Splish, Splash, Crash

New chapter in the work out department: Swimming.

Before venturing on this ambitious endeavor, there is a necessary check list I must complete.

First off, I was not lying about NOT having shaved my legs since last fall, so my most desperate need and first stop is the salon. Heat up that wax baby, because these legs are looking more "chuck" than "chic". A few hundred rips and squeals later, I leave with silky smooth legs. Wow, I think I might even be getting more speed since there's less wind resistance.

No, those are not my legs.

Good. That's done. Now, on to an equally painful next stop: bathing suit shopping. Ugh. Enter dark cloud circling above my head. I don't know if I have a favorite phrase but, "Could you direct me to the plus size bathing suit department" is certainly not in the running. There they are. Miles of stretchy Lycra fabric disguised with deceiving words such as "fashionable", "slimming" and "supportive". No honey, that strap is 2 centimeters thick and will be working over time. Why yes, I'd love to clad my frame in a GIANT palm print or better yet, blue and yellow geometric squares. Of course there's the skirted suits, I don't even wear that much fabric in the winter. Frills, flaps and straps. Who designs these aquatic abominations?

After painful deliberation, I decide on a less horrible black and zebra print. It'll work, it's gotta work. I haven't worked out in over 2 weeks and surprisingly enough, I really miss it. This is happening today.

I pull up to the good ol' YMCA which coincidentally, reminds me of being on the mission field overseas. Multi-cultural, strange smells, hand written signs and you don't want to walk around barefoot. In fact, I believe the squatter toilets in India are more kosher. I squeeze myself into a tiny changing room and pull the curtain closed - correction, it doesn't actually close all the way. So now I am faced with the challenge of shimmying into my new suit whilst gripping the curtain panels together. I really don't know why I am trying to be modest. I know this is a family establishment and all, but there is crack everywhere. Little old Italian ladies and their powder, I shant continue. I get the job done, I'm already sweating, great - mission accomplished.

FYI, this locker room is a labyrinth of sights I don't want to see, but I finally make it to my destination. Ahhhh.....the pool. Refreshing, clean (here's hoping), bright and 600,000 gallons of enough chlorine to sanitize the entire NYC subway system. I feel like the new kid at school under the scrutiny of the brace-faced lifeguard, so I sheepishly shuffle in and put my things in the alloted spot. I can almost hear my thighs rubbing together in this echoing room. There are certain moments in life when you just have to throw caution to the wind, brave up and as Nike says "just do it", for me, one of those moments is dropping the towel. It's so nice and safe and hidden in there, but unfortunately, it's against the rules to wear it in the pool. I quickly drop it and jump in. I feel liberated, I feel free, I feel......HUGE.

The buoyancy is making things shift, so much for "supportive".

With each stride, I feel myself sinking lower and lower towards the bottom of the pool. This is harder than I thought. To my left, Mr. Speedy Speedo is doing his thing. Rippling muscles, goggles and Michael Phelps know how. Over to my right, is a less intimidating co-splasher. Grey with a gut. Okay, so I figure I'm somewhere in between the two. Whatever, I am here and I am gonna do this! There's nothing to be ashamed of. Who would make fun of a girl trying to get in shape? I realize, its all in my head and that no one is even paying attention to me. Am I really this self-conscious? Must be the copious amounts of chemicals I've just inhaled.

After a few laps, I am feeling stronger and stronger. Nothing is gonna hold me back. I don't care who sees me or what they think. This is MY journey and they aren't on it. Who knows? Maybe they're hoping I don't notice their obscene back hair. Everyone has their hang ups and insecurities and while I have my own demons to battle, I start feeling good. I won't be defeated. I look up at the clock and 40 minutes had passed. My heart is beating hard. WOW. I did it! I beat my fears, I pushed myself, I trusted in His strength. He came through, He always does. Can't wait for tomorrow.

Time for some electrolytes!!!

Uphill ahead

Okay. Confession time. The reason I haven't posted in a few days is not just because I've been busy with Easter etc. Honestly, I have really been struggling with this whole foot pain situation. After my planters fasciitis diagnosis, the pep left my step. I was on such a good two month role at the gym and loving Zumba and now it seems as though its all come to a screeching halt. It's knocked the wind out of my sails to be perfectly blunt.

No, I'm not giving up. That's no longer an option. I am however having to really buckle down and push through the mental mush into the core of me. You know, its easy to feel happy and encouraged when things are going good and when you're up. Who needs much determination then?

I realize this sounds like a boo-hoo, woah is me complaint. Thats not my intention. Writing this blog has been more therapeutic than I anticipated, so getting my honest feelings out is very helpful. I keep returning to the fact that this is just a little detour and its really forcing me to trust in the Lord and NOT on my own abilities. I know, I know. I'm supposed to have that in the bag by now, right? Well, I'm 30 and still learning.

