Unfill

I decided yesterday to see how lunch went before I made any unfill decisions. So when I couldn't get down more than four bites of some chili, my decision was pretty much made for me. 

Luckily, someone had cancelled their 3 pm appointment, so I was able to get it. I noticed as I left work and was driving there that I was starting to feel some uncomfortable tightness in my chest. Not quite the same feeling as being stuck - I'm guessing what I was feeling was my esophagus/stomach feeling swollen and inflamed from everything that has been going on. Yet another sign that an unfill was necessary. 

I ended up seeing Kim yesterday. She's the nurse I originally liked going to, but not the nurse who did my fill on Saturday. We discussed what was going on and she mentioned that she would probably take 0.5cc out. I said that I was thinking more along the lines of 0.3cc because I didn't want to just end up paying for more in a couple weeks, but I also conceded that I've never been in this position before so I don't know what kind of relief I would get for 0.3cc vs 0.5cc. 

Kim said that we would see "what her syringe told her" and make a decision as to how much to take from there. I gave her a really puzzled look and she explained that if you're really irritated, as soon as she gets the syringe in the port, the saline will start coming out on its own because of the pressure from the swelling and irritation. So she said that she could gauge how irritated I was by how much and how fast saline pushes up into the syringe. 

Huh. Who knew?

If you'll remember, last time Kim did my fill, she ended up sticking me three times and jabbing at the side of my port a lot. It was not the most comfortable fill experience. On Saturday, Kristina got my port in one single, quick stick, which was wonderful. Well, I don't know what's up with Kim, but she ended up doing the same thing this time! It is so painful! She does the initial stick, and then a zillion tiny sticks while she's in there, hitting the side of my port and trying to get in the right spot. I'm not sure if I want to keep going through that with her, even though our personalities mesh. 

Once she actually got the needle in the right spot, she said, "Yeah, you're really irritated in there. It's coming right out." I had over 1.5cc push its way out into the syringe on its own, which I guess is a bad sign. Kim struggled for a bit, trying to figure out how much to take out - she even said at one point that she wanted to take the whole 1.0cc out, which I had to practically beg her not to do. 

In the end, she took out 0.5cc and I'm on liquids/soft & mushies through today, plus an ibuprofen regimen to reduce the swelling. 

I think it's going to be a few days before I'm going to be able to get a true read on where I'm at because of all the swelling and irritation. Right now, I feel much better because the general tightness in my chest is gone, and I'm doing fine with liquids - they're going through like nothing. I'm just going to baby things for a few days and then start paying really close attention. 

I'm glad I got the unfill, but I'm sad to think about how the weight loss isn't going to be so stellar. But in the end, it's more important to keep the band & my body healthy than it is to have quick, awesome weight loss, so I feel like I did the right thing. 

Wednesday Weigh-In

Last Week: 247.8
This Week: 247.8
No change

And I'm all, "eh, whatever" about that right now. It's not a gain, and it would have been nice to see the numbers I was seeing on Monday after a weekend of being so sick that I didn't eat anything for almost 48 hours. But that is the chance you take with being a daily weigher, and I also knew that once I was feeling better and started eating again, some of that weight would come back. It is what it is - I have too many other things on my mind right now to be disappointed in a wash week.

Would you like to step inside my head? Draz did something similar recently, and I found it fascinating. But really, I just have way too much crap going on and can't focus on any one thing, so I'm gonna write them all down to try to make sense of them. Here's the shit storm that is my mind, in no particular order:

