Thursday, March 24, 2011

Tortured no more!

Today was my last "conditioning" appointment.  I have gone for a total of 8 times, working out for almost an hour each time.  Don't tell Mercedes but - I'm going to kind of miss those hours.

People always say how easy it is for celebrities and wealthy people to stay in shape, they have personal trainers, cooks, etc.  And now I am even more convinced that's true.  When my arms were shaking and so tired I could barely lift them to do 2 more reps - - - by myself?  I would have stopped without doing those 2.  A trainer pushes you to do what you think you can't.

And there's a hell of a lot I still can't do.

But going to these appointments have re-focused me in terms of exercise.  What I need to do, how I need to do it, how often, and how far I can push myself.  I NEED to continue this.  All by myself.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can ...

At my doctor's visit last week my blood pressure was a bit high, as well as at my pulmonologist's appointment.  Doc says we will keep an eye on it.  So while of course the whole point of all of this is to lose weight, to be thin, it is more to be healthy than to be cute.  I don't have that many years of "cute" left, but hopefully I will have several years of healthy life ahead if I am able to complete this journey.

But I want to make one thing clear.

Although Madonna and I are the same age - that --------------------------------->
is NOT my goal.

Ewww.

Friday, March 11, 2011

Little update ..

Had to go back for more torture today, I knew Scott would be the guy.  Before I went I was debating, hemming and hawing, just really didn't want to go.  I thought of several reasons to cancel but the real reason would have been that I did not want to spend another hour with Scott.

But I went.

And it was okay.  I didn't mention what happened yesterday, he didn't mention it, we talked while I walked on the treadmill and learned a little about each other.  He's not an awful person, but I said yesterday that I didn't think he was.  The boundaries have been set, I will respect the knowledge he has about fitness and getting the most out of my exercise, and he will respect my prickly crazy sensitivity.

Yup.  I feel a little stupid today.  I'm not saying my feelings yesterday were not valid, I'm just thinking I could have counted to 10 before I reacted.  That's all.

Now, after spending 2 days in a row with Scott, every muscle in my body hurts.  I am going to take some Ibuprofen, run a hot bath and soak.  Early to bed for me.  Guess that means he really knows his stuff, huh?  Ugh, it hurts to admit that.  Sigh-h-h ...

Thursday, March 10, 2011

The length of this post ...

.. is completely proportionate to how deeply I feel on this subject.

There are moments of clarity from my childhood, where I remember quite clearly making a realization of some sort.  There was one moment I want to talk about, and it took place sitting on my neighbors porch swing (yeah, I'm that old) when I was about 7 or 8 years old.  My neighbor, her name was Cindy, was the same age I was, as a matter of fact we shared the same birthday.  We were good friends from the time I moved in next door at 5, till junior high when she became way too cool for me.  But that's another story altogether.


The image that I can see in my mind's eye is of Cindy's bare feet.  She never had bare feet.  I was one of those kids who never had shoes on and my feet were brown and calloused and dirty all the time.  But  Cindy had flat feet and was never allowed outside without her shoes on.  Special shoes.  Those shoes never stopped her for a second, and she always had to wear them.

One day I went over to Cindy's house, she was just out of the bathtub and begged her mom to let her go outside without her shoes.  She promised she would only sit on the swing, she wouldn't walk anywhere except from the door to the swing and from the swing to the door. With promises in place, her mom let her come out and sit on the swing with me.

Cindy's feet were impossibly pink and pale and they looked so soft.  I was fascinated by them, they were so different from my own.  They were also long and narrow, total opposites of mine.  As I stared at Cindy's feet while I pushed the swing with mine, I realized it wasn't only her feet that were different.  You could see the long muscles in her legs.  She had long slender fingers and strong sinewy arms and when she stood you could see the definition of her muscles even more.

Remember, we were 7 or 8 years old.  Cindy didn't exercise, she played!  WE played.  We ran around and chased each other, we roller skated and sometimes pretended to be famous baseball players.  When Cindy could get her hands on her brother's skate board we would sail down the driveway on it.  We were active, outside all day long in the summer, we were the same that way.

But I was soft.

You wouldn't have been able to see the muscles or any definition in my legs or arms.  My feet were (still are) short and wide.  My hands were chubby and my face was full.  I wasn't chubby overall at the time.  But you could tell Cindy and I naturally had different body types.  She was better at anything athletic than I was.  She could do cartwheels way before I could, she could run faster and throw a ball like a boy.

