Credit where it's due
Marla left a great comment on a post a couple days ago. She said:
I love that last sentence about your corporeal politics! I think we all struggle with this issue - I don't like the idea of "giving in" to some sort of misogynistic cultural bullshit, but on the other hand... I'm not happy being fat. If I were able to TRULY feel strong and worthy and valid as a fat person, that would be a wonderful solution, but since I don't see that happening, I have to attack it from the other direction.
Maybe you can think of your fitness/weight quest as a Mens sana in corpore sano situation - when we're fat, we try to make a division between our minds and our bodies, because we don't feel the one represents us correctly (at least, I'm like that). maybe getting your body to where you want it, is about unifying conflicted parts of your self, or bringing your body up to par with your mind. Here, here! I'll add that I really like being active. Running, biking, and lifting make me a dirty, strong, fearless, road-burned girl that certainly doesn't fit any of The Man's stereotypes.
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Speaking of stereotypes, I am in the midst of day 4 of out of control eating. It's gross. I feel slow and puffy. My workouts are suffering. I'm tired, I'm stressed, and I've been living out of a hotel room for a week now. Hard to keep the good habits going. I'm annoyed, angry, and frustrated with myself. I'm also a little scared. Ok, more than a little.
I am, however, going to an actual gym tomorrow. I'm excited to lift some serious weight. I lifted in a gym this weekend and WOW, what a difference good form makes.
Prophesy
I'm back! It was ok. I survived. Surviving made possible by great friends. And kissing people whose names I may or may not remember. My weight didn't bother me for most of the trip. In fact, I felt really healthy, attractive, and alive (see the aforementioned make-out evenings). The west is so different from the east coast. Everybody seemed really healthy and happy; like they had just bounced down from a hike. And I joined them. I hiked. I walked. I woke up early and ran on the treadmill. I even lifted weights. There were some unfortunate food choices. But, whatever.
After less than a day at home, I am back in a(nother) hotel room. Training for my summer job. For three weeks. Three weeks of more the-deck-is-stacked-against-
me-and-my-fitness-goals. But that's ok. I'm committed to making it work. What I don't know if I can make work, however, is this blog. I don't know what my access to the internet will be. I hope to continue to post. If not, I promise to journal. Working through these thoughts and feelings has been really helpful to my, ahem, "success." What hasn't been successful, however, is eating reasonable portions of food. I'm inhaling everything that can't be nailed down. I attribute such inhaling to stress. I'm trying not to beat myself up about it. I'm still exercising. And hoping that this will pass.
Thank you, Megan, for passing the meme to me. I can avoid all details of the dark side of the trip and the way I so convinced the next couple weeks will do me in. And focus on one of my fetishes: Books!
You are stuck inside Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, which book do you want to be?
I admit, I haven't read it. I have, however, read 1984. So I'll talk about some implications of that book instead. What struck me most in terms of writing and literature in 1984 was the connection between language and ideas; specifically, the destruction of words in order to control thought. I think, then, that it is important to put the scary, hard to read, offensive work out there, even if it is burned. Because someone has to read it in order to want to burn it. And we can't erase what we've read. It stays with us. Words seep in and recall time and place whether we ask them to or not. I guess what I'm saying is that controversy around books in important inasmuch as controversy brings readers and readers bring memory and memory ensure that words are not forgotten.
Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character?
Ah, jeez, yep. I think my first was on Billy in Where the Red Fern Grows. I love(d) that book. The most recent: Jeanette in Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit. Don't ask me why I am just now reading this book. Should have read it a decade ago!
The last book you bought is?
Non-fiction:
This Sex Which Is Not One and
Speculum of the Other Woman, Luce Irigaray. I'm a graduate student of philosophy and I just started getting into Irigaray. I've read her before, but I don't think I had a firm enough grasp on the tradition about which she writes to understand her work.
Fiction: The Samurai, Julia Kristeva. The reason why french psychoanalysts don't write novels. This book.
The last book you read was?
Non-fiction: Hegel,
Phenomenology of Spirit.