1. Work. I'm not particularly happy in my job and I also don't work as hard as I could. Guilt plus general apathy does not equal the most productive Anna, which creates more guilt. Also, February has been and will continue to be a whirlwind of training events that I just don't have the energy to organize and host. 
2. School. I have seriously hit zero hour with school. My term ends on March 31st, but I have to have all of my "tasks" (19 - yes, you read that right, 19 - papers and one science experiment) finished about a week before that to give them time to get graded. How many of my 19 papers and one science experiment do I have finished? Zero. Zip. Zilch. Nada. None. And it's all my fault. 
3. Moving. I haven't really talked about this at all because I have a really hard time forming words around it. After MANY protests and tears, I have finally agreed for our family to move in with my husband's parents. For an unspecified amount of time, but probably at least a year. There is so much emotion surrounding this for me that I could probably write a year's worth of blog posts about it. I'm grateful that they're willing to take us in, but apprehensive and anxious about the change. Suffice it to say, I just don't want to do it.
4. Moving Logistics. In addition to the fact that moving in with my in-laws is not high up on my bucket list, there is A LOT  of work that has to be done in order for it to be possible. All by April 30th. The in-laws and The Hubs have to strip out a storage area down to the bare insulation and completely renovate the room. They have to add heat to one side of the house. They have to run wiring for internet. They have to go through three large rooms of accumulated gark and sort/store it all. Then we have to pack up our entire apartment and either move it to what storage area they have left or to a storage unit. I am paralyzed by the weight of it all and can't really see how it is all going to work out right now. 
5. Valentine's Day. Probably the least of my worries right now, but something that keeps nagging my brain like a gnat on speed. I completely forgot about the holiday until I started hearing all the commercials on the radio. And now it's the day before and I will have to brave the Hallmark store with all the last-minute husbands. 
6. Over-Estimating Time Constraints. Again. Sometime in January, I decided to make a gift for a person who may or may not currently be reading this blog. The time to deliver the gift is rapidly approaching and said gift is nowhere near complete. I had time, then I still had time, and now I have no time. I have been stressed out about it and working on it like a mad woman every day at lunch and after work. Mom guilt is killing me right now because my eyes are plastered on this project all night instead of on my kid. The Hubs has been super helpful, though, with trying to keep Logan Man occupied so I can make some progress. As of right now, I believe I will be able to finish it in time, but it is going to be very close. Probably something like crocheting the last of the Christmas dish cloths at 3 am Christmas morning. Something like that. 
7. A Rapidly Approaching 5k. It's coming and I'm not ready for it. I have been so lazy/preoccupied with other things that I haven't given much time or thought to training. I am sad to say that I haven't been back to the fitness center since those two days in a row sometime back in January. I need to suck it up and take five minutes at night to put my lunch and workout clothes together so that I can get some training done. However, if I train during lunch, I can't work on my gift project during lunch. So right now, because the gift deadline is much closer than the 5k deadline, gift is winning. 
8. Crappy Sleep and Vivid Dreams. I haven't been sleeping well lately, and it seems like when I finally get to sleep, all I'm doing is having very vivid dreams about things that I don't want to think about. So even when I'm sleeping, I'm stressed out. I am exhausted and feel like I just can't win. 

I can't think of anything else right now, but this almost qualified for a Ten Things Thursday...maybe I should have saved it for tomorrow. Oh well. It's here now, so it stays. 

This is just one of those oh so joyous times in life where it just seems like everything is being piled on top of me so fast that I can't dig out and can't breathe. I know that it will all work out, and I keep trying to remind myself that once the gift is finished, I can work on the school and the 5k. And once The Hubs' parents get rooms cleared out, I can start packing and moving our crap ton of stuff. And once May 1st comes around, everything on that list except for work and my crazy dreams will have come and gone. Nothing is permanent. These things are temporary. 

It's all temporary. Right?

Wednesday Weigh-In

Last Week: 256.6 lb
This Week: 255.0 lb
Total Loss: 1.6 lb

Now that's more like it!

You should have seen the comedy in my bathroom this morning as I was weighing, though. Normally, I'm a "one and done" weigher. Whatever I see on the scale the first time is what I take. But this morning, when I stepped up, the first reading was 253.8. Now, while that's a totally awesome number and I would TOTALLY take it, I just had a feeling that it wasn't right, so I hopped back on. This is how that process went:

Step on. 255.0. Hmmm, I think I preferred the first one. Step off. Step on. 255.0, Okay, at least we got a double confirmation, guess we'll go with that. Let's brush our teeth and get on with the day. Step off. Teeth and hair brushed, and the scale is RIGHT THERE. Let's just check one more time. Step on. 253.0. WHAT THE CRAP?! Step off. Ok, last time, and then we're hopping off this crazy roller coaster, dude. Step on. 253.0. *facepalm*

Since I know that I didn't do two pounds worth of teeth and hair brushing exercise, I decided just to go with the 255. And this morning when I got to work, I hopped on the doctor scale in our fitness center and weighed 256 with light clothes on, so I'm thinking the 255 was the closest. Whatevs, a loss is a loss is a loss, and I'll so take it. I am accutely aware of my desperate need for a fill, and that is scheduled for bright and early Saturday morning. Hopefully we'll really start seeing those numbers move after that.