I realized at that moment while looking at Cindy's feet, that people are different, fundamentally.

We are not all blessed with naturally athletic bodies.  We are not all given genes that predispose us to be thin or fast or smart or beautiful - or any of those things we value about physicality in this society.  So while I understand many people work very hard at achieving fitness, some people start out with a better hand naturally.

My office room mate at work is one of those naturally thin people.  She is 57 years old and maybe only 10 lbs heavier than she was in high school.  She eats all day long.  She does exercise but not consistently, definitely not all the time.  And if I ate the amount she does, or what she does, and exercised the amount she does, I would still not have her body.

I am different from her.

Today I was, believe it or not, kind of looking forward to my torture conditioning.  Matter of fact I was debating whether or not to tell that to Mercedes as I was driving to my appointment.  But when I got there, I had someone else.  A young guy named Scott.  I had not met him before.  I knew I was supposed to have tomorrow's appointment with him, but today I was scheduled with Mercedes.  Okay, that was fine.

In any situation that is new, my m.o. is to joke around, usually in a self deprecating way, to get a feel for the other person, to break the ice, etc.  Scott came in the room as I was getting off the treadmill, he had been upstairs finishing off with another client while I was getting started.  He asked me some questions, made a few funny remarks which is obviously his personality.  Great - I hate it when I have to deal with someone who won't crack a smile or laugh.  But when he asked what my aim was, why I was there, his response took me aback.

I said I was getting ready to do the lap band and he asked about when I was scheduled.  I told him I wouldn't be scheduled for another 5 months at least.  He said something to the effect of "why not spend the next 5 months doing this - and not have the surgery?"  He said it as an aside, a throw away line not actually meant to be discussed or answered.  He probably expected me to laugh but instead I said "you need another job."  I'm not sure if he even heard me.

Fat is one of the last allowable prejudices out there.  Well, that and being a Christian these days but that's for another day and another blog.  People who are fat are seen as lazy gluttons who lay around with a bucket of fried chicken, a pint of premium ice-cream and a big gulp beside them, watching TV and feeding their faces.

Anyone who has gotten to the point of considering weight loss surgery has felt the sting of people's perceptions of them over and over again.  If not in what they say then in how they look at them.  At how people smirk when they order food at a restaurant or watch what's on the belt in the check-out at the grocery store.  If you are fat in this society it's allowed to be looked down upon.  Because it's always your fault.

I did not feel like I should have to explain my weight to Scott.  I didn't feel like I should have to tell him how many times I have exercised and eaten right and lost weight.  And obviously gained it again.  Did he need to know that my initial weight gain was with my first pregnancy?  No, because he could just point to someone who has had several children and doesn't look like me.  Did I owe him an explanation about quitting smoking and taking meds that can cause weight gain, did I need to explain to him about how your body screams to be fat if you've ever been fat before?  So if you have been fat and lose weight, you will always struggle with it.  Did I have to explain that to him?  Maybe I needed to tell him about breaking my ankle in 3 places and the plate and pins I still carry from it?  Or what about caring for my mother for the last 6 months with a crazy schedule and taking care of her until she died with all the emotions that accompany that?  What about the huge amount of stress at work for the last year and half?  Did he deserve to hear about how I don't sleep well so am tired all. the. time??

No.  I didn't owe him any of those explanations.  Because the fact is - I am fat.  I got here.  I have tried and tried to change it.  Actively.  But I always end up here again.  And I simply can't do this anymore.  I am fifty-freaking-one years old.  I have developed diabetes and my toes burn all the time.  This is like a reset button for me.  A second chance.  And nobody, nobody has the right to be condescending to me about it.

Now I'm sure Scott would say that wasn't what he meant by it.  And I am absolutely sure he meant no harm, was not trying to be insulting or patronizing or anything of the sort when he suggested I might want to exercise for 5 months and skip the surgery.  And I am equally sure he's a good guy and not a jerk, but I couldn't let it slip.  I did not want an apology, I wanted him to understand why what he said was insulting and hurtful.

If a man is going to work in a rehab situation and it is going to include working with fat people who are headed for weight loss surgery, he needs to have a perspective change.  I don't need any implications that I haven't exercised or haven't tried to lose weight using hard work or that surgery is the easy way out.  I don't need to be coddled but I could use some encouragement when I am putting on sweats and working out harder than I have in years.  Treadmill I have done, but those lunges and squats - Oh. My. God.

