on being new this year

Last year, around this time, was not an exciting time. It was not very hopeful. It was not very happy. I was very sad, and tired, and frustrated, and overwhelmed and also full of mourning.

Last year, in January, being nine months pregnant (really ten, but who's counting) and having a husband you would rather have in the hospital than out, and not knowing how much longer he's going to be around, and how much this is going to cost, and how are you going to parent one child, let alone two, especially by yourself, does not lend a good outlook on the rest of the year. The Hoosband was in the hospital initially until January 4th. That night and the following two days at home were terrifying--when something goes wrong in the hospital, people who take care of other people professionally are around. At home there is me. And my daughter. And my mom, who is a nurse as well, but without the aid of anything life-saving around her.

Would I wake up with my husband dead next to me? What does a stroke really look like? What does it look like when someone has blood clots in their heart? What if he dies in front of Birdy? These were my thoughts constantly while he was home. I never thought that he would get better.

Then I went to work on Sunday. Then I got a call from him, sounding terrified, because he couldn't feel his feet. Or most of his legs. Then I ran home (one of the benefits of working and living on a college campus mean you really can RUN home), and nearly lost it while we were getting his stuff together, which made him freak out a little, and he asked me to stop. Then I did. I did the full face-wipe and willed myself to stop crying. I pulled it together, and to this day I have no idea how I did that. My mom and I got him out of our apartment, down the 12 concrete steps, and into our car. And I drove him to the hospital.

Then he had two spinal surgeries in a week.

Then he didn't come home for over a month and half.

And he couldn't walk.

Also, they discovered he had cancer, but that was the least of our concerns. I don't think many people have that experience with cancer.

But the best part, the single best part of last year was when I had my son. My baby. I love him so, so, so much. It's so scary loving someone so much; having Birdy was terrifying like that too. And the Hoosband got to meet him, in his magic chair-transforming hospital bed, with all of us in our hospital gowns and blankets, in the L&D room. It was one of those "is this MY life?" moments.

When you are saying your marriage vows, when you are 21 and have led a comfortable life with parents who love each other, things like the "worse" part and the "sickness" part are very distant probably-not-going-to-happen-to-me things. But sometimes they do happen, and most of the time they happen hand in hand. And very, very, very infrequently they happen alongside the "better" things, and the "health" things, and that's when it get really strange and hard and confusing.

But we got through it. I got through it. And I wouldn't have done it as well if it weren't for our parents, and the incredible people in our lives.

Last year was a year of things happening to me and my family, some very serious things, and some things that were easier to just have happen than to do anything about.

But this year is different. There were a lot of struggles last year, but there were so, so, so many blessings. This year, this is the year of amazing things.

The first thing I did was get a hair cut on December 31st. I haven't done that since June of 2013. Yep. Moving on.

Then I bought some lipstick. Red lipstick. Well, a "lip crayon," really, which does sound more approachable than lipstick.

Then I signed up for a lecture at my local REI on walking the Camino de Santiago in Spain. It doesn't matter that I won't be going for years. I'm doing it anyway.

Then I joined Weight Watchers (again), but also added the meetings. I went to my first one today. I can't stop smiling about it, though I weighed in at 243 pounds (real talk), which is the heaviest I have ever been. But I don't care. My goal weight is 80 pounds from here, but I don't care. If I lose nothing at all, it doesn't really matter, since I'm me whatever I look like. I'm me. I'm me!

And I kind of like me, and I'm working to like me more every day.

Guys, I'm excited. I'm looking forward and not behind or at my feet, and I'm not afraid (maybe a little apprehensive, but not afraid) of the future.

sweat

I want to share something with you, friends.

My name is Heather, and I hated gym class.

The cool feeling of buying the uniform we wore for P.E. in seventh grade (I'm a teenager! I have braces! I could be in a John Hughes movie!) quickly wore off when I realized after the second class that we wore different clothes in P.E. because we would sweat. And when you are a teenager, you smell like puberty. And for the sake of the adults who have to be at school with you, they make you wear different clothes when you are not sweating. However, being a teenager, you are inherently smelly. Especially if you are a boy.

But anyway, I hate sweating. A lot. That is why I liked swimming, because you knew you were working hard, but you didn't feel yourself sweating. Because it's a gross feeling. Just...gross.

