Exercise is Not A Bad Word!

I've been writing a lot lately about eating too much, but that does not mean I have given up my healthy lifestyle. The truth is, as much as I love to eat, I also love to exercise. I've been quite busy strength training to build muscle, riding my elliptical, doing step aerobics and I'm even back to running twice a week. I love the energy I get when I exercise. I also love the freedom of going into a zone where no obnoxious children can follow. One of my basic problems is I don't often know the meaning of moderation. Much the same way I think, "If one ice cream cone is good, two must be better!" I tend to think "If running 3 miles is good, running 6 miles is much better!". The truth of the matter is that I love to run. I would run every day if my body allowed it. This is also why even though I am overeating, I have only gained 10 pounds and not 50.

Exercise is a fundamental human experience. We were made to move. When I watch the olympics and see the wonderful things a trained human body can do, I am truly amazed. When I see men and women gymnasts flying through the air with their steel muscles flexed, when they land perfectly, I want to shout and clap. Hard work and determination are the building blocks of such success.

Vigorous exercise also breeds injury, and I am the Injury Queen! I like to push myself so hard that ribs pop out, hip ligaments tear and toenails turn pretty colors(Hey, purple is pretty no matter what my kids think!). I was at my favorite chiropractor recently(John Smith in Ellisville if you're wondering) and I was telling his staff that 2014 is the year I start taking it easy. "I'm going to be really careful and not injure myself." They were still laughing when I left the office. So today when Dr. Smith was popping my kneecap back into place(I popped that out running six miles on Saturday) we had a nice chuckle. He told me my body is weird. And when I said, "I know it's weird. Everything about me is weird." He smiled and nodded. "I meant to say unique." But that's how it is with me. There's nothing run-of-the-mill about Margaret. For me, normal is a bad word!

People who are chronically inactive cannot possibly understand the importance of exercise. All they know is that moving too fast makes their lungs ache. I remembering running around as a kid and really enjoying it. Tag, hide-and-seek, Red Rover....it was fun to get outside and move. What happens to us as adults that we become so enamored of our couches that we forget our youthful exuberance? I am nearly 40 years old and there is nothing I enjoy more than exploring nature. Last weekend our family went out to our favorite place, Cuivre River State Park, and hiked down to the spring. We sat in a creek bed and found fossils and threw rocks into the water. There was a moment where I lay back on the rocks and stared up at the sky. The sycamore trees were swaying as a turkey vulture circled overhead. The gentle breeze reminded me how lucky I am to be alive. I can't possibly experience that sitting inside my house.

Exercise is like a savings account for your body. You start saving by moving 20 minutes a day, and pretty soon, you have a whole bank account of good health to draw from. So on that day you feel like hiking up and down the St. Louis riverfront, you actually have the energy to do it. Saving takes time. It doesn't happen overnight. But the one thing about saving that you must know is that you have to start somewhere. Believe me, I work for an investment firm and their entire philosophy revolves around planning for your future.

What do you see in your future? Is exercise a bad word to you? If you are content with the rut between the couch and the refrigerator, great! Thank goodness we have the freedom in this country to live the way we choose. But if you feel a growing discontent with your energy-deprived existence, consider some kind of physical activity. Life is too precious and too short to spend it wishing you could live another way. As I said to a friend at work today, "When I was 300+ pounds I used to dream at night that I could run and not get tired. Now, I run for the sheer bliss of it. It is my dream come true."

What is your dream?

Eegads! Is that Me or Santa?

Everyone loves insulation, right? Good insulation keeps your house cool in the summer and warm in the winter. I came to appreciate the importance of good insulation when my husband refinished the attic in our 1.5 story home. The room used to be like an oven in the summer and an icebox in the winter. But even before the vents were installed we noticed the temperature had leveled out with the installation of good insulation. Even better, our utility bills decreased. What a difference! Obviously I'm talking about the good kind of insulation, you know, the kind that makes the pocketbook happy. Now let's talk about the bad kind of insulation.

I rolled out the yoga mat this morning fully aware of the extra 10 pounds of insulation on my tummy because it puckered over my yoga pants. I lay down to begin my crunches and felt my belly pushing back. I pressed on and in fact, was feeling pretty good about myself until I got to the plank part of my workout. Then I felt like I had two 5 pound bags of flour strapped to my middle.

I have really noticed my sensitivity to temperature since I lost weight. First, I get really cold in the winter. I mean, seriously, my bones are cold. I even began to take cayenne pepper pills to help me stay warm. I always felt hot when I was heavier, even in the winter. But summer was worse. All I did was sweat. The weather has still been cold for March but I haven't really felt it. Could it be because I've added an extra layer of insulation? My husband complained twice this past week that I've lowered the temperature in the house below 70 degrees when we normally keep it around 72. I think he might be onto me.

I have really enjoyed summers the past few years because I don't sweat like I used to. In fact, on a sunny day, as long as I am well hydrated(and the humidity isn't 80%) I feel really comfortable. My body has become an efficient machine. When it is not loaded with extra insulation and I'm running on clean fuel(fresh fruit, veggies and lean meats), I feel fantastic. But now I've got this extra layer. It's like a warm, fuzzy sweater except that I can't take it off. Also, I feel sludgy. It seems that the cookies(and ice cream and Chick-Fil-A) have prepared my body for an extended winter, only, I think Spring it here. Crap!

