Watch that watch

I’m a big fan of analog watches. These are those that are adorned with such human characteristics as to have faces and hands. At a glance, I can put time in perspective: how much time I have until the next task or how much time has passed. No need to calculate anything. It’s right there for me. I don a supercilious air when I meet someone who can’t read this kind of clock (or write in cursive).

So, why might I want a digital clock, and why do I have so many of them? It started with a timer. I needed a timer to remind me to wrap up for the day at work and I found the perfect one: a Casio with both an analog face and a timer. I’d still have one of these if I could get a wristband for it. My next one was a green Timex. This has come in handy when I needed to know how long a task took. For example, if I wanted to walk for 30 minutes, I could set the watch to count up and spend just the right amount of time on the task.

 As my fitness quest grew, so did my need for more digital technology. I needed a heart rate monitor. As I write this, I have two with a third on the way. I first got one with a chest strap that would give me a continuous heart rate reading and could interface with machines at the gym. The next one I won (it’s pink) and has timers. I really like it, but Patrick tells me that I need not only a continuous read and a chest-strap, but I need to monitor my calories burned. This one is on order.

When Jonathan started training for serious running, he got a watch that does laps, intervals, and a few more nifty things. Leona introduced me to a running program where one of those watches would come in handy. Also, when I looked into building up my swim endurance, I could see the benefit in knowing how long each lap lasts, so I got another watch. This one is waterproof.

As you might imagine, setting these contraptions is tricky. I’m not looking forward to when we “fall back.” A swift second hand, you glide easily past the arms that are so secure.

Random thoughts about the olympics

I am not an Olympian. I haven’t the drive, determination, or talent to do anything to the extreme that Olympians do. I strive for excellence as it is reflected in my connection with people and my work, but I have never immersed myself in one activity so fully that I could be considered an Olympian. I do, however, enjoy watching the Olympics. This year has been different, and it has nothing to do with my new sporty lifestyle.  I didn’t so much watch them, but I listened to those who have been watching the Olympics, and I have a few thoughts.

1.       Professional Athletes.

a.       I remember during the cold war when we Americans scorned the Communists for creating full-time training centers for their elite athletes. We were under the impression, perhaps unjustly so, that the governments of those eastern block countries housed, fed and educated those magnificent, and talented people and we considered them “Professional Athletes.” We held ourselves up to a higher standard -or so we thought- by limiting an athlete’s income to earned endorsements and danced our superiority salsa because we competed – and won- without “Professional Athletes.”  Why does the current medal count not surprise me?

2.       Doping

a.       Again, back in the cold war, we looked at East German women swimmers. It was hard to distinguish them from the men. We, of course, accused them of doping. A Chinese woman swimmer was making better scores than the men in the same event. Doping? Usain Bolt is the fastest man alive. Prior to the games, he felt ill. Doping? Michael Phelps told the media that he goofed off this year and barely trained. I hoped other swimmers might have a chance. He won race after race. Doping? The current athletes are bigger, stronger, and faster. Are they doing this without any chemical help?

3.       #2

a.       If an athlete comes home with a medal, any medal, in the OLYMPIC GAMES, why does the second place athlete act as if he or she has failed? #2 IN THE WORLD is no small feat! Of course I understand the desire for gold, but I’m also sure that #2 has come in #1 many times. Yes, people don’t remember #2, but #2 will never forget being an OLYMPIAN.

4.              Questions:

a.       Why do the medal winners bite their medals? Don’t they know there’s only $5.oo worth of metal in one?

b.      What do the squiggly shapes in the logo mean?

c.       Was there some explanation of the mascots and I missed them? Over the years they look less and less like mascots and more and more like under-animated blobs.

d.      Did anyone think USA would not medal in Basketball? Now –that would be an upset.

5.       Gymnastics

a.       It all just goes to show you that you’re only as good as your last performance.

6.      What I didn’t’ see  but wanted to

a.       Fencing, Archery, shooting, judo, diving, horsey stuff.