So here's the thing they really try to teach you in gym class: you feel like an idiot when you work out. But so do most people. Thus, get over it and work out because it's good for you and no one really cares that you look like an idiot on the treadmill or whatever because WE ALL LOOK LIKE IDIOTS RUNNING IN PLACE.

I'm on strike from running for a while, until I'm convinced I'm not going to just fall down when my ankle decides to sprain itself for the third time this year. THE THIRD TIME. Ugh.

So it's swimming for me, because if you can fall down while swimming then you must be given some sort of award, right? And swimming is good, but realizing how good it is is rather difficult when the pool is outside and it's 45 degrees and dark. And also 7am. The benefit is that I'm not terrible compared to other people, but I am terrible compared to how good I used to be. I think that is the hardest part: coming to terms to how different things are now. I have a benchmark (several, really) of how I used to be able to swim, and having concrete information to compare myself to now is kind of a bummer.

In conclusion, being fat is lame on a variety of levels. Everything is harder, and nothing is easier until you've done a lot of changing. And sweating. Ugh.

a bit of a loner

Continuing with the theme of adolescent-humor movie themes, we're moving on to The Hangover.

Let's be clear: I'm not really a fan. I've seen it twice, and both times it was a little (lot) bit much for me. And the end credits? With the photos? And the "eeuuwww"? You know? Yeah, you know. My favorite part is about the first 30 minutes. Specifically, the scenes with Zach Galifianakis. Like the wolfpack thing.

So.

I had checked out several books on running from the library two weeks ago. Because you might not know this internets, but I have reached the tipping point with running. I'm going to do it. For the last year, when I've pictured myself happy, satisfied, and excited about life, I've pictured myself running. I'm out on a run, wearing something cute (because when you are imagining things, you can wear what you want. Ask Anne Shirley.), and its awesome. Its amazing. And I decided its time for me to get out of my dreams and get into my car, if you get me.

So. I checked out these books, loaded my little mp3 player up with the Outlander audio tape (yes, I exercise to a book on tape. I have become the most boring person you know.), and planned to head out to the Y. I did some thinking and realized that in my imagination, I was running outside, not on a treadmill. So I decided to run outside, which is something I've only done once since high school gym class. I was going to be a lone wolf, running free at night wherever the paths on campus took me. But then I realize that I have seen way too many Law & Orders to run by myself at night, regardless of the location.

So then I asked my friend Nicole to come with on my first run last Tuesday. And then she said yes. And then I asked Laura, and she said yes, and then Laura asked Lesley. And now my lone wolf pack has become four.

Four!

We can run outside of campus at night! Like some sort of slightly to very overweight fitness gang! I'm in a gang! In California!

This kind of exciting life has always seemed to allude me. But not now. I'm in a gang. And we run. And then walk. BUT THEN WE RUN AGAIN. If you are thinking of messing with us, you better be able to run/walk better than us. And that is a debatable skill.

The goal of the running gang/wolfpack is to be in the San Jose Rock 'N Roll Half Marathon next year. Next year, you ask? Yes. Next year. Its not a secret that I'm chubby. I don't want to get hurt, and I do want to run. So I'm doing a 13 week training plan to do a 10k and then I'm moving on to a 26 week half-marathon training plan. And then, in October, I'm going to do a half marathon. Which seems so ludicrous. Thirteen miles? Me? Not in car? I know, right? But it's going to happen.

So, watch out for the roving gang of moderately paced women. One of us wears a weight vest, and she's not afraid to use it.

what is up with cake?

Seriously.

If there is one thing that I want more than anything else right now or 89.4% of any given day, it's cake. Cake with good frosting, like the kind you make. The stuff in the can is good for graham crackers, but not cake. Not delicious, crumby cakey cake. Oh cake. The cake need comes once or twice a month, and usually I make a cake or brownies or something, but you should be proud. I've only make a cake-like item (chess bars, which should have been better than they were, but were still cakey enough that I ate more than I should have) this month, and I think that is much to be proud of considering the last 5 months had a birthday, Thanksgiving or Christmas in it, which is a whole lot worse than cake just once, you know? It's like I'm in the negative for cake eating. If I think about it long enough, I'll find some way to figure out that all the past pieces of cake are cancelled out because of this recent stand against cake making.

Writing about how much I like cake is surprisingly not helping the cake craving that I'm trying to ignore.

I begin to see a root of the continual chubbyness.

However, it should be noted that I have worked out three times this week, and tomorrow will be number four. And I've lost a few pounds since starting.

