shape for the next week. Yikes.
For all those with cleaning help, I truly am jealous, and even if I don’t know you. I hate you. My body, my back, and the arthritis in my hands has earned you. My teachers paycheck. Nope. But my 2/3rds is taking me in the right direction. Losing weight, moving and not re-injuring, and going as carb and sugar-free as life is meant to be. I am proud and still going in the right direction in the best possible way, I think my habits, hard fought for, are necessary and now easy. Sans the weekends as my recovery mode from the week and house stuff makes eating more of a feel good rather than an eat good. The step of recognition is huge and shows that my evening work of building good habits will transfer to the weekends, as the first step was recognition. The second desire, that zero, and the third seeing life in general with a skip in my step.
Gotta couple months left. I am ok with comfy shoes, a few Chico outfits as they cover certain areas well, just not all my outfits. Thank you. Ok, with getting stronger everyday and being able to take a minute just to rest to gain strength for my week in the trenches. Valentine’s Day, with 7th grade, is on its way and that is truly like all holidays rolled into one! But still not ok with saying the new number. It’s big. Gonna start now perhaps it will be a bit easier as the clock sticks the witching hour on my day.
No fanfare. Just pride. You see, I don’t fall off my combo Echelon/Peloton system. Onto 300 rides which I will hit before my 60th and pondering the real Peloton for my 60th. I deserve it! Easily. Entering the rare live class will be a treat and truly just a hunt for a shout-out. One can hope. But even without the children shouting my name, it will be a victory. Weight comes and goes but fitness or heck, just movement, lasts a lifetime. As for the extra handles and such they are departing at a snails pace but going in the correct direction. A slimmer self and the utter joy my rides bring to me, is all I can ask for in this, my fitness life. Plus the real Peloton. Besides the echelon needs to make a trip up North so I don’t miss my summer rides.
Cortisol, a word I never used until this year. It should be the eighth dirty word. It is a sneaky bugger that wreaks havoc on women. Have we not had enough life changes in our fifty plus years. A fat gut, while living on lettuce and air is no reward that feels worthy for the pain of child-birth or the menstrual suffering. We deserve better. I suggest shoes and a new bag, or two, to ease into the depths of cortisol, as no one escapes this misery.
Technically, “Cortisol is a steroid hormone, in the glucocorticoid class of hormones. When used as a medication, it is known as hydrocortisone. It is produced in many animals, mainly by the zona fasciculata of the adrenal cortex in the adrenal gland. It is produced in other tissues in lower quantities.” Or “Cortisol, the primary stress hormone, increases sugars (glucose) in the bloodstream, enhances your brain’s use of glucose and increases the availability of substances that repair tissues. Cortisol also curbs functions that would be nonessential or harmful in a fight-or-flight situation.”In simple terms it is a regulator of stress. More stress, more cortisol and more sugar and weight. Told you it was a bad word.
The basic symptoms of cortisol imbalance are the following:
Weight gain, especially in your face and abdomen.
Fatty deposits between your shoulder blades.
Wide, purple stretch marks on your abdomen (belly).
Muscle weakness in your upper arms and thighs.
High blood sugar, which often turns into Type 2 diabetes.
In essence if you are in menopause or postmenopausal, you fall into this category, and are struggling with the physical and emotional effects. For the weary there is little sleep, weight gain, emotions out of wack, and the feeling that you do not belong in any category of clothes as your age and body don’t match. You feel out of sorts. Everyday. There is no cure. Only to try to balance your system out with the correct diet and exercise. Now, while I profess to trying every diet in existence, and recently a fasting gig, that made me feel a longing for coffee creamer in my sad black coffee that I could not get down. I know life is not a diet. They don’t work. It is consistently eating well plus movement thst equals less weight and overall health. The diets are just fads that give us the illusion that our weight gained through last night’s pizza or hormone imbalance is possible. With work, patience, and putting diets on the shelf and embracing the concept of eating for our age and our bodies.
Not a paid promotion but just began Metabolic Renewal. I am on week one but love the support group and learning that I am not alone as I tread the waters of an almost carb free and sugar free life, oh and exercise. So far, I feel more energetic. I will take that for a win. As for the scale, we broke up, not sure we will have date again. Possibly, in a few weeks. https://www.metabolicrenewal.com/
We have mental images of ourselves. I am skinnier. This of course is odd. Most have the inner picture of our bodies as larger. Some all over. Some in certain places. But larger. I think smaller in an overall general body image, until I found a mirror on a bad day in workout gear. That is a picture no one needs to see, especially the owner of this body. Nope. I kept looking unable to see me, just a foreign old lady that was anyone but me on any given day. I wanted to run and hid but instead I realized the true power of the before picture.
