September 2011

Breaking up with 24 hours.

by Jen, a priorfatgirl on September 30, 2011

Maybe it’s time I break up with 24 hours. I am finding no value in its measurement, no benefit to its description. Yes, I should break up with keeping track of things in 24 hour increments. Measuring my accomplishments, activities, completed to-dos, workouts and eats within each sun up to sun down only seems to cause me more worrisome than happiness.

Real Life 24 hour example: Wednesday, I had my sisters over for dinner. I had a busy day at work and didn’t get to eat as much as I’d like to have so by 6pm, I was starving and as a result, inhaling everything around me. I was grabbing handfuls of almonds. I was taking bites of chicken as I was preparing dinner. I was tasting dishes I’d made after I’d already tasted it 4 times earlier.

I had a salad with more toppings than lettuce followed by a rather large serving of a pasta dish followed by a second smaller serving of more pasta. I accompanied my “salad” and pasta meal with two small dinner rolls. I had an unusually small amount of water on Wednesday probably because around 1pm, I had a can of diet coke. As we finished up dinner, I grabbed a pumpkin cookie w/ cream cheese frosting (aka amazing.)

After everyone left, I noticed one small dinner roll left. So I ate it {because who would waste a dinner roll?} And then, as I was cleaning up, I decided to eat another pumpkin cookie {because the first one was amazing so the 2nd was sure to be just as amazing.} THEN, I realized I was thirsty so I did what some think would be logical — I grabbed a can of diet coke and CHUGGED. 3 minutes later, I tossed the empty can in the garbage and instantly felt sad.

24 hours of crazy, not-in-tune with my body eating. I was doing everything opposite of what I knew my body needed & craved.

I went to bed feeling frustrated, overwhlemed and like a failure.

Thursday, I woke up and saw my friend, Ann, had written a post. Not just ANY post but one that made my stomach flip-flop. (Read post HERE.) It was a post I had experienced many times before. One describing failure, frustration and a recap of moments most people never talk about. As I got ready for work, I thought about what I would say to Ann. “It is only one day, Ann” and “Pick yourself back up, Ann, this is your life” and “Ann, there will be ups and downs, you just have to keep fighting” and “This isn’t about being perfect, Ann, this is about balance.”

As I sat there thinking of what to say to Ann, I wondered – why would I say all this to Ann but not believe it myself? What would my Thursday would be like? Would it be a repeat of Wednesday? Would I go off the deep-end with my eating? Would I let my feelings of being overwhelmed with life dictate my eating?

And then it dawned on me – where did 24 hours come from and why did I care so much? Who’s to say I can’t break up with 24 hours and instead, look at 48 hours? {or 72 or 99 or 154 hours!} Surely life is about balancing – there is no “life is about balancing 24 hours.”

Real Life 48 hours example: I woke up on Thursday feeling hung over after feeding my body everything opposite from what it needed. I decided to break up with 24 hours and instead, work extra hard to balance out my 48 hours. I would eat protein, lotsa veggies, water and go with the thought that I ate my Wednesday & Thursday dessert on Thursday. For breakfast, I had 3 hard boiled eggs. And they were goooood. I had a monster fruit & chicken salad with A LOT of greens and probably about 3 servings of yum baby carrots. Dinner was…

A little bit of shredded pork, veggies,
some fruit and a scoop of beans for some fat

I was a little hungry when I got home so had a hard boiled egg & water and then, it was time to call it a night.

And that was the end of my 48 hours of balance. I picked things back up and punched unhealthiness in the gut. I laughed in the face of frustration and let me being healthy win. I made CHOICES, not restrictions. I went to bed Thursday evening feeling happy about being balanced and proud that I have maintained my weight loss for over two years because the truth is, I’m balanced.

As often as I feel like I’m “losing control” or in a “downward spiral,” the reality is that in fact, I am balanced.

____________________

Don’t forget, today is the last day to sign up for the giveaway! Also, I hope you can make it out to hear me talk tomorrow at the Twin Cities in Motion Health & Wellness expo – I’m on at 2pm! And finally, if you want to track my 10 mile running progress on Sunday, Click HERE, Add your cell #, carrier and hit go Search “Emmert.”

Until next week, have a great weekend friends!a

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A Rude Awakening.

by Elle, another PriorFatGirl on September 30, 2011

I had something else in mind to write to you today, but it will have to wait.