In other news:

We finally received our Thomas Kinkade last night. To refresh your memory, we bought it along with another painting back during our anniversary trip to Gatlinburg in October, but it stayed in Tennessee so that we could have it professionally highlighted at the gallery. Our gallery rep sent us pictures of our painting getting highlighted at the event, which I think is really kind of cool to have photo proof and to see it happening.

She did a great job with the highlighting, and it was fun for The Hubs and I to look over the painting last night and try to spot all the areas she did. It really adds some dimension to the canvas, not to mention value, too.

The only bummer is that our frame has 3 pretty noticeable dings on the left side. I have to email our rep the pictures today and see what she says. It's a bummer to have your pretty (and expensive) painting finally home, but not be able to hang it and enjoy! Blargh.

Also in other news: I hate dish cloths with a passion. I have seven more to make, and no time to make them. I have resorted to eating lunch at my desk and then using my full lunch hour to crochet like a madwoman in the break area. Which happens to be directly across from the glass doors to our fitness center, so I'm pretty sure people think I'm some crazy crocheting stalker lady with a fitness fetish. Fun times.

In true Grinchy spirit, I abandoned ship on Christmas cards this year, too. I just had to give SOMETHING up, and cards got the ax. I haven't wrapped a single thing. The Hubs hasn't shopped for me, and can't until we get paid on Friday. Nothing like waiting until the last minute. I have to make birthday cupcakes for Sunday (Logan turns the big TWO!), and a pumpkin pie with whipped cream for Tuesday. I have to pack and ship Grandparents gifts, like, yesterday. And we haven't even started the thirty-something ornaments that we're making as part of our gifts this year. Oh, and did I mention that Bubbers got the flu last week and has been miserably and pitifully sick since Thursday? And my MIL, who is our daycare provider, got the flu too, and has not been able to watch the kiddo, so The Hubs has had to take two days off work without pay this week?

I don't know why people keep complaining that the holidays are so stressful.  Pffft.

But we will survive. We will put on happy faces. We will be those parents who are up until 4 am on Christmas Eve putting together the comically large train table for the kiddo. And we will enjoy every. single. minute. of it. Because I have the luxury and gift of being able to watch my child wake up on Christmas morning. And that is a gift that I am so much more aware of and thankful for this year.

In Sickness and In Health

The Saturday before last, I was out with The Hubs and Bubbers and noticed my back was starting to get finicky. I have two herniated disks (disks or discs? Bueller?) that have a history of flaring up whenever they feel like they aren't getting enough attention, and this was the start of another episode. Freaking attention whores!

Anyway, they flared up, which means constant and severe pain in my lower back, down my hips, and down the back and sides of my thighs.  During these times, I can't stand up straight, can't walk straight, and the muscles in my abs, upper arms, and legs all start hurting from the compensating I'm doing to keep my balance. It's super fun!

And do you know what the "cure" for herniated disk pain is? Weight loss. That's all. So even though I'm scared of the band surgery and still ever-so-slightly wishy washy about it, one week of this, and I'm reminded even more of why I need to go through with it.

Oh, and then there's also:

• Acid Reflux (caused by hiatal hernia)
• Type 2 Diabetes
• Knee problems
• Gastrointestinal issues (caused by Gallbladder removal and Diabetes medications)
• Fatigue
• Occasional Migraines

And to counteract all that crap, there's:

• Metformin (Diabetes)
• Amaryl (Diabetes)
• Bydureon Injection (Diabetes)
• Rx Zantac (Hiatal Hernia related acid reflux)
• Percocet (Only during back flare-ups)
• Flexeril (Only during back flare-ups)
• 800 mg Ibuprofen (Only during back flare-ups/migraines)
• 1000 mg Tums (at least 4x day for acid reflux)

And a partridge in a pear tree. 

Seriously, that's ridiculous. You know, they asked me at my consult why I wanted to have the surgery. And there are SO many reasons. But, really, what it boils down to for me is not a number on a scale, or a size in a store. I just want to be able to fully live my life. Without worrying about my knees or back. Without sticking a needle in my belly every week. Without paying out a ridiculous portion of my hard-earned money to drug manufacturers and insurance companies. 