7.        What I did see, but didn’t want to

a.       Qualifying heats, swimmers’ butt cracks, beach volleyball,

Confessions of a Fat Lady

This post is for those of you who know what it’s like to carry a lot of extra weight and to those who have no clue.

What’s it like? When I shop for clothes, I kind of like that there might only be 6 racks in the store that have clothes that fit me. Seriously – I don’t know how “regular sized” women select from all their choices. I have to remember that it might look good on the hanger, but add a large belly and you look pregnant. I think my grey hair prevents that question from coming up anymore, but I really didn’t like being asked, “When are you due?” when I wasn’t pregnant. I also steer away from belts for fear of my body being mistaken for the equator.  Some things look fine on a plus-sized woman, others, no matter how you stretch it, do not. Leggings and swimsuits come to mind. As long as my butt is covered by a top, a skirt, or a dress, I don’t object too much to leggings, but they are not pants! As far as swimsuits are concerned, who are we kidding when we add a skirt? Maybe you have the body type with a large belly and skinny legs, but I don’t; I’ve always been hippy. Those skirts only flop foolishly around in the water and drip that much more when we come out.

What’s it like? When I enter a restaurant, the hostess asks if we’d like a booth or a table. Some of the booths are too tight for me to get in and out of comfortably, but I usually defer to my pride which has me respond, “It doesn’t matter.” When I sit around a table at a meeting, I usually try to pick the seat on an end where people don’t have to get around me. Many times they can’t. Some chairs just aren’t large enough: school desks come to mind. I’ve bruised my thighs getting into theater seats. There’s a local theater whose armrests rise like airplane seats. Some like this because they can snuggle with their sweetie during the movie. I like this because I can sit comfortably with my sweetie. The worst experience is airline seats. When I walk down the aisle, I imagine everyone wishing I’m not their seat mate. Once I get in the seat, I move the buckle of the seatbelt to the largest setting and hope I can get it around my girth. The arm rest bounces on my hip as it really doesn’t go all the way down, as does the tray table. I can mush my fat around it so that it cuts into me, but often, I just hold my drink in my hand. I like it best when there’s someone I know next to me, and then I don’t have to pretend I don’t exist. Last year I had a peculiar experience. I got settled into my seat by the window and realized that a huge man was going to be my seat mate. I was somehow comforted that he would, at least struggle with the same issues. He got settled, we nodded to each other, and we spent the rest of the trip touching, but not talking. I’m not a chatty person on a plane. I prefer to read and watch the miles go by, but this was weird.

What’s it like? I remember an episode of Oprah from the ‘80s when I watched the show. It was about being overweight and some woman made the comment that fat people are smelly and dirty because they can’t get in and out of the tub. Oprah responded by asking the woman if she had ever heard of a shower? A few years ago, some students in one of my classes were talking about an internet search where they found a product that was designed to clean fat rolls. You know how some wrinkly dogs need special treatment because they get gamey in those folds of skin? I guess there’s a product for we fat folks too. I just make sure I take care of that kind of thing in the shower. I use the handicapped stall in public restrooms for two reasons: there’s enough room for me to move around, and I the seat is up higher so that I don’t have to strain my knees getting up and down.

Those are my confessions: Do you have any?

Don't Judge a Personal Trainer by his Smile

What’s it like having a personal trainer? It’s not like having a housecleaner or getting my nails done. In those relationships, they provide a service, and they see or hear about the things I might hide to the rest of the world, but it’s different. I think, at first, I thought it would be like that. I thought he’d come, we’d work out, we’d dish a little, we’d set goals and move on. I knew from day one it would be different.

I have several levels of workouts. The first one is where I do nothing and think about doing something. This is the I Really Should Start Working Out workout. I did this one for years and shared this activity with many friends including Jonathan. My friend Julie calls this porching which is especially fun to do in the summer. I don’t need much equipment or a special wardrobe. Usually a sofa, a cool drink and a book are all I need to do this. I can even do it barefoot.

