Yay! Homework.

I am a nerd.  If you know me, then you know this to be true.  

I like school and learning, I like raising my hand and participating.  I will always aspire to be an A+ student, and I am not thrilled when I get anything less.  So when the #allgooddays ladies were given some homework, I was all about it.

We all have different reasons for signing up, we all have different backgrounds, situations, abilities, mentalities, and goals.  As I scroll through the introductions everyone has written, I am inspired, motivated, and come to the realisation that I am not alone.  I have spent the last 8 months trying to jump back on the wagon (oohhh...I hope it's the bandwagon!  SEE: another blog post about how fun that would be!), I have not been comfortable in my skin, my head, or the world really.  I've been closing myself off and losing myself in the process.  I should have listened to my mother, she told me to get out and surround myself with people.  Easier said than done.  Anyway, homework...and community, that is what I am supposed to be talking about.  Michele gave us an assignment as part of our commitment ceremony(?), and though I don't know any of these other women, they are my tribe.  United in our quest to live our best lives.  This community is all about action...we will quit, start, visit, accept, honour, make, see, learn, give, eat, have, be, act, grow, invent...and if I may add my own verb IMPROVE our lives in the process.

Day 2 of January badassery.  Day 2 of my commitment to the #allgooddays challenge, and day 11 (feels like one million) of this cold.  I have no energy, I am coughing up a storm, and I have about 11 million 30 day challenge exercises to complete because of my level of enthusiasm yesterday.  Honestly, I feel like a push-up may make my head explode.  Can I delay for one more day without it sounding like an excuse?  I WILL NOT QUIT.  But, I may actually need to rest a bit...and keep eating a clean diet with lots of fluids.

Now, does anyone know the calorie count for cough syrup?

No seriously...are we talking like 35 per tablespoon or what?

When I started writing this blog post, it was 9.05 in the morning and I had just gotten out of bed without making it, and put on our robot vacuum, Ashitaka.  But first I wasted a bunch of time snuggled under the covers checking my phone and playing with Toothless, the cat.  I have to decide what to do today.  It's Friday.  And, I haven't been out of the house in 5 days.

My first big decision today is what to do about what I am doing.  In 37 days it'll be Stéphane and my anniversary, in 57 days two of my good friends are getting married in Vancouver, in 95 days it's Halloween, in 134 days it's Stephane's office party, and in 150 days it'll be Christmas.  One small step in the right direction could make all the difference when it comes to tackling all those events.  Staying the same...won't lead anywhere.  That's what's been going on for the last 3 months.  Absolutely nothing.  (With the exception of a fabulous trip to Hawaii...so I'm not really complaining, but I am a little...kinda.)

Will today be different?  That is the question.  I have decided to not waste the day plopped in front of a TV screen waiting for my partner in crime to come home from work.  Today I will do something that makes me happy.  I will do something that will contribute to my future happiness and well-being.

I guess before I do anything I should write some of my goals down.  Classic Suzie, plan everything.  To say that I want to lose weight is an understatement...I want to be where I was in 2013 right about now...2014 would be even better, and where I was in 2015 was in a significantly better place than where I was in 2016...but 2016 wasn't bad at all...so WTF is up with 2017?  Well, I have fallen off the wagon.  There's only so much I can do to hide this weight gain before I just start hiding myself.  Oh wait.  I haven't been outside in days...guess I am in hiding.

So, Goal #1 - do something, anything, healthy.
And Goal #2 -  be grateful that you did that something/anything.  

Now the last thing I want to do at this moment is weigh myself, because that will cause me to break down knowing all the damage that I have done to this incredible body over the last few months/years.  But, the pain I suffered yesterday from simply walking around the house doing a few simple tasks was somewhat of a wake-up call.  If I don't do something about this weight fast, I'm going to live in chronic pain brought on by junk food and inactivity, and that sucks more than being a little bit hungry from time to time and getting sweaty every day at some point. 

I can do this...again.

Elephant relativism.