Fiction:
The Kite Runner. Plane reading.
What are you currently reading?
Non-fiction:
Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophreniaa, Deleuze and Guattari
Fiction:
Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit, Jeanette Winterson
Five books you would take to a deserted island?
1. Anything by James Joyce.
2. Where the Red Fern Grows, because I love it and it was the first book that made me think of myself as smart.
3. A Thousand Plateaus, Deleuze and Guattari. Because it's inspirational and never completely understood.
4. A Tale of Two Cities, because I want to read it before I die.
5. Best Lesbian Erotica 2001. Hey, I'm just being honest.
Mich, Krista, Kris, or anybody else, it's your turn!
Feelings, politics, possibilities
I echo the being in awe of one's body. It is amazing. The more I exercise the more I wonder how far it can go, what it can do, and what we keep ourselves from doing by holding to self-imposed limits.From
Mich's comments to an earlier post.
In lieu of actually writing something myself, I present Mich's thoughts. "What we keep ourselves from doing by holding to self-imposed limits" is a great question and something I will think more about. Today's run was a perfect example. I told myself throughout the entire run that I was tired, overwhelmed, still hurt, and a bad runner. The result? No surprise here: a crappy, slow, boring, painful run.
I leave tomorrow morning for the wedding. I'm looking forward to the change of pace and going on some great hikes. But I am worried about this weekend for a lot of reasons. One of which is, of course, my weight. How long will it take to let this go? When will my
feelings about my body catch up with my
corporeal politics?
This, too
Funny, that. How annoyed I am that my injuries haven't magically healed overnight. (Never thought I would miss exercising so much.) How impressed and proud I (secretly) am to actually have injuries. (I'm wearing tank tops, though it's still too cold, just to show off my bruises.)
I'm still pretty banged up from the fall. The bruises are beautiful: spreading colors of green, yellow, and black across my shoulder, arm, hip, and leg. I ran about 9ish miles on Sunday. My arm got really tired, from some muscular damage I suspect, but I was on pain meds and consequently felt no pain. Didn't lift. Yesterday was some light walking. Ran today. Without pain meds. And there was significant muscular trouble. I lifted, but with pathetically light weights. I need the psychological benefits of going through the motions. I hope I'm not doing damage to myself. I don't know how to handle the injuries, but I'm trying to listen to my body and do what feels good. So, while my running is slower and over shorter distances, I still do it. Then, too, while lifting light weights probably isn't doing anything for me physically, I still enjoy it. What I'm staying completely away from is yoga: I have too many cuts and scrapes to bear weight on my hands, arms, and legs.
As I admired my bruises and all their healing glory, I realized how lucky I am. Lucky to be fat. I think the damage would have been more significant if I didn't have some padding for the fall. I've heard this theory for older women: a little junk helps cushion the fall, and consequently round women don't get as many hip breaks as thin women.
The verdict: while I'm annoyed and miss my usual workouts, I also stand in awe of my body. It's ability to heal itself. It's survival instincts. I look at the bruises, these bruises that look different by the hour, and know that my body will take care of itself. I have faith that this, too, shall pass.
Triple time
Megan brought up a great point in her comment to my post a couple days ago. She said:
I love that you said that shooting for a number on the scale doesn't "jive with your politics". I feel absolutely the same way, but it's so hard to feel that way and still have a fitness/health goal that is tied into a certain notion of beauty. I feel disloyal to my own politics sometimes because I do pursue fitness and healthy eating in some part because of vanity. I struggle with this All The Time. None of my friends know that I am trying to lose weight. Most people don't know that I've started, and am now enjoying, exercise. I don't talk about losing weight for a couple reasons. First, I don't want to perpetuate our obsessive focus on our bodies. Second, I don't want to draw attention to
my body. Third, I especially don't want attention to my shrinking body if the weight loss doesn't last. Forth, I haven't really wanted to, except recently. I've been so frustrated with my stalled weight loss that I do let it get the better of me. And it would be nice to vent a little to real-time friends about the head-pounding-against-the-wall frustration I'm holding inside. Then, too, I don't talk about diet or exercise because most of my friends are little intellectual types. They don't need to lose weight. And, as far as I can tell, they don't think too much about their bodies. We are, after all, in a discipline that denied the connection between the mind and body for a really long time: Philosophy.