While it will be awesome to see the numbers on the scale and the sizes in the store go down, the thing I'm most looking forward to is seeing these two lists disappear. Forever. 

Not as bad as it looks...

Fair warning: (1) I'm under the influence of Percoset, so this might not make sense, and (2) this is a boring post about my wisdom teeth removal. If you don't care, feel free to bypass this lovely post. But come back later, I might have something more interesting to talk about!

So, this was me after 2 hours at the doctor's office. It looks bad, but this whole wisdom teeth thing has been NOTHING near as bad as I thought it was going to be.

The Hubs and I got to the office about 10 minutes before my appointment time. It was nice that we didn't have to fill out any paperwork today since I had filled everything out on the day of my consultation. So we just waited. And the more I waited, the more nervous I got. Luckily, I only had to wait about 10 minutes before they called me back.

Let me say this: the people in that office were the NICEST people I have ever delt with at a doctor's office. And not just pretending to be nice or humoring the patient. They were genuinely kind and nice and it made my whole experience that much better.

Anyway, they took me back into one of the rooms (which were very colorful, btw, one wall was green, another light blue, etc. It was very calming for some reason) and the ladies wasted absolutely no time hooking me up to stuff. Blood pressure cuff, heart monitors on 3 spots, IV, and pulse ox monitor on my finger.

And then I waited.

The ladies made a big effort to talk to me and keep me occupied while the doctor was finishing up with his other patient (apparently a 7 year old little boy who was a trooper), and we talked about Nancy Grace (ugh), the fact that it was supposed to snow that night (ugh), and those little seed pod things that fall from the trees here in early summer. I don't know what the technical name is, but we call them helicopters. (editors note: The Hubs says they're maple seeds, so thereyougo.) Strange topics of conversation, but it kept me from thinking about the fact that I was making several things beep and I had an IV in my arm, and that they were about to put me to sleep and tear up my mouth.

I had finally had enough of the chit chat and was starting to get a little stir crazy when the doc showed up. I couldn't help myself and said "finally!" when he walked through the door and everyone laughed. He came over and started chatting with me about how I was feeling, all the while, covertly pushing lovely little meds into my IV. The last thing I remember, one of the nurses put the little piggy-snout oxygen thing over my nose, and I remember briefly thinking that the seal wasn't very good on the bottom part of my nose, so what if I wasn't getting the right amount of oxygen. And then I was out.

The next thing I remember, I was in the post-op room with a couple other people. I asked the post-op nurse how I got in that room, and she laughed and told me I rode in a wheelchair, which I have absolutely no recollection of. I remember laying in that chair and continuing to look at the clock, thinking, I can't believe it's already 10 am...I've been here for a long time! (It was really only about an hour since the surgery had started, but it felt WAY longer than that). They put me in a wheelchair and wheeled me out to the car, where The Hubs was waiting to drive me home.

Since I've been home, the teeth (or lack thereof, I guess, lol) have been WAY less painful than I expected it to be. I think the "head bra", as my doctor called it, holding ice against my jaws has really helped with the pain and swelling. And Percosets certainly don't hurt, either. My left side, with the two partially impacted/partially broken through teeth barely hurts at all right now, but the right side, with only the one wisdom tooth that was completely impacted in my lower jaw is pretty sore. Sore, but not unbearable. I keep the "head bra" on as much as I can, and I take the meds as I'm supposed to, and I'm doing just fine.

All in all, this experience has been as great as a surgery could be. The doctors and nurses were beyond awesome, the pain has been very bearable, and The Hubs has been an awesome caretaker (as always). If you've been needing to have it done and haven't (Kate and Sarah, lol) find a good doctor, or come to Cincinnati and use mine, and you'll be fine!

Thanks again to everyone for the well wishes and the pity party! I appreciate it! And I'm glad to say I'm doing really well after something I thought was going to be miserable.

I'm sure the pity party helped. :-)

Reflection

I weighed in at 246.6 this morning, which means that I have lost 14.0 pounds since this journey began in January. 14 pounds in 8 months.

Even though it coulda, woulda, shoulda been more, I'm very content with it. Do you know why? Because those 14 pounds, however slow they may have come off, however many times I gained and lost, those 14 pounds mean that at some point in my life, I changed what I was doing. I may have fallen back into old habits, gained some, and lost some again, but I changed.