I have always had very good memory.  I remember random things that happened in high school a million years ago, and I'll also remember what everyone was wearing when it happened.  Stored in the deepest recesses of my mind are completely obscure facts about ancient mythology from my years of studying Classics at Concordia University, modern cooking techniques learned by watching far too much Food Network, horticulture for balconies and window boxes via my mother, and strangely almost all of the lyrics to arbitrary songs from the 1990s.  That's how my memory works...like an elephant, I remember things.

So why, oh why, did I forget what it was like to be fat?

Since the crunchy, poppy kneeness of June 2016, I have been eating and drinking myself into my former state of being.  And I seem to have lost all recollection of how difficult it was to be overweight, and dare I admit this, obese.

The last time I was fairly regular with my workouts (other than going to taekwondo class) was in the autumn and winter of 2015.  While visiting family in Montréal, I made arrangements to work out with friends, find a gym, find a yoga studio, and try and counteract the damage I was doing by eating out and drinking daily - and may I add, that I cheated a few times when it came to food on my trip, but I was pretty good about choosing healthy options.  I was something like 170 pounds, and though I was annoyed that my weight had gone up...I remained confident and happy. 

When I got back from Montréal, I started working a lot more regularly, and so I made sure to hit the gym before my shifts.  At that point, I had joined the "5AM Club," and I managed to do at least an hour of cardio before getting gussied up to work the floor as a painter of faces.  After Christmas break, I was off to Hawaii - I had gained a further 10 pounds, but it wasn't the end of the world, and there would be walking, exploring, hiking, swimming etc.  Not to worry.  Still content with life, I was in Hawaii, and there were all kinds of bodies out and about.  Not at all concerned about my "beach body," I was just thrilled to hit the poke bars and body surf at Magic Sands daily.  Good times.

1 definition of relativism

1. a theory that knowledge is relative to the limited nature of the mind and the conditions of knowing    

So what is elephant relativism?!  The further away I am from a state of being, the less I remember what it was like to live that way.  Which can be blissful or incredibly difficult.  The problem (and elephant part) is, recently my memory has been jogged...the first time I have jogged in 2017, in fact.

Things I forgot about being obese:

• Always waking up in the wet spot (from night sweats, get your mind out of the gutter)
• Shaving various parts of your body involves rigorous effort and training in contortion
• Sometimes towels don't fit
• Getting yourself into a bra is an intricate mix of origami and optimism (and you still get double boob, side boob, under boob)
• Dress code is always back, with a generous helping of loose and leggings
• Being overly effected by anxiety and depression  
• Low self esteem and a lack of confidence
• The cycle of binge eating
• Hopelessness

 

Wow, that turned pretty serious pretty fast.  But, right now, it's how I feel.  I am a hopeless, binge eating 250 pound woman who is again suffering from anxiety and depression which is leading to a lack of confidence and self esteem.  I have 3 outfits, none of which I like.  I would like to take off an article of clothing without being marked by it, and I would also like to sweat at appropriate times.  Don't worry, I also remember other things... 

Things I remember about being fit:

• Hitting the gym in the morning before I had a chance to think about it or change my mind, and then sometimes doubling up at night
• Getting an endorphin rush part way into my workout and really enjoying the process 
• Constantly being sweaty (whether at the gym or on the dance floor)
• Drinking insane amounts of water and being satisfied by smaller portions or healthy foods
• There will always be boob origami (when they are smaller they still need to be folded into shape), it's a process
• Being able to express myself through my outfits
• Endless energy to do things
• Feeling that there are no obstacles that cannot be overcome
• Realisation of goals
• Positivity

It's pretty obvious which state of being is my preferred truth.  Though not necessarily mutually exclusive whilst experiencing the in-between, the latter is a much better option for which to strive.  Going forward, I will mindfully go through the process of transforming myself so as not to lose track of where I came from and where I want to go.  Ideally, be more like an elephant in mind, to be less like one in body.

Forget about hiding the evidence...

I can find it.  Always.