You see, I started a post, but then a friend called. We talked for longer than I thought we would, and I was tired when we hung up, so I decided to take a little nap. As with most naps, this one turned into full on slumber. I groggily woke up around 10 p.m., realized I was done for, and without bothering to turn off my bedside lamp (which is unusual, as I like it to be pitch black when I sleep), I dropped my head back to the pillow and went back to sleepydreamyland.

I’m a heavy sleeper, so it’s actually pretty incredible that I was able to feel something tickling the back of my knee. I was only vaguely aware of it, but I kicked my leg a little and shifted in my sleep. A few seconds later, I was pretty sure I heard something… it sounded like a fluttering of some kind. I groaned a little. I was sleeping on my stomach with my mouth open because I’ve been a little sick the last couple of days and I haven’t been able to breathe through my nose very well.

When I felt something against my rib cage, my instincts kicked in. I had to blink a few times before my vision started to clear up, but then I saw it… a giant black oval crawling up my arm towards my face.

Adrenaline.

In less than a second I had sprung from the bed, screamed an unceasing string of curse words, and found a shoe with which to avenge myself. By now, the cockroach had made it’s way to my headboard and was trying to climb to higher ground. I sobbed, tortured by the unenviable predicament I found myself in — I had to kill it, I knew I did. But it was huge, and its guts were going to explode everywhere when I did. As it positioned itself at the top of the headboard, I smacked my shoe down on it with all the force I could muster. I cried cried cried cried.

White guts sprayed out onto the wall and headboard. The cockroach crumpled, but the little devil kept squirming. It fell to the floor behind my bed, so I hopped down and ran to the closet to get my vacuum. There was no way I could wedge the vacuum under my bed without moving the bedside table, so I bent down and heaved it off to one side.

Only to discover a giant black beetle. Like a dung beetle. With pinchers on it’s head.

I did two things: 1) I cried some more 2) I clicked on the vacuum and shoved it toward the beetle.

The beetle scurried under the bed before I could get it. I sucked up the cockroach. At least that was one problem dealt with, but there was no way I could go to sleep knowing a monster with pinchers on it’s face was hiding under my bed somewhere. I went to the living room and got a golf club. Then, I laid on my stomach across the bed and poked around underneath it with the golf club, but that stupid thing was nowhere. For the next hour, I sat on my bed not knowing what to do. Leave? Call my parents? (Daddy, all the bugs are trying to kill me. Can I come sleep at your house?) Call my friend Hannah and beg her to let me sleep on her couch? But that still leaves me the problem of needing to come back here and shower and pack before I go to work and leave town for the weekend.

For the next hour, I sat on my bed clinging to the golf club and monitoring the perimeter of my bed. Finally, at some point between 1 and 2 a.m., the creature emerged. I hammered it with the golf club until it split into two pieces. I vacuumed that up too, and then, angry as hell, I came in here to my living room and started typing.

I’m still fuming. The only living being I want to wake up next to EVER again is a husband. And I don’t have one of those yet, so I sure as bloody blazes better be the only occupant under my covers. Gah… it’s like I can still feel it crawling on me right now.

Tomorrow morning, my apartment manager is really going to hate his job.

You can follow me on Twitter @LDunkster

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The results of our fast paced culture.

by Jen, a priorfatgirl on September 29, 2011

We hustle & bustle.

We skip from one to-do to the next.

We rush through conversations.

We speed past each other.

I find myself asking at what point will I stop? What would it take for me to slow down? My mom DIED because someone was going to fast. There hasn’t been a week that goes by in the past two years where I’ve caught myself moving faster than I should, putting those around me at risk. Scrambling to find a number in my contacts while driving. Rolling through a stop sign because God forbid if I make a full 3 second stop. Throwing my own car in reverse and backing up because I don’t remember seeing anyone behind me instead of taking an extra second to make sure. My mom DIED because someone was going to fast. Yet what lesson did I learn?

Our culture has become so fast paced, we are running people over. Literally. If sharing this video saves even just one life, then maybe my mom’s death wasn’t a “waste” but instead, purposeful.

This is me, Jennifer. From my heart, please share this video with your friends. You don’t have to link back here to the blog, that isn’t the point. The point is that maybe, by us sharing this, we can prevent someone else from being backed over by a car.

Investigators: Backing Up Blind:
MyFoxTWINCITIES.com

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