It's humbling, enlightening and even confusing at times but the bottom line: I will win. I will keep going and keep walking in victory even if its at 10 MPH for a season. Slow and steady wins this race. This one goes out to anyone suffering with injuries or hang ups. WE can do it! Listen to your body, but don't get discouraged. Don't stay down. We can do ALL things through Christ because He surely strengthens us!

Keep on keeping on

Bone spurs and planters fasciitis in both feet

As you can see from the x-ray, I've had some hold ups. Ma feet. Is it incredible or ridiculous that these small extensions of our body are responsible for transporting us around?! It's a mystery. I mean, as far ratio and size goes, its not at all logical. I am open for opinion here. Mine is: God knew what He was doing - I've just abused the design. I have high arches, narrow feet and TOO much cargo on board, so we thus conclude...OUCH.

My particular pain bandit: planters fasciitis. No, nothing to do with warts, it's a painful inflammation of the connective tissue that supports the arch of the foot. This has been going on since last year, but it's another mystery how we put up with untreated pain for as long as we do. Of course, my ambitious Zumba sessions, along with other various exercises involving high impact foot movements have aggravated it enough to get my attention. So, enter Doc. K.

I show up for my initial appointment and am met by a waiting room full of geriatrics. Great. I've joined the ugly shoe club. You know, those non desrcript colored, Frankenstein shoes? Are they tan? Beige? Nude? Who knows. Ugly? That we can agree on. So, here I am prepared to fight tooth and nail against the hideous shoe suggestion that awaits me on the other side of that door. First, the x-ray. Of course they need you to bend your foot in all these un-godly directions and "hold for a moment". That's nice and then the wait.

In walks Dr. K. Young, glasses, lab coat, sensible hair cut and likes touching feet all day. Perfectly normal member of society. Before this medical professional barely gets a word in, I'm already determined to give him my 10 reasons why I can not possibly wear those "supportive" shoes. Obviously. They are not supportive of my wardrobe. He laughs, "okay, lets take a look". He starts prodding and pushing my heels as though he's testing a mellon. OUCH!!!!! Of course I haven't shaved since August of last year and its a jungle under my pant legs. Whatever, its winter. I have calluses that would put Gandhi to shame and they would be forced to charge me double for a pedicure at the mall. So now, I'm in pain AND humiliated, good thing I've got jokes.

Long story short, its planters fasciitis AND bone spurs. He explains it's really a touch and go process in that monotone, diplomatic way only a doctor or president can do.

There isn't a real quote-unquote cure for it, just pain and inflammation management. Even surgery can be unsuccessful and is not guaranteed. But, along with my vague diagnosis, I get parting gifts. First, a cortisone shot followed by a velcro-strapped contraption that resembles a cast. Good thing the nurse clears up any confusion of "how" I'm supposed to wear it. Finally, a script for some anti inflammatories. Also, NO more Zumba for a season - heartbreaking. I need to stick to Yoga, swimming and weights. Doable. In addition, no flats or flip-flops etc. Look for my entry on "sensible shoe shopping".

Initially, I left with a sense of disappointment. At least there are no flesh colored shoes on my feet, but still, I've come this far and now a step backwards? The more I thought about it and let everything settle, I realized its more of a step sideways. Bottom line, I need to take care of myself. I will do myself NO good to just push and ignore my body's signs of pain. I plan to have these feet for another 50 years at least and taking care of them is vital to my weight loss. So, if you hear a uneven thumping sound in the night, thats just me walking to the bathroom with my night splint and a parrot on my shoulder.

On a serious note, I am believing God for my healing as I make wise decisions to do my part. I know He can do anything! I appreciate your prayers!

This one is tough...

While at my moms the other day, I stumbled across an old box of photos. As I shifted through, I suddenly came to a screeching halt. There was an image of a woman. A tall, blonde, blue-eyed, woman. A thin woman. I was overcome with shock and disbelief. The reality of 150+ pounds that currently added to my frame was staggering. Who was this girl? Although we had the same eyes and smile, I was confused and disconnected from her.

These photographs got me thinking. I thought about those days of where I was and how I felt. And then, I was transported back to times of running up stairs, confident beach trips, sweat-free forehead and all the other life perks that came with shedding excess fattage. It was wonderful! It was bitter-sweet.

The following is a very personal confession of the place I came from over the past years. There's always an element of fear attached to being honest, but God has delivered me from the shame. I've come to realize that my vulnerability is a small price to pay for the chance of helping even one.

Like so many millions of women/girls around the globe, I fell into believing a lie about my self image. After years of dieting, starving, bingeing and struggling, I decided to take a walk on the dark side of eating disorders. It was right before moving to Florida in 2003, that I first experimented with bulimia. Like any untreated sickness, it grew considerably worse as the months/years went on. Before long, it was part of my life and routine. As the weight minimized so did the concerns of harm I was doing to my body. All that mattered was the image my eye saw, not the unseen soul my actions were damaging.