In fact, last night, I ate and drank the evidence.  In my attempt to rid my cupboards and fridge of all things unhealthy, I ended up consuming them.  Luckily, there wasn't that much.  A few chippies, a bit of soda pop, and some veggies that had an unmeasured spray of olive oil on them.  Not the end of the world.  Well, and that bottle of wine that was on the shelf.

What was that my Croatian conscience was saying about not wasting my calories on wine?  Well, I assure you...they were not wasted.  They were delicious. 

And at one point he was looking in my fridge and commenting on how I only had ingredients in in there and no "real" food food.  So there.  I think they cancel each other out.

e·piph·a·ny 2017

e·piph·a·ny

əˈpifənē/

noun

noun: Epiphany; noun: epiphany; plural noun: epiphanies

the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi (Matthew 2:1–12).

the festival commemorating the Epiphany on January 6.

a manifestation of a divine or supernatural being.

a moment of sudden revelation or insight.

First of all, I am not religious. Not in the epiphany sense of religion anyway...so January 6th has always meant "take your Christmas tree down, the party is over." In actuality, a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away it was the day when the 3 wise men arrived to give Jesus his belated birthday gifts. In Shakespeare's era, Twelfth Night was a time of bawdy pursuits, merry-making, hard drinking, and lusty encounters - well, that one sounds much more fun, though presents are good too. For me, and this year, it is going to have to mean a sudden revelation or insight. 

I need to get back to my healthy lifestyle thing. That thing I started 4 years ago. Thanks to Facebook I get updates as to what I was doing on this day in the past. Last year I was hiking in Volcano National Park on the Big Island of Hawaii, 2 years ago it was 6 weeks after my knee surgery and I was able to get myself into a nice cross-legged position after having trained at the gym, 3 years ago I was a puffy-eyed ninja-in-training who went to the gym in the morning despite having put my beloved cat, Cobweb, to sleep in the wee hours of the that day. I was a trooper, a yogini, an explorer...and today, I'm sitting on the couch writing this and wishing that I were anywhere but where I am right now.

I am 100 pounds away from where I want to be...in the last 7 months I have pretty much given up on being healthy and happy. After injuring myself (again) in June, I stopped going to the gym regularly. I was scared to restart taekwondo because of what had happened yet again in class. My willpower dwindled, and I pretty much gave up on myself. Depression followed and I turned to food once more for comfort - I pretty much ate myself silly from September to January. I wish everything were as easy as getting fat!

Today, this is my revelation: I got fat again.

My insight on the situation: At the very least, I know how to undo it.

Time to wise up.

Now someone give me some prezzies and we can call it a day.

"Find your awesome."

I always wanted to be an actress growing up...so, when Shaw TV storyteller Paul Beilstein got my name from Esquimalt Recreation Centre and was interested on taping a story on me, I was obviously very excited...and at the same time, absolutely terrified.  Hello, stage fright!  Also, I had to let him know that taping a segment would have to be ASAP as I was scheduled for surgery on my popped ACL in four days.  That was a little over 10 weeks ago.  And the segment just came out this week on Channel 4.

I called him up expecting him to pass on the opportunity, because who wants to do a story on the girl who lost a lot of weight and took her life back through healthy living, but was in traction because of a sports injury?  Okay, maybe not traction...but I didn't know that in November.  The Ninja, internet, and my surgeon had warned of a long recovery and weight gain, and I was understandably apprehensive.  But, I had a few things on my side.  1.  I was fit.  2.  I knew how to eat (even if I didn't follow my own rules ALL of the time).  3.  My doctor was rumoured to be one of the best in Victoria.  And, 4.  I was steadfast in the belief that I wouldn't have sustained the injury if the universe had ordained it to be something I couldn't get through and/or learn from.  Well, I learned this:  a sports injury is a setback, but not something you can't get through.  And for the record, do the exercises that are posted on the orthopaedic surgeon's website, they aren't there just for filler AND stay positive!