I am capable of change.

I am capable.

Right now, I have several things working to my advantage in that department. One, I'm taking my Metformin as I should, which, aside from keeping my blood sugars in check, also has the pleasant side effect of curbing appetite. As long as I keep taking it, I notice that I am full faster and get that uncomfortable feeling where you just. can't. shove. any. more. food. in. a lot sooner. The medicine has also helped me notice and acknowledge that feeling of being full.

I have also had a stomach virus-y thing for about a week, so without sharing the gory details, lets just suffice it to say that food isn't hanging around for very long in my system. I'm sure this has helped my weight loss along just a little bit this past week.

I am in one of those 'take it as it comes' moods with life currently. I'm trying not to let my OCD tendencies take over. I'm trying not to obsess about dieting, my weight, what should have been and the monumental task of what needs to be. I'm pretty sure my crazy anniversary challenge was doomed to failure before it even began. It's not where I am or want to be with my weight-loss journey right now. Right now, I want to take it slow.

I felt/feel overwhelmed with big challenges. It's too much pressure. It's too much stress. Pressure and stress lead to "fuck it". At least with me. You may be one of those people who thrive under unattainable deadlines and lofty goals. More power to you, my friend. More power to you.

Right now, I'm throwing myself into the "Any Progress is Good Progress" category. I'm making an effort to watch my portions, with the help of Mr. Metformin. I'm going to start making an effort to hop on the treadmill for half an hour at least 4x a week. Just 1/2 an hour, at at least 3.1 mph. Any progress is good progress, and any movement is good movement. I don't have to kill myself. I don't have to wish I could die just so it would mean I could get off the treadmill.

The math works. Eat less calories, burn more calories, weight comes off. It's magic! (Okay, well it's not magic, and it's a really, really sloooooooooooooooow process, but I have faith in the result).

I may not have reached "gung-ho", but as long as I'm putting forth some effort, I'll get there eventually.

Oh, and 5k number 4 was this past Sunday. There aren't enough colorful phrases in the English language for me to express to you the suckiness that was the Cheetah Run. Hills. Steep hills. Repeatedly. And a stomach virus to boot.

I went. I did. That's good enough for me.

"Life has a funny way of sneaking up on you..."

a.k.a. "The World's Longest Post". If you manage to make it all the way to the end of this crazy train I call a blog post, more power, kudos, my sincerest thanks and deepest appologies to you.

("Ironic" by Alanis Morissette).

So I started this blog all gung-ho, lost 12 pounds, and fizzled. I started again, and fizzled before even getting off the ground. Rinse and repeat. Rinse. and. repeat. And then I started my crazy 30 pounds in 11 weeks challenge, lasted not even two weeks, and what do you know? Fizzle fizzle bo bizzle. (I'm in a unique mood today, can you tell?)

Last week, I was just about to write a post about how I'm guessing I'm just not ready to really get into it. How I don't really have the motivation or drive. How I'm just not really caring right now, because, unfortunately, all of those things were (and pretty much are) 100% true.

Prep for whining here... I'm tired of it. I'm tired of attempting when I'm not really whole-heartedly in it, and then failing miserably. I'm annoyed and just generally over it. And with an attitude like that, I'm pretty sure failure is eminent. Resistance is futile. Danger, Will Robinson. Which ever entertainment quote you want to put there, it pretty much means I ain't losin' no weight. I ain't getting any healthier. I don't know nuthin' 'bout birthin' no babies.

Which is quite the delightful segue into why I'm writing this post now, instead of last week. Prep for what might possibly be TMI. I was due for my yearly with my ob/gyn, and since The Hubs and I are getting up there in age (ah, 27, I never would have guessed you'd make me feel elderly, but alas) and need to start looking into family planning, I made an appointment for us to meet. I found a new doc closer to my job, and we met her on Wednesday.

Prep for shock. I have diabetes. (Okay, maybe if you've paid attention to my rambling at all over the past 8 months, that's not a shock). Diabetes makes me a high-risk pregnant woman if I were to conceive. Like, seriously, high-risk. Not "oh, well, we'll just keep an eye on it,". More like guaranteed bed rest for months, tons of testing and monitoring, possible insulin shots, blood sugar checks at least five times a day, doctor's visits at least three times a week toward the end of the pregnancy. That kind of high-risk. Now, doesn't that sound fun? Yeah, we thought so too.