But I digress.

I told Scott we needed to have a little talk about the remark he made.  And ... wait for it .. wait for it ... he didn't know which remark I was referring to!  GAH!

There was no way I could get my thoughts straight while doing lunges in order to tell him what he said and why it was bad.  I tried.  But it sounded whiny and stupid.  And I have no doubt when I left he said "what a freaking bitch!"  I suppose I wouldn't have blamed him either.

When I got in the car and started to drive home I was near tears.  I was remembering how my mom told me - after I had lost the weight from my first pregnancy - that when she saw me at 9 months - she just felt sick.  Yeah.  Good memory.  And I remembered my office room mate at work telling me that because I own a treadmill, I have no excuse!  Or how one of the guys at work looked at a picture of me from 5 years ago and said "wow BJ, you used to be hot!"  Yeah, good times.  And there will always be Ken Cooper who set the stage in 7th grade when he pointed to my butt and said "bigger than the whole state of Alaska!" gesturing with his arms to illustrate the gigantic size.

I did not experience much of the teasing or bullying some fat people have.  But it still hurts when someone is not sensitive at all to the fact that people who are fat - don't want to be fat.  At least for the most part.  People are different from the get-go and the path people travel is uniquely their own.  You cannot judge someone by their size.

You do not know how they got there.

And I bet you - Cindy has never been fat.

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

I'm tired.

So tired.  Every time I leave one of those conditioning torture sessions I feel good, glad I did it, happy I was moving and huffing and puffing.  But every day I come home from work the LAST thing I want to do is exercise.  I want so badly to get a really good night's sleep, I cannot tell you.  I used to be such a great sleeper it just really makes me sad to fail at it now.  And it makes me tired.

The sleep study showed mild apnea when in non-REM sleep, most apnea occurs when you are in REM sleep.  I didn't get any REM sleep that night.  Not incredibly surprising.  So a second sleep study is needed, this time with a sleep medicine to help me get to that deeper stage of sleep.

I don't care if I end up sleeping with one of those machines hooked up to my face, as long as I can sleep.  I crawl out of bed each morning, go feed the cats, take my meds, make a cup of tea, put my underwear and robe in the bathroom for after my shower and take my cup of tea into my bedroom and set it next to my makeup mirror.  Instead of turning right around and going to take my shower, I lay down again and close my eyes, luxuriating in the very idea of blissfully drifting off again.  If I didn't need my job so badly I would be late every. single. day.  Even after my shower I do not feel awake.

So if anything at all comes out of this weight loss surgery journey, I will be forever grateful if it is finding the key to getting a good night's rest again.

Friday, March 4, 2011

Sweating to the youngsters.

Today was my 3rd "conditioning" appointment.  First 2 times was with Mercedes.  Today it was Paul.  A guy.  I just love sweating in yoga pants and a tee shirt in front of a guy.  When I met him I told him I was old enough to be his mother so he needed to treat me the way he would treat his mother if he was making her exercise.  He looked so puzzled that for a minute I thought oh my God his mother is dead, or a witch, or belongs to a cult and he hasn't heard from her since he was 6 years old.  Gah!  No, apparently his mother is a skinny little thing who smokes like a fiend and would never listen to him so he can't imagine making her exercise.  Whew.  Dodged that embarrassing bullet.

I tend to talk a lot during all of these appointments.  I talked to Oscar the sleep study guy, emailed back and forth with Michelle the insurance gal, goofed with Mercedes and joked with Beth.  In my mind these people need to like me.  They are going to help me reach my goal and I know that in my job I will work harder and go out of my way for someone who is nice and makes me like them.  It's human nature.  So, I talk and I joke and I'm nice.  It's not like I'm acting or anything, but I need these people.

I guess you could say I'm charming them.  And really, these people deal with all kinds of people every day, as do I.  And I do appreciate the people who make an effort to be friendly or funny and goodness knows I appreciate - patient!

My dentist once told me I'm a good patient.  Hair stylists have told me the same thing.  I sit still and let them do their job.  I guess I am trying to be a good patient all across the board with this thing.  The journey of a NICE fat girl, to NICE thin girl.  Or maybe it would be more accurate - NICE HEALTHY girl.  That's the whole point.

Don't tell Paul but it actually kind of felt good to push myself today.  Sh-h-h .. I notoriously hate exercise, don't tell anyone I felt more like challenging myself.  Hate to ruin my rep.