I will say that the prospect of losing weight is a little scary for me. I almost have to not think about the healthier choices I'm making because it stresses me out as much as it does. The reason for the stress is stupid too--if I lose the weight I want to lose, then I have to keep it off. And that seems incredibly intimidating, since I never set out to gain the weight that I did, you know? So what if I become wildly successful on this journey into sweating for the fun of it and then I fail all over again?

Ma would tell me to stop borrowing trouble. Ma would be right, but Ma also ate salt pork every day and her family almost starved to death in the Long Winter, so I think Ma would say that I'm worrying about the wrong things.

Sheesh. What a convoluted post. I blame it on the cake.

stuff and junk

We've been out of the YMCA loop for a week, since Birdy got the sniffles and the runny noseles two Saturdays ago. Since then, I've worked out once. I felt that it made me sore enough for six workouts, so it all evens out in the end. :-)

But today, I am back in busniess.

I ran for five straight minutes. I feel pretty proud of myself, considering the last time I did that was about a year ago. What makes me laugh is how I kept myself motivated during the longest 5 minutes of 2010: "yes, this sucks, but isn't intense nausea even worse?"

If this is how I'm going to get through this whole business, I think "this is better than throwing up" is a good slogan.

Do you have a slogan for your weight loss?

jelly belly, the lamentable part deux

Today, I went to the YMCA.

At 6:30am.

And weighed myself. With the trainer.

And then did a body fat composition test. With the trainer.

And then kept my face carefully neutral when I saw my percentage. In front of my trainer.

Has anyone ever done that? The body fat thing? Because holy melty cheese nachos, Batman, it's intense. I have a system when it comes to numbers and my body. When I weigh myself, I think of a number that is a few pounds heavier than I think I will be, kind of like a worst-case scenario situation. That way, when I do step on the scale, it's always with the attitude of "it could be worse." This makes me feel better about myself. It doesn't make me feel better about myself when the number is much, much, much higher than my mentally prepared already high number. And that is what the body fat composition test did for me. Yikes.

I mean, I know I'm overweight. I know that "medically" I'm "technically" "obese." But what do "doctors" know, really? Well. I guess more than me. Because the body fat test was a big wake up call for me. Peeps, I have some issues and I need to deal with them as soon as possible. I find the segment on the Biggest Loser where the doctor goes over their health risks and numbers related to their weight, and think to myself that I'm not that bad. I don't weigh 250 pounds, or 300, or 400, and I take comfort and feel smug with those thoughts. Even at my most fit, I was 150 pounds and not necessarily skinny. I don't have the build for that, I think. But today, I realized that I've been living in a fabricated dream world where I think I'm okay and that I don't really have a problem.

I have a problem.

Because many things haven't worked for me, I'm trying something new. Remember when I said this was a shame based Puritanical society I run at this here blog? I'm going to take advantage of that and start posting weekly updates on my progress. Or my backsliding. Or my stagnation. But the big thing is that I'm going to start being accountable for what I eat and how often I work out. But mostly, it’s about humiliation. I think that might be good for me. For more on another very funny guy who lost weight using humiliation and a whole lot of biking, check out Fat Cyclist, who isn't fat at all anymore.

So.

Without further ado, here we go (you can feel free to stop reading now, if you'd like):

Weight: 225
Body fat: 43.7% (Thank god I have big bones??)
Pants size: 20

Ugh. That was rough. But I feel better. I think.

Photo from Cathy Zielske

waiting for my family

Sometimes, when I fill out forms, I get to check the "professional/graduate degree box." That box isn’t offered on every form, but the times that it is, I get two feelings: smug and indifference. Like cjane says, people have different emotions they experience in regular seasons. I’m like Peter in Office Space; my emotions are indifference and depression. I can also be incredibly lazy, though that can be tied directly to the indifference. For the most part, I just don’t care.

There are many things I enjoyed about graduate school; my professors, my classmates, the classes that met at bars…the usual. I had a professor at RSU who was awe-some. Let’s call him Dr. Ed. Dr. Ed was my favorite professor for a variety of reasons, which even include the subjects he taught. More than the subjects, his stories and phrases stick with me more than what was taught (so I really got my money’s worth!).

One of the most memorable things he said was that he had “a limited amount of shits, and couldn't afford to just give them away anymore.”

This statement stuck with me, and continues to guide my life.