Well, he didn't look me over, he was surprisingly optimistic that we could tape something in the new year while I was in recovery from my surgery.  Not only did this motivate me, but gave me something to look forward to in my rehabilitation.  I had obviously been in the spotlight somewhat by being in the TC Health Challenge in 2013, and then featured again in the paper as the previous "biggest loser" and workout buddy to Troy Wilson, the Crystal Pool's 2014 challenger, but this definitely kept me motivated after surgery.  Propped up on the couch waiting for the pain to subside, is not exactly my idea of a good time.  I had pain killers, of course, but I didn't want to take them for too long.  I longed to get back into the gym before my muscle tone disappeared.  The impending TV appearance was helpful in keeping my eating in check, though I hadn't realised that inactivity would largely affect my appetite.  My body didn't crave what it craved before my forced rest period - well done body!  I ended up losing 9 pounds after surgery, and went from 156lbs to 147lbs in 2 weeks.

I wanted to get back down to my lowest weight of 138 before the taping of Paul's healthy living piece, but let's be realistic here, I wasn't half the athlete as I was before the surgery.  Heck, I didn't even have full extension in my leg...but eventually, I could walk, I could ride a stationary bike, and I could work my upper body.  So two weeks after surgery, I went to my first yoga class.  It was ridiculous, I couldn't do most of it...but I went, and it gave my mind some sort of peace just knowing I was doing some sort of exercise.  Shortly after that, I started going to the Crystal, and managed a bunch of workouts that took my disability into consideration.  I even worked out with the ninja once or twice before Christmas.  I gave it my all, and then accidentally gave in to cheddar, holiday baking, champagne, and lobster (because the Spitfyre's celebrate with crustateans not turkey).  I, like everyone else, indulged over Yule...so I lost, but then gained.  Not the end of the world.  Maybe I'll just blame muscle gain?  Ha!

A couple weeks ago I taped the segment, at 156 pounds, and though I felt awesome...I was also worried that I would be giving people the wrong impression.  Eat clean and train dirty, that's what I always say...and here I was doing that but I was still 18 pounds up from my lowest weight.  What kind of an example is that?  Was I being too hard on myself?  Perhaps.  I biked to Esquimalt Rec Centre in the rain the day of filming, then promptly ran to the bathroom and attempted to fix my fringe.  Yes, I have curly hair that likes to misbehave in humidity...and I was going to be on TV!  When I met up with Paul, the ninja, and the camera guy, I was so nervous...even my hands were a bit shakey.  Of course they wanted to tape the workout segment before the interview...do boys not know what happens to girls when they sweat?!  Especially if they have curly hair?!  No, no they don't...but it didn't matter...I had much bigger things to deal with, like a lens in my face, mounted on a barbell, and following my every move.

Camera shy.  That's my, I guess.  Who would have thunk it!?  Perfect bangs and 138 pound frame gone...I resigned myself to do what I had originally set out to do 2 years ago when I started this journey and blog, motivate others to get healthy and get active.  If two years ago I had worried what I looked like and how much I weighed, I would never be where I am now...so suck it up, Princess...do what the Ninja tells you, answer Paul's questions honestly, have fun, and tell your story.  And that's exactly what I did.

Less toys than I expected in Surgical Day Care...

I am not fond of rules, I seem to always break them...nor do I tend to follow instructions to a tee, I improvise a lot...but after I printed off the ANTERIOR CRUCIATE LIGAMENT RECONSTRUCTION REHABILITATION PROTOCOL from the ReBalance website, I read the 20 or so pages line for line and took notes, used a highlighter, and bought the appropriate supplies.  

I guess I should have printed them out a lot sooner, but I chose to do it the Sunday before surgery so as not go into full anxiety attack mode.  The next day, I tried to do everything I normally do, I biked to bootcamp, bootcamped, biked back.  Then I had a bit of a panic, not knowing what condition I would be in the next day, and I called up Mama Spitfyre and went emergency grocery shopping.  We bought tonnes of veggies and I made a huge vat of Spitfyre Chipotle Chili.  Okay, I may be ready to actually do this.  There was food in the fridge and the freezer, my husband had the rest of the week off to play nursemaid, and all I had left to do was scrub my entire body with a rather scratchy sponge (with plastic nail brush neatly attached and pink surgical soap built right in)...oh and wash my hair.  Done and done.