I know that my people still love me. Nobody is going to stop liking me because I gained a few pounds. (Even though my husband said it's not bad motivation) After I punched him in the stomach and kicked him down the stairs(kidding) I ate an ice cream cone to prove my point. But seriously, I don't like this feeling. My clothes are tight. I'm hot when I shouldn't be. I can jiggle my belly like Santa Clause(Child #2 says he will never recover from the sight of it) and I literally thought I would die when I was doing planks this morning. Something is terribly wrong with this picture.

If I sound like a broken record, I also feel like one. I just keep trying to say no to sweets, but it is SO difficult. I want to eat cookies and ice cream. I freely admit that every single time I see a skinny person eating candy I want to poke them in the eye. I do draw the line at candy. No candy for Margaret unless it's sugar free. See? I'm still sugar free. Sort of.

I have literally been gaining and losing the same 10 pounds for over a year. And I never even reached my goal weight. Right now I need to lose 20 pounds to reach my goal weight. To quote the many characters in the Far Side, "Eegads!" My point is this, insulation for your house is good! It saves you money. Insulation on your body is bad(unless it's a warm, fuzzy blanket). Because even though everybody loves Santa Claus, he could never be accused of looking sexy. And while my goal has never been "sexy", I really don't want to associate my body with a "heavy-set" man in a red suit.

Secret Cookies and the Wicked Guilt Monster

I clutched the bags of cookies, trying to cover them with my hands. I stood in the cafeteria, scanning to make sure no one I knew was around before jumping in line. Suddenly, she appeared out of nowhere.

"Hello, Margaret. How are you doing today?" She glanced at the cookies in my hands.

"Fine. Just fine." I said, not even bothering to shift them behind my back. "You know. Busy."

She smiled. "Nice to see you." She glanced at the cookies again and then walked away, leaving me with the knowledge that I had a witness to my food crimes.

This is what happens when you make your healthy lifestyle public. A partner at the firm you work for catches you with cookies and makes a mental note. Since our encounter I have been wondering if she will keep my secret safe. Or is she secretly plotting her revenge? After all, she is on the heavier side and I assume all heavy people hate me for losing the weight, much as I hated skinny people before I lost the weight. So I began to imagine future conversations. Here is one of them.

She walks into my cube and says, "Well hello Margaret."

"Hello Ms. Partner."

"I hope you are having a nice day. I need your help with something."

"Well, I'm really rather busy right now. I'm trying to meet a deadline."

She cocks her head to the side and studies me before leaning in to whisper, "Remember the cookies?"

I gulp. "What cookies?"

"You know what cookies." She blinks. "I saw you with the cookies and if you don't help me, I will tell your boss."

I see my boss approaching at a distance. "Not that. Anything but that." I say. "You know I lecture him constantly about eating unhealthy foods. If he finds out..."

She casually hands me a stack of papers. "I need copies. Lots of copies."

This is how I feel every time I eat something unhealthy. I feel like people are watching and waiting. And even when no one catches me, I feel the guilt like a noose around my neck. It seems silly, really, but I've made a terrible habit of sneaking food for years. The sad thing is, it was never really a big secret.

My affinity for sweets is like a hurricane, a force of nature not to be reckoned with. I would never claim to have a handle on my addiction. It would be like saying I learned to breathe underwater. Just. Not. Possible.

Today I had a conversation with a friend. She is under significant pressure to lose weight. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, "I know the right foods to eat. I know how to lose weight. I just can't." My heart was like a cinder, smoldering in my chest. I know exactly how she feels. Some days I really don't understand how I lost the weight, especially after I've inhaled 4 giant cookies, a bag of popcorn, two bowls of ice cream and a box of raisins. And that was only yesterday.

This morning I crawled from bed, sick in body and in heart. I hadn't worked out in two days because I am fighting a third round of virus. This certainly is the winter of my discontent! But I rose from my warm covers, pulled on my workout clothes and took my buddy Tank for a walk. Tank is a young boxer and he has a lot of energy. The great thing about walking with him is that he get so excited that it rubs off on me. So within a block he coaxed me into jogging and soon we were huffing and puffing away down the streets of Ferguson. I can't say I was particularly thrilled. The weight of each cookie resonated in each footfall as I mentally whipped myself for caving to my flesh. My cadence sounded something like, "Stupid cookies! Stupid cookies! Stupid cookies!" All I can do is shake my head and begin again. Again.

Guilt is a sick and powerful feeling and yet a wonderful motivator. But I can't let it rule me. There comes a time when I have to accept that I am sometimes completely powerless over my desire for sugar. I have to accept it and move forward. But the reason I don't give up--don't give in forever--is that I love my life. I love hiking with my children at the park and not growing tired. We did that Saturday. I love running up and down the stairs at work. I love fitting into size 12 clothing, a size I thought I would never fit into. I love encouraging people who think losing weight is impossible. And it's not because I'm a super, crazy, health freak and I only eat Brussels sprouts and lima beans. No, it's because I intimately understand the struggle. I wage war against my body every day. Some days my body wins. Some days my will to keep the fat off wins. But no matter which way the teeter totter swings, I know who I am. I am imperfect. I am human. Fat or thin, I am Margaret, and I am loved! And that's all that really matters.