My next level of workout is the I Will Do Something Three Times a Week workout. This always starts with good intentions. The first thing I need to do is find the time. Unfortunately this often conflicts with porching, but it’s a sacrifice I can make. This one usually involves walking the dogs, or spending down time walking around the college where I work. It can also involve my getting on an elliptical machine. I need to plan for this and have appropriate shoes, comfortable clothes, and fit it in around a shower. It takes more planning, but it is one that I have done from time to time, but have never really committed to.

A level up from the last workout is the I Will Take a Cardio Class Two Times a Week workout. This is about where I was when I met Patrick. Of course, I need to be a member of some fitness center that has classes. What I need for this is shoes, appropriate clothing, and a very specific time commitment because I have to do this when the class is offered. This is how I stumbled upon kettlebell. I love those workouts, but if it conflicts with work, I can’t go. This also involves certain vulnerability. Because I’m obese, I can’t do all the moves that others in the class can do. I modify virtually everything. I don’t jump or run, I struggle with balance, and I am awkward at lots of things. For many, these reasons alone keep them out of the gym. I fully understand this, but here’s the thing, When you find teachers who know how to modify for your limitations and realize that everyone in that room has limitations of some kind, it’s not about what they think of me, but of what I think of me, and as long as I’m trying, I’m succeeding.  My oldest daughter, Leona, has shared with me that, when she works out and sees a large person doing her best, it’s an inspiration. Sometimes it drives her harder, sometimes, she feels less  (fill in the negative self-worth comment here). Either way, I have come to realize that those in that room all want to succeed at their own levels and I feel confident in saying that we’re all working out for ourselves and not the other people in the room.

The next level before I get to the personal training workout is an addition to the previous one. This is where I add two or more workouts so that I’m deliberately active 5-6 days a week. To me, this has always worked at getting my weight under control (along with deliberate, sensible eating), but I’ve been curious about what a personal trainer would be like. I thought it would be like the classes where I modify within my comfort zone and we customize to my specific needs. Well – it is and it isn’t.

One of the first things that Patrick asked me was how much I intended to work out? Since I was going to see him twice a week, I thought that one more serious cardio workout and two small workouts would be good. Well, no. He didn’t exactly laugh, but he said that he wanted me working out for an hour each day, 7 days a week. This was my first indication that this would be different than I expected. Then of course, he wanted to see what I ate. He’s a fan of The Biggest Looser. I think I’ve mentioned before that he follows Bob Harper’ advice given in his book, The Skinny Rules. This part wasn’t too hard for me as I’m already a convert to, what I call “clean eating.” This involves little to no preservatives, organic food when possible and cooking fresh. Well in addition to that, Patrick has some very firm ideas. Anything he doesn’t approve of is labeled, “The Devil.” Potatoes, pizza, and pancakes are “the devil,” and I am not supposed to eat carbs after lunch. I can pretty much do this, but I draw the line at eating a hamburger with a lettuce bun. I don’t care what you call it, a slice of lettuce is not a bun.

One thing I love and hate about working with Patrick is that he cuts me no slack. When I told him about my strategy for eating at a 4^th of July picnic and how it was a different way than I have done before (which involves no strategy – just a justification that it’s only one day) but this time, I would pace myself and take only one small portion of potato salad and only one turkey burger on a whole wheat bun, he did not praise my efforts. He preached about “devil food” and how I can’t be eating that right now. When I shared with him my success at holding a plank for a minute and that I tried to do a plank on my toes and was able to hold it for 40 seconds, his response was that I should aim for 3 minutes. Harsh – you say? Yes, I thought so too. I still do, but here’s the thing, he’s teaching me to offer no excuses and give no explanations. If I’m going to get the results I want, I have to expect him to push me towards them. While I might like a moment of praise for my efforts, I do like that he doesn’t let me stay there and explain away habits that need to change.

Another thing that Patrick is having me do is work harder than I do when left to my own devices. While I’m happy with walks, he wants me to run. I mean this both literally and metaphorically. I’m happy to use 5-pound weights –he has me on 12. I’m happy to work out 5X a week. He has me at 7. I’m happy to walk briskly, he has me jogging. I’m not happy being obese. I am happy watching the weight come off, feeling my clothing get too big, and having more energy to tackle other tasks.