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I think this means I need to make some new friends. People that are active. That go on hikes to do more than find a good spot to read and drink wine. Whose idea of a great weekend is going on a long bike ride, in addition to reading, for the 100th time, the Apology.
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I'm living a triple life. The intellectual, feminist life of someone who doesn't care about unrealistic beauty standards. A fierce athletic life, someone who loves to train and discipline her body. And the life of a dieter. Who is not feminist or athletic. Truth is, I'm not training for anything. I like to run, true, but technically I'm doing it to lose weight. Last week I ran for a bit with an incredible woman who has done the Ironman Triatholon! As she talked of her athletic exploits, I developed an even bigger crush on her. Then she asked me what I was training for. Imagine my embarrassment when I had to say, "Oh, um, I guess to get in shape and lose some weight." She paced with me for a few more yards before picked it up and left me in the dust.
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But I won't be exercising for a while anywho because I got into a wicked bike accident yesterday. Ouch. I'm not sure what went wrong because it happened so fast. I think my bike wheel got stuck on a street car track that this lovely city hasn't yet removed. I was flying down the street. First on the bike. And then in the air. I'm ok. I was wearing a helmet. I got really scraped up: I thought I broke a rib because it hurt to breathe and I was worried I had a concussion. I didn't go to the Emergency room because my crappy student health insurance only covers up to $300 for such care, but my sister is a nurse. With her over the phone diagnosis, it turns out that I just really banged myself up. Today, it feels like I was hit by a bus: everything is sore. It was a rest day anyway, so I'm milking it. For today.
So now I get to go to the wedding tomorrow with bandages all over my hands, arm, and leg. That should make for a good conversation starter, but not great pictures. And, Megan, none of these weddings are the ex's. She is next weekend. You'll know when that happens, trust me. There will be some seriously angsty posts next week.
Other new-ish news
I've been thinking about this post all day. For a couple reasons. First, it's strange the way that I don't know what I'm thinking till I'm actually writing it. Like do I really care if these couple of guys were interested in me? Have I no better way to establish self-esteem and happiness with the way that I look? Hrgh. I hate when I'm right! Seriously, the difference between the interest from the aforementioned folks and the other slobs that usually hit on me is that I'm actually interested in the previously mentioned. I walked into the reception and immediately noticed the two guys. And thought they were out of my league. Realtor is beautiful. I've had a crush on the friend that came to visit forever. But, even more seriously, who cares? I need to find a way to establish feeling good about myself regardless of what anybody else thinks.
Second, the two blogs mentioned below aren't the only ones that have affected the way I view "diet" and "exercise."
Megan, at Escape Velocity, is an inspiration. Her focus on enjoying movement and her body consistently remind me of what's really important. Also, she seems dedicated to figuring out that elusive mind/body connection that I am always ramming my head against.
Mich, at Maspik Teruzim, gives me a good, level-headed perspective on getting fit and losing weight. She seems to approach this challenge with an objectivity that I lack. Plus, lately she's been posting about weight-lifting technique, which I also lack.
I appreciate that both Megan and Mich focus on the activities they do and don't seem obsessive about whether or not they eat dessert.
Just when I think I'm accepting myself where I am, I start to panic. (Cue internal monologue). Am I really done losing weight? But I'm still fat! Will I ever be thin enough? Am I quitting because it's not working? Or is it not working because I'm quitting? Did I try hard enough? Does one have to vigorously monitor every bite consumed in order to lose weight? Will the rest come off with sustained good nutrition and exercise? What about the emotional eating? Have I tricked myself into believing that I'm done that as well?