Why? Because I just don’t care. I don’t care about a lot of things, and I have to ration out the shits I do give out, because I don’t give a shit quite often nowadays. I have a lot of things I have to care about now (more so than at any time in my life), so I can’t really care about things that don’t matter. And I don’t care about some things that DO matter, which will surely come and get me in the end.

Exhibit A: Packing. I hate packing. I’ve been putting it out of my mind so I can live in a pack-free dream land. This is going to be great until we have 2 weeks left in our apartment and I realize I have to scrape together all the care (or “shits”) that I have left and actually get ready to move.

Exhibit B: Weight loss. I want to lose the baby weight and post-wedding weight. I really do. I just don’t have enough effort to care about focusing on it. This will work until I either get disgusted with myself or get diabetes. I’m beginning to feel more of the former, which will hopefully get me to care and avoid the latter.

Exhibit C: Basic household chores. I’m talking about you, mountain of laundry and pile of dishes. If I don’t think about you and stay in the living room, I don’t have to care. This works only until I have to eat or sleep. I’m working on ways to avoid both.

I care about people a whole lot more than I care about things.
The people that I really care about consistently are Birdy and Brandon, which is good, considering I’m partly responsible for keeping her alive. Birdy and Brandon get the best of me, which is how it should be, I think.
I’m off to go home. The laundry can wait. I have a baby to snuggle.

wiggle wiggle

Say you had a room like this in your house:

And, say you had the means to make that room better. A dumpster, some IKEA shelving, lots of caffeine, whatever. The bottom line is that you would have the resources to make that mess and clutter disappear. Would you do it? Or, would you leave it as it was?

That is how I feel about how I look. I have the ability and resources to clean myself up and remove my clutter, but I don't do it. Why? I don't know why. If someone would like to arm-chair psychologize that one and figure it out, please let me know.

breakthrough

The purpose of this post is twofold.

One: I almost won a $100 gift certificate to Amazon at The Pioneer Woman's homeschool quiz. Boo to me.

Two: I have a new diet plan. I'm calling it "Lazy Anorexic." It came to me in the wee hours of the morning when I had to get up to work out. I sat in my friend's car wondering out loud why it's so much easier to be fat than skinny. I then wondered if there was a way to loose weight that didn't involve me getting up in the wee hours to work out.

AND THEN IT HIT ME.

I realized that if I slept all the time and didn't eat, I would totally lose weight. The idea of sleeping all the time greatly outweighs (HA) any discomfort that hunger will cause, I'm sure. I'm looking into writing a book and coming out with some pre-packaged diet aids (water and sleep medication) to help counteract the fact that I'll have to quit my job to focus on sleeping. Anyone else interested?

heather the bunny

For those who don't know, I used to have ideals, moral convictions, and a strong sense of right and wrong. This meant I was a staunch party line Democrat.

I was also a teenager, and such things go along with common teen-age angst.

Part of the angst I worked so hard to cultivate included being a vegetarian. A lacto-ovo vegetarian, to be specific. If you've read The Jungle, I think you understand. I maintained my vegetarian status until my the end of my first semester of college, where I ate salads twice a day and proceeded to weigh 148 (!!) pounds at Christmas break. That was when I became sick of aforementioned salads, and renounced my angst-ridden veggie-loving ways.

But I've been thinking. And I'm thinking I might try to be a vegetarian again. It's healthier, I'll be forced to eat my veggies, and I will need to be more intentional about what I'm eating.

We'll see what happens.

touchdown

Our little neice was born yesterday! Her name is Brenna, and she weighs 10 pounds and is 21.5 inches long. The really impressive thing was that her mom, Brittany, pushed her out in 30 MINUTES. What a champ. She's a little cutie pie, and she looks like Eva and her cousin Hannah. We're getting pictures of the three girls and their moms when we go to visit Brandon's family next week. I'm looking forward to seeing tiny little babies!

I also just finished writing my last paper. I graduate with my master's degree this Saturday, and I'm so excited to be done with school for ever and ever amen. No more education, I say! At least for now, I suppose. I might have a lapse of sanity and go for a doctorate. I hope that someone pinches me before I commit and pay tuition.

Yesterday I started Weight Watchers in an attempt to loose the vestiges of Eva on my hips and butt. I hope things go well and I can fit into my clothes soon. I told myself that if I haven't made significant progress by Christmas, I'm getting rid of all the stuff I have that doesn't fit me. If you are a 12/14, you might want to get on the waiting list for some super swanky clothes.