But, sensing the panic mode that The Hubs and I had painted all over our faces, she throws in this little piece of optimism: if I can maintain my A1c at 5.5 for at least two months before we conceive, I'm no longer considered a high-risk pregnancy, and my pregnancy will be just like any other pregnancy except for the fact that I'm pretty much guaranteed gestational diabetes, which she believes can easily be controlled with oral medications.

Btw, for you non-diabetics, an A1c is a blood test that basically tells you what your average blood glucose levels have been over the past 3 months. Magically. Don't ask me how it does it, because my knowledge ends there. Someone without diabetes usually has an A1c at around 5%, and someone with diabetes that is out of control might be between 10 and 25%. From what I understand, if you're at 25%, you're pretty much dead.

So basically, she's telling me what my regular doctor has been telling me for a year. I need to reverse my diabetes. How do you reverse diabetes and lower your A1c? Oh, it's simple really. Diet and exercise. Lose weight. Or, re-visit and attempt to break (again. again. again. AGAIN.) that crazy cycle of "Gung-Ho, Fizzle Fizzle Bo Bizzle". Great! Fabulous! I'll get right on that. Ugh.

So we came home from that appointment and I basically laid down in bed and cried for an hour and a half. Cried and cried and cried. She had pretty much told me that all of the hopes and dreams of not only myself, but my husband, all rested on my (completely incapable) shoulders. I have to lose weight. I have to control my blood sugar. I have to do it. And if I don't? WE can't have kids. WE can't have kids because I'm fat and lazy. No pressure or anything. I'm already feeling incapable, unmotivated, ready to retreat into fatness for a little while longer, and then this happens.

(And, yes, technically, we could get pregnant. We could have kids, but the chances of them having birth defects practically quadruples, not to mention the danger to myself and the drama of being a high-risk pregnancy. I just don't think I could live with myself knowing that it was all my fat and lazy fault if our kid was messed up and my husband had to go through all that. So, no. We can't have kids unless I get my A1c down).

Weight loss: FAIL. Kids: FAIL. Good wife: FAIL. Man, I'm really sucking these days!

So where's the light at the end of the tunnel? Where's the silver lining? Where's the Eternal Optimist that you all know and love? She's here, muffled and squirming under about 50 pounds of extra weight, excited about the prospect of being pregnant and having a baby, but just a little too jaded to go straight into "Gung-ho" again. The task before me is monumentally more real and challenging knowing what is relying upon my success. I'm sure most of you are just dying to send me that comment that says "You can do it! You have a reason now! You have motivation!" and you might be right. Hopefully this is the catalyst for me finally doing the thing that I've never been able to do.

But past failures have planted that seed of doubt, and current moods are watering it daily. I wish I were able to just forget about that little, nagging voice saying "You have failed. You always fail. You will fail. Every single time before, look what you did! This is no different". But I can't. It's there, and I'm unconvinced at the moment that I can beat it down into submission. Even for a baby.

This is not to say that I'm not going to try. Hell yes, I'm going to try. I basically have 9 months before we would like to be trying for a baby, which means about 6 months to get my A1c to an acceptable level and maintain it long enough to eliminate the extra worries of the diabetic, high-risk pregnancy. My A1c in December of 2008 was 6.7. My A1c on Friday was 6.4. It is moving in the right direction, but there is still a long way to go.

It's a long, hard road out of diabetic hell, and I just have to figure out how to get my wheels turning.

"I ain't got much to lose, cuz I've seen better days..."

("I've Seen Better Days" by Sublime).

251.4

Down a measley 0.2 pounds, but a loss is a loss. Especially when I was expecting a gain.

This week, my food intake has been HORRIBLE. I went out for lunch every single day. I ate out for dinner twice. Yesterday, The Hubs surprised me by coming to work and taking me out to lunch. We had B-dubs (a weakness of mine) and I didn't even try to make good choices. And then I felt bad, because Thursdays are Last Chance days before my Friday 20/20 weigh-in, so I went home and had one piece of whole wheat bread with a little peanut butter for dinner.

I'm pretty sure that's not how this whole diet thing is supposed to go.