Better Believe
No posts. No free and clear space in my head. I'm all over the place, physically, emotionally, spiritually. Especially when it comes to weight loss and dealing with my new body and lifestyle. One minute, I think I'm the hottest woman alive. The next, I'm sure I am the fattest, bloatest, ugliest woman still waddling around. Minutes later, I'm an incredible athlete who runs, rows, lifts, holds tough yoga poses, and is considering rock climbing (yes, you read that right!). Later that day, I'm a lazy individual who hasn't moved from her desk in hours.
I don't know if I'm done losing weight. I know that I'm done worrying about it. I can't force myself to "diet" anymore. I don't want to cut back even more what I'm eating. I get hungry, tired, and have no energy. I don't want to pass up drinks and dessert and weddings. Hell, if I have to go to these functions, you better believe that I'm milking it. I want to continue to eat healthy. I want to continue to limit the number of desserts a week. The scale shows progress so slow it makes me cry. So no more weighing. It's not about the weight anymore. It's about me, who I've become, who I want to one day be.
To that end, I've discovered a new blog: Meg, at
I Am That Girl Now, writes about maintaining her weight loss. She reached "goal;" I have a while yet to go. But I can't keep up the "diet" mentality anymore. And working for a certain number just isn't what I'm about. It doesn't jive with my politics.
What I want to be is an athlete. No matter how much I weigh. I thereby present new blog number two:
Brave Athena. She is a fitness, feminist inspiration. Doing her thing regardless of her weight.
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One wedding down, four to go. Not too bad, weight journey wise. Lots of drinks and good and good times with great people. Really, this was the best wedding I have ever attended. On a political sidenote, I shouldn't say "wedding," I should say "commitment ceremony" as they are a straight couple that chose not to get legally married in support of queer couples who are forbidden to do so. I stopped going to the weddings of straight couples who didn't acknowledge their privledge a long time ago.
Two guys came on to me at this wedding. In a big way. In a flattering way. These pick ups, coupled with the, um, connection with the friend that came to visit a while ago, the night out a couple weeks ago, and my realtor's recent advances give me even more ammunition for my perspective on the weight "loss."
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Yes, realtor. I'm buying a condo!
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Plus, I went shopping yesterday. More proof of my screwy head and changing body: size 10 pants were fitting. But I didn't buy then because I was sure they wouldn't fit for long. I did, however, buy some little summer shirts.
Reasons? Excuses? Challenges.
And so it continues. “It” being informed food choices and heart-pounding exercise. Yesterday was bad. Negativity intended. No reason for me not to wake up and exercise. No reason for me to eat anything I could get my hands on. No reason. But every reason.
First. I’m feeling overwhelmed. Incredible, can’t see the end, impossible kind of overwhelmed. So I don’t get out of bed in the morning. Because I can’t face it. I’m not usually a stress-sleeper. I’m much more of a stress eater. But lately it’s been all about the sleep. And if I sleep in, I don’t exercise. If I don’t exercise, and I’m overwhelmed and blue anyway, maintaining a semblance of control over what I eat is impossible.
Second. It’s the end of the semester and academic year. May is worse than the winter holidays for graduate students. I’ve had parties every night this week. They are unavoidable as every class wants to celebrate. Between the classes I teach and the ones I take, I had two parties most days this week. And, unlike the holiday parties I attend, end of year parties are usually at bars, for dinner and drinks. Bars don’t serve steamed veggies. And I am a sucker for all things alcoholic. I didn’t handle any of these challenges well. I’ve eaten rich and heavy food every day, usually twice a day. I know that I could eat a salad for attending events, but I really can’t because I can’t be the only person not eating lunch or dinner for a class celebration. For one thing, I don’t have a lot of money. I can’t turn down free food. For another thing, it’s socially expected to share in the meal. What’s more, I refuse to be the dieting woman that nibbles her carrot while everyone else eats Indian food. (Indian food, by the way, is my most beloved of all cuisines.) I’m the salad woman every other week of the year. I can’t deny myself all the time. The downside is that I feel bloated and lethargic, which only encourages the sleep in/poor eating cycle.