Now, my fantasy ideal of the skinny me has been replaced by reality, which I am now painting a tad worse in my minds eye. But it is the picture in my weary old head that now keeps me motivated to stay on points, fast, drink lemon water, and detox with hibiscus tea and get on my bike. I notice about three ounces gone…but I continue as fat was not built in a day, and overall health is the goal. Not a size. But surely not the old hag in the mirror. Somewhere in between, with my continued motivation I will succeed not only in health but coming to grips with 60 and the obvious changes it brings, even to those of great beauty. We all suffer a bit. It shows physically but we really are dealing with the mental struggle of age compounded with a bit of extra skin.
With each new day. on this journey, I say positive affirmations, pray, and look at myself in a new way. I see the changes. Others will as well, but at three or four ounces of loss, I understand their difficulties. Now, my change is just for me and my pride. Others may just see my acceptance and glow of growing health, and that might be the best gift. Along with twenty pounds.
I am back on Noom. I left. I did. Which makes this post worthy of a prize or an escalated Noom blogger award. 🤔 I left because I could do this on my own. Suddenly cocky with eight pounds gone. This was my inner thought and money saving idea. Suddenly after fighting since childbirth (thirty-one years ago) I could do this alone and save the money and annoying check-ins from my personal person or bot. Not sure which, but in this age of technology and with eight pounds lost, why did I care, if there is a real face with my consults? I don’t. Eight pounds lost and now eight pounds gained left to my own devices and fell through a mushroom cloud of stress and the outward “I am O.K” that I gave out to my world aka my seventh grade classroom.
I am back. Why? Noom works. There I said it. It really does for those that need their hands held while foods, friends, stress, and life let us down. Noom works.
So onward with the color system, quizzes, and chat check-ins with my mysterious coach or a brilliant bot. Again, who knows or cares. Weight loss is about buy-in, desire, cheerleaders galore, recipies or direction etc. After you find that in your form, whatever that looks like, the rest is up to you.
Thank you Noom. I have come back to shake the weight for good and reap the benefits for myself and my family which is priceless.
Now I have to learn to cook, better. Much better. Got an app for that? Readers if interested head over to Noom. No, I am not paid. It just works. Feel free to share, follow, and of course like if health and weightloss is your “jam.” Be on the lookout for more from me as I dive deep into essays on my successes and failures to keep me on the straight and narrow. And as always be prepared for the truth and a chuckle. https://www.noom.com
The days before the actual “first day” of school are the most precious and set the tone for my mental game, as I gear up for the year. The utter silence not only in my room but throughout the hallways, only to be interrupted by teacher chatter, hugs, and rushing feet from one room or meeting to another quietly emulate a natural high as reality has not hit. Kids. Paperwork. Rules. My plans are for obvious perfection and is the bubble of life if only for a fleeting few days. It is then that schedules sound possible, discipline will be a breeze, and dress codes sound reasonable as jean days are put on the chopping block. It’s ok, we should dress up. Then week three hits and it hits hard. Suddenly, the quiet is replaced with chaos because the moving pieces are coming fast. It is a teachers life. It is precious but mentally and physically draining on a level few others feel.
Then it hits. It’s a stamicane, my own word for a stampede plus hurricane. Kids making their way down our halls breaking the blissful silence. First, the utter excitement is contagious but by week three “When is fall break” is my number one on the playlist on my mind, on repeat. With break approaching, I had a literal physical break after dealing with hospice, moving my mother out of an assisted living and into another assisted living. And yes, she is thriving, thanks to hospice. Try that. For nine weeks when you must put on a happy face, everyday. This is why teaching is a young persons game. The young do not have big life issues straight out of school. I broke physically and mentally. Mrs. Tough had her comeuppance. I divided my kids, with no tears and made it to the doctor with a full on ugly cry in the waiting room. But I made it. I spent the next two days feeling guilty for missing work and now the next few days of break in recovery and enjoying the simple sound of silence. It brings me pause and a true reflection of important issues and allows me to shake off the crazy. Not my kids. All the other educational nuttiness which does not fit on one blog post alone. It is more volume based. Truly.
The quiet of break and the reflection of my first days of school brings clarity for the busy that the remainder of fall brings. My thoughts of perfection have been replaced with my pacing guide, test scores, and a newspaper to churn out. The test scores are the sad reality portion but a truth that leaves my competitive soul always hungry for more but steeped in the reality of who my students are and where can they go in this school year. It is a balancing act. Journalism keeps me happy and if I ever get social studies again as a subject area, thrilled. Hiring for 8th grade civics. Give me a call. As my wounds mend and my own inner changes readied to implement continuous healing without another major setback. I remember that in the quiet I take to heal it is my own stamina and ability to block out the storm that brings me my success on a daily basis, where it counts. With kids.