Last night was W3D2 for c25k. It's the very first time in this whole adventure that I've had to tweak the workout. I did the 1.5m run/walk, and then did the 3m run. After I completed it, both of my legs started cramping up from the knee to the ankle. Not just my calves, either. The whole damn leg - 360 degrees of burning pain. I had to stop half way through my 3m walk and sit down to wait for the cramping to stop. Once it did, I got back on, kept on schedule, finished the rest of my 3m walk and did the whole cycle over again. Once I made it to 25 minutes, you can bet I was off of that damn treadmill.

And then I felt bad. Crappy. Disappointed. Annoyed.

I promised myself that I would finish 5k every time I get on the treadmill, and at that point, I had barely gone over a mile. I had no choice but to get back on. I took it a little slower than I normally do, since my legs were still letting me know that they weren't at all happy, and would much rather be chilling on the comfy couch watching bad tv. I finished 5k in about 67 minutes. 10 minutes over my fastest 5k time, but I knew I had to go slower or I wouldn't finish at all. Once I completed the 5k, I hopped off, thinking I should now feel like I accomplished something.

But I didn't.

I still felt like I hadn't done anything. I stopped during my c25k, I stopped after my c25k, and it took me over an hour to finish 5k. I felt like a total failure, even though I logically know that an hour on the treadmill is good no matter what.

So I hopped back on the treadmill for the fourth time last night. Ugh. In the end, I ended up spending a cumulative two hours on the damn thing. (Partially to try to make myself feel accomplished, and partially to see what would happen when my treadmill timer hit 99:99). The counter says I burned off over 800 calories, and I went 5.6 miles, but I just can't shake the doom and gloom.

It's disheartening. To have 2 weeks of above average weight loss, and then to lose 0.2 pounds. And to know that you've got no one to blame but yourself. And to kick your own ass at cardio (I've done over 200 minutes of cardio so far this week) but for it to all be for nothing, since you put nothing but junk in your body all week. And to have something proven to you that you already knew was true, but just didn't want to accept: you can't half-ass this stuff.

I can't eat what ever I want, and then hope that killing myself on the treadmill will fix it. It's almost the same mentality as being Bulimic - to eat everything in sight, and then "fix" it by throwing up? I was doing the same thing this week. Of course, my "purge" was through the use of a treadmill, but I don't think it's any different. And that scares me a little.

I've got to realize and accept that there has to be a balance. I have to eat well and work out. I can't just do one or the other.

My goal for next week is to get to -10 pounds. I'm only 1.4 pounds away, and I'm making it a priority to do it the right way this time.

Have a great weekend and a Happy Easter, all.

I've got nothing...

I racked my brain and couldn't think of a song that went with this weeks theme of "oh, boy, was I sick, but I'm getting better..." If you can think of one, be my guest!

So that whole golf ball-sized tonsils, fever, achy, simultaneously running, yet completely congested nose, and headache that goes away only to come back 10 minutes after I've taken medicine for it? It was kinda worth it.

This week's weigh in: 251.4

That's 4.4 pounds gone from last week, and 8.6 down from 260 at the beginning of the month! I guess it helps that I couldn't even bear to think about eating anything all week! LOL. I did start eating more than a couple slices of toast by Friday, but I was still only eating about once a day all weekend. I just had no appetite. And I'm not really complaining.

So thanks to this little sickness, I'm now ahead of schedule for January. This doesn't mean I'm going to quit working...I'm back to trying to get some time on the treadmill this week. I don't think calorie counting will be an issue - I'm still having a hard time forcing food down. I'm just glad the pressure is off to hit 252 by 1/31.

Guess what else? I had my first diet victory last night! I fit into a pair of jeans that caused me a major melt-down a few months ago! These are the jeans that caused me to break out in tears because I couldn't even get the two sides to touch, let alone button or zip. I flipped out, and Jack and I went and bought the treadmill that day. Of course, the treadmill didn't help me until now, but better late than never, right? Last night, not only did the two sides touch, but they buttoned, and zipped all the way up, with little discomfort! They are still a wee bit snug, but I'm just super excited to be able to tell a difference with something! Woot! Small victories, people...

Guess that's it for now. Have a great week!

Uugh.

I'm sick. I feel like crap. I want to die.

(Yes, maybe I'm overly-dramatic, but you're stuck with me. )

:-(