Today is back on track. I did an actual running “workout” this morning. I usually just lace up the sneaker and hit the pavement for x number of miles or minutes. But today I did hill repeats (for which I ran up and down an incline several times) after warming up and before cooling down with a slow jog, and “speed” intervals in between the hills on flat ground. It was fun, challenging, and required complete focus.
To add calories to end of semester parties, this weekend begins the wedding season. How much temptation can one dieter take?
In other words
For the first time in a very long time, I went back to bed after waking up to run. That is, I went back to bed before running. Which is to say, no exercise on a planned exercise day. I'm feeling low: tired and blue. On days like today, not exercising is probably the worst thing I can do for myself. But this was, nonetheless, the choice that I made. So I will run today's workout tomorrow, which is usually a walking/yoga day. My diet, fitness accomplishments, and life will not be blown to pieces as a result of this poor decision. But, damn, does it ever feel like they will.
1, 2, 3...oh where is the 4th?*
One day was liberating, two days was sad, three days was just plain annoying.
Enough with the off plan eating! Yes, I am in shape. Yes, I bought a size 10 skirt to wear to a wedding this weekend. (This is not, however, a real size 10. I tried on a million skirts and they were all size 12. No surprise which one I bought!) Yes, I am running strong, lifting hard, and looking pretty good. But none of this means I can eat whatever I want when I want. For three days in a row. A day now and then, fine. Dessert occasionally? Couldn't do this without it. For three days? The rest of the weight will not come back off if I continue to eat this much. No drama. No tears. Just the facts, ma'am.
Now that we cleared that up, I did an awesome kickboxing workout this morning. I imagined some of the people that are causing a great deal of stress in my life on my punching bag. Yet another reason why I like to exercise: the sweet taste of revenge.
Marla's response to my water dilemma was helpful. Before her comment, I had just been beating myself up for not drinking enough water instead of trying to figure out a solution. Duh! A bigger glass will probably work for me. I will drink it if it is in front of me. But, if I'm working, I won't refill it for a while once it's gone. And,
Chris, my moods probably are contingent on what I eat. Double duh! I've heard of people keeping a food/mood journal--you know, journaling what you eat along with how you feel when/after you eat it. Maybe this is the inspiration I need to start recording what I eat again?
*I am, officially a big dork. And so are you if you know the reference. Butchered from the first line of Plato's Timaeus: "One, two, three, but where, my dear Timaeus, is the fourth?"
Ready, set
It's amazing how disconnected I am from my actual blood and bones body. I mean, I'm connected to it...but in an abstract kind of way. I have no idea what I actually look like. Nor do I have any idea what I am actually capable of physically doing. I spend much of my day denying that I have a body: working long hours at a desk so deep into my head that I forget to drink water and lose all track of time. It's little wonder, then, that my body image is distorted. And not based on anything remotely connected to reality. Case in point: after my bring-the-world-to-it's-knees attitude on Friday, and some less than ideal eating, what should happen on Saturday? It should come as no surprise: I felt like crap about myself. I put on the fat pants, even though they are huge and don't fit. I tried to convince myself that I was too fat to run. I haven't pulled out this excuse since October! (And, for the record, it did not work. Go me!) I felt puffy and bloated and lethargic all day. For no reason! It seems silly today. Today after my glorious run along the river during which I felt strong and lean. But yesterday? Yesterday it felt helpless. I actually cried last night because I somehow "knew" that I would gain it all back. Consequently, I ate off plan. I did, however, run and lift weights.
What's up with this? I'm back in my usual clothes today. Which, by the way, are still all loose. And today I feel alive and ready to tackle the last 20 pounds. I don't have any answers for the mood swings. What I learned from yesterday is that I need to do some work on my body image. I don't yet know what this work will entail. But it is essential that I get more in touch with my actual body. I think that this might be key in getting through the home stretch.
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I didn't run the race this morning, for two reasons: registration was $30 and it was only 10 miles. I certainly never thought I would ever write "only 10 miles"! My reasoning: $30 is a lot of money on my student budget. So if I'm going to shell it out, I want it to be really worth it, for something like a, gulp, half marathon.