I won't go into details, but any food I did keep down, was vigorously exercised off. I kept track of calories like a skilled accountant and my mind was in a constant race to make sure everything added or subtracted correctly - 5 bites of that equals 40 mins on the treadmill, etc. I became an expert of covering up my tracks and not leaving any traces of this evil that was literally eating me from the inside out. It was too sickening to dwell on. So the denial walls quickly erected around my shaky foundation. This wasn't me, this was someone else. I would never do this. I would never let myself get so out of control and for what? Approval? Contentment? Happiness?

Because I was literally having to lie to myself on a daily basis to over ride my seemingly good common sense, I became extremely unstable and deluded. Now, even simple choices and decisions were complicated and confusing. I had no focus, no joy, no peace. I ended up on a cocktail of anti-depressant and anxiety meds, as well as sleeping pills. All of which I abused. I struggled daily with the shame and wondered why was I experiencing this as a Christian? But, I was too smart for that, I knew this was %100 my choice. This was the way to have what I wanted, what I had failed at in every other attempt my whole life. There were times when I tried hard to cease and desist and just focus on a healthy lifestyle. But, the doses of good intentions were too weak to withstand that old nag. This had turned from %100 my choice to no choice in the matter because I had become a slave. The damage, shame and actual physical pain failed in comparison to the fabricated elation I was drowning in.

Flash forward.

Long story short, I end up moving home to NY shocked, shamed and slim. I was met with a flood of applaud and "way to go's" from friends and family. Of course, who could blame them? I came so far and worked hard, right? I smiled and joined in with the celebrations all the while holding onto my sick secret. "Plenty of diet and exercise" pretty much ended any suspicion.

As the time went on the secretiveness was too much to carry. I was screaming in a crowd and no one heard. Partially because I didn't want to be say it out loud, that would make it too real and also because I wasn't completely sure I wanted to change. What would happen? How could I handle being back there?

I had to make a decision, because there was no limbo for me. I was spiraling down at an alarming rate.

I decided to come clean.

Great. Now I'm one of THOSE people. The kind who needs "help" and counseling and oh God....therapy. My honest confession was met with prescriptions and group sessions, couches and sentences starting with "How did that make you feel....?" Blah. It helped to a certain extent. Once you shed light on something the darkness has to flee. This is true. But, something was still missing. Surrender. Total and complete surrender of the control I thought I had accomplished. In reality, I was out of control.

So here's where the story ends.

Nope.

In September of 2008, I opted for elective weight loss surgery and decided to have a Lapband put in. The bulimia might have backed off, but the weight gain hadn't. I was scrambling again. What to do? I needed an out. I could NEVER go back, I'd die. I made that pact with myself.

Waking up out of surgery, I hadn't a clue of what I'd just signed up for. Here I am thinking I just made a wonderful choice and my weight loss struggles were over once and for all. I can move onwards and upwards and...thinwards? Yo homey, was I wrong.

Truth is: there's no easy fix. You know that if you've ever tried ANY weight loss tactic. Take a pill, lose a pound, gain back 30. Starve yourself, binge. Cut out carbs, eat an entire pizza after a week. Go under the knife with false expectations - end up with a souvenir of failure in your tummy. And yet, we'll try and try to fool ourselves into thinking hard work has nothing to do with the answer. Oh, but it IS the answer. Hard work and surrender to the Lord. So, after NOT working with my surgery to produce the desired result and finally getting through 2 years of sore disappointment and regret, I find myself here today.

Here as in: Friday, April 15, 2011. Week 8 of my journey. All time heaviest weight, but down 12 pounds. Here again at the beginning. The beginning of the right way. Looking past all the failures, forgetting the past choices and stupid mistakes. Forgiving myself, encouraging myself and seeing myself as more than a conqueror. Focussing on Him and the help only He can give. Running this race one day at a time knowing the lessons learned will be invaluable. Living in love, joy, peace, long suffering and self control because those are the best fruits for you. Always ripe, always beneficial, always in season.

On a missions trip in Montserrat - Caribbean

Hiking in the Catskills
At my home in Jacksonville, Fl. Lowest weight: 162

one oxygen. two hydrogen.

Tasteless, cold, hot, hard, vapor, fluid, essential. Water.

Coupled with eating right and exercise, water is a powerful weight loss secret! Maybe it's no secret. If we were paying attention in science class we'd remember that the human body is made up of %75+ water (depending on body mass). We thus conclude, it's pretty vital.