If I want someone to whine at about sore muscles or brag to about my little victories, I have my porching buddies. Patrick is there to push me to where I never knew I could go.

Food is Love

Counselors and Psychiatrists agree that feelings need to be manifested. If you don’t express your feelings one way, they’ll come out in another way. Thus being said, I must explain that feelings are messy – or at least that is what I was raised to believe. I grew up in a fairly orderly household. My mother and father weren’t neat freaks, but they did like their spaces tidy and orderly. Feelings are neither tidy nor orderly – they are messy. They come at inconvenient times and make us who were raised in a feeling desert uncomfortable. I’m the one who laughs when someone falls, not because I find slapstick particularly funny, but because I don’t know what I should feel. When a friend is pouring her heart out to me and is sobbing, I often have a hard time understanding what she’s saying. This leaves me in a dilemma. Do I just say, “there there, it’s always darkest before the dawn,” or do I risk seeming unfeeling by asking her to repeat what she just said so that I fully comprehend her words? I often resort to jokes or humor to pull someone out of a funk. I think I do this so that the negative mood lifts and we can get on with our lives. It’s not that I can’t be serious; I just don’t know what to do with other’s emotions.

 A popular book series by Dr. Gary Chapman, describes 5 Love Languages. I’m not sure where food fits into the mix, but my mother expressed her love through food and I’ve followed in her footsteps. Mom was a great cook. We could go all year and not eat the same meal twice. I have an entire shelf of my cookbook shelves filled with her old cookbooks and that’s after paring them down. It was two years after she died before I could search for a recipe from those. The feelings were there – in her cookbooks – in her food. She made my favorite food on my birthday. As I’m not a big fan of cake, I’d ask for tapioca pudding. You might be thinking – what kind of treat is that slimy stuff? Have you ever had it with whipped cream (the real stuff) folded into it? No? I didn’t think so. Well when you do, and I strongly advise it, you’ll see what I mean. Mom and Dad traveled 500 miles to bring me some for my birthday when I lived in Kansas. When she made liver for dad, I got a steak. As a kid, I can remember shopping with her – she’d give me coupons and I felt like I was in a great treasure hunt to find the match and get it back to her quickly so that I could get the next treasure. There were brands she did not compromise on:  Peter Pan peanut butter, Nestle chocolate chips, Hellman’s mayonnaise, and I won’t get started on flour and sugar. Other items depended upon the coupon or the sale –even better when the coupon item was on sale. She was a pro. As she aged, I took her to the store. I was often frustrated at her fastidiousness, but looking back on these times; they’re precious hours where we related as women.  Like many 1960’s moms, she was a pro at jello. Like her tapioca pudding, jello was never the plain, jiggly mass of goo. Hers was full of fruit and other mysterious ingredients that made it seem like a ride on a roller coaster. Take a slice of jello, scoop it up with a fork – click, click, click, up to the top and….. whee!  It was a thrill to let the tastes mingle and sparkle as I savoured the unlikely mixture of cucumber, lime jello, cottage cheese, and 7-Up. I don’t eat jello not because of its unnatural beginnings, but like Tang and Hostess Twinkies, I relegate it fondly to my unenlightened childhood memories.

I could go on and on, but let me wrap this up with thoughts about food and love. When I was diagnosed with anxiety that affected my digestion, she helped me change my diet (she would not let me see a counselor… no surprises there). When my dad was diagnosed with heart problems, the first thing Mom did was to get a heart healthy cookbook and learn how to take care of him with her food. You see, Mom could take care of anything with food. She showed her love by preparing food. I was not a fat kid. I ate 3 meals a day and didn’t snack too much outside of special occasions. I didn’t put weight on until I was responsible for my own food. Then feeling lonely and insecure, I went to what I knew would make me feel better – food.  I am tackling this new aspect of my eating like mom and her coupons. There is a goal in mind and the means to achieve it. I now love myself with fresh and minimally processed ingredients. I still miss certain indulgences, but am learning that food is not love – being healthy and connected to the people in my life is.