In the past, I really never paid much attention to how much water I was consuming in a day. 3 cups, 10 cups, who knew? Growing up in the country, I remember just sticking my head right in the cool streams and gulping up the fresh, microorganism free H2O and never thinking twice. We didn't have soda in our house growing up and occasionally there was that sticky-sweet red dye #40 mystery liquid, but mainly good old water.

The older I got, the more fun, tasty, fizzy drinks were discovered and my old friend water was passed over in similar fashion to a Sunny D commercial. Lets be honest, as much as we love it, agua can get pretty boring. Especially when you have a nice cold Coca-Cola staring at you from behind the frosty sliding cooler door at the gas station. Oh, maybe you're a goody-goody and NEVER dream of putting that poison in your body. Well.....good for you.

I always knew it was important to drink enough water every day, but little did I know just how much my consumption calculations were off. Recently, my wonderful friend and health coach enlightened me. Here is a visual chart I created based on what I learned. (Please take note of the pleasantly plump figure-those aren't muscles)

I know what you're thinking. How on God's green earth do I consume THAT much water and not spend my days memorizing the wall paper pattern in my bathroom? Believe me, I am writing from experience. Yes, there was a good 2-3 days of toilet trips which can be very inconvenient if you're say...waiting in line at the bank, stuck on the phone with a long winded friend or trying to watch Titanic.

Good news. Your bladder will adapt. I promise. This is coming from someone who most likely weighs more than you and is therefore consuming enough Smart Water to fill a paddling pool.

If you've never been much of a water drinker, try something creative like adding lemon or lime slices, cucumber or even mint sprigs. However you have to do it, get it done. You will be thankful for the refreshing effects. Personally, I have already seen my skin clear up, headaches go, energy rise and hunger minimize right before my eyes. Okay, thats the end of my poetic tip for today! Stay hydrated.

ZUMBAFIED

Saturday. Eyes open. Mind in gear. Today is the day. It's ZUMBA time!

Feet in the shoes, legs in the pants, shake in the blender, butt out the door.

Usual ambitious crowd, Sally so and so with her brand new work out gear looking bright and spandex-y. Betty Boop sporting her jazz sneakers. Some old dude who is trying hard to bring sexy back and of course, Miss "Z" herself. Petite, spunky and rearing to go. Too bad she has to steer this ship of misfits. Man, she has her work cut out.

Tip: you best get there early to claim your piece of real estate because the competition is fierce. Oh, you want the well-lit spot by the side door? Don't think so. Step aside sistah, I'm bigger and I need fast access to an exit in case of an emergency. Arms out, do the old "personal space" check in vain, because its about to get violated anyway. Grunts and groans fill the air as crowd stretches off last night's pizza binge. Bad idea.....and then you hear that spicy beat.

Why is it called a warm up? I'm ALWAYS warm. Here we go...hello giant mirrored wall mocking my every move. Fancy seeing you here. Right, left, right, right, left. Arms this way, butt that way and feet this way.....huh? Forget it, I'll just follow Betty Boop in front of me. Bad idea, those jazz shoes are tripping her up and her Fosse is looking funky. I'm on my own, but I'll give it everything I've got. A white girl with a Brazilian dream.

Two high powered, tempo driven, salsa inspired songs into it and we're on our way to svelte bodies in no time.

Not so fast. Remember old dude? Well try as he may, its just not happening and with every uncoordinated boop of his bop, I am suddenly sucked into his awkward vortex. Shoot, now, I'm completely off beat and believe me, I was on it, (whatever, you weren't there) Over to my right, Sally so and so is keeping up. Wow, she's pretty good. I'm impressed. But, as the tempo changes, the truth is revealed and her flailing humanity is left bare and vulnerable on the mean floor. Electrified octopus, need I say more. Am I to feel bad about taking pride in my slightly less spazy skills? No. It's every fool for himself out here.

With every glance pulling me in the wrong direction, my only choice is to face forward and glue my gaze to Ms. "Z" herself, she's my only hope. The more I watch, the more I transform. Suddenly, I'm back in the gyrating game. I'm not this very white, VERY sweaty, very red in the face flailing failure. No, I'm moving, I'm shaking, I'm getting it done. One foot in front of the other, swiveling my body like a well seasoned Rockette. Look out Shakira, because this towns got a new set of hips. Moving, shaking, and all the while NOT bumping into Pro.

Oh, wait? I didn't mention her? You mean I left out my fiery, rhythmic, Puerto Rican, Zumba partner? Let's just say she's got it in the bag. She's packing heat in her feet and pep in her step and man, can she get down! We are quite the pair, let me tell you. So what if I don't have the quick step down or that my salsa moves resemble a desperate person putting out a fire with their bare feet. I am in it to win it and she's got my back.

It's been a fun stride and might I add, it's one thing to shake it when your center of gravity isn't being impaired by a bunch of junk-in-yo-trunk, so for little Miss thang who was positioned right behind me, watch out, I'm about to get my Zumba on!