The next morning, I had to do the same thing, save the hair wash...with a brand new hive-inducing rough sponge on one side and nail scrubber on the other, smothered in gooey, hot pink, antibacterial goodness.  Great, I was squeaky clean...with an afro and a lovely red rash all over my bod.  Did I mention no moisturisers, deodorisers, or hair products allowed?  I tried to drip-dry my hair in ringlets, it worked...kinda.  Anyway, that didn't matter, as I piled all my hair up on my head and threw it into a fun bun (using a rubber elastic with no metal), and I may have straightened my bangs.  I can't relinquish all control, after all...I'm a rule breaker, right?  So why not look somewhat presentable with just a hint of "lunatic newly escaped from the asylum."

After a very quiet car ride to the Royal Jubilee, we parked the car on the fourth floor of the parkade, and I skipped down the stairs...relishing ever flight.  I took Stéphane's hand and asked for the directions to Surgical Day Care.  A lovely volunteer lead us up to a nondescript waiting room, gave my name to someone out of sight and instructed us to hang tight.  In my INNA NINJA t-shirt, jeans and jacket, I waited.  There were people with take-out coffees all over the place, damn them...damn them and their non-fastingness!  I may have even fantasised, just a little, about Tim Horton's coffee.  You know you're delirious when...and I have to say, surgical day care has far fewer toys than I expected.

After half an hour or so, Nurse Ratched called my name...I got up and followed her zombie-like to the door of doom.  Then I realised I hadn't said goodbye to Stéphane, so I turned around and motioned for him to come over.  

"Oh my gods, I forgot to kiss you...and say goodbye, or see you later or whatever!" 

A rather dramatic Hollywood kiss ensued in the middle of the waiting room...followed by some sappy, lovely dovey words.  I half expected the waiting room to erupt into applause, it was that good.  The nurse then told Stéphane to go home and he refused,  

"I'll be here waiting until you're done." 

5-6 hours, that's what the surgical notes said...good luck with that, Stéffi.  What a guy!

I passed through the door and was asked to take off my clothes.  I told the nurse to at least buy me dinner first; to my surprise, she laughed, and gave me a very sexy blue gown and equally stylish blue robe to match.  It's at this point that I realised I still had my purse which was packed with books, magazines, my MP3 player, phone etc. etc. etc.  I put my clothes and purse in a blue drawstring bag, did up my robe, popped on my fancy blue foot bags (slippers) and threw back the curtain.  To add insult to injury (literally), the nurse promptly weighed me in.  What am I a jockey?!  I'm short enough, maybe she sensed my horsey background?!  Anyway, it wasn't weigh-in Wednesday, but she didn't know that.  156 pounds of nerve-wracked Spitfyre.  Great, still up...despite my best efforts.  And I'd been fasting since the night before.  Now what?!

Deep within the bowels of the Royal Jubilee there are rooms upon rooms for waiting.  I was asked to hop up onto a very generic hospital bed, then I was asked questions such as this:

Who are you?  What is your birth date?  Where do you live?  Who is your doctor?  What procedure are you having done?  Which leg has the torn ACL?  Do you have any allergies?

Wow, I thought that maybe they would have written all this stuff down.  Okay they knew the answers, but I was asked these questions by no fewer than 4 different people.  The original nurse, another nurse, the anesthesiologist, and finally the orthopaedic surgeon.  I must have aced them all, because I wasn't sent home.  The anesthesiologist asked if I had any other questions...I asked him if his accent was South African, he said yes and then let me be.  Not a chatter, got it.  Dr. Jacks asked if I had any questions, I said no, and he autographed my knee.  Interesting.  I wonder if it'll be worth something someday.

Then I was moved...moved from waiting room #2 into waiting room #3.  This one was without the privacy curtains and came with Christmas cracker style hats.  NOOOOOO!!!  I straightened my bangs!  How am I going to look in this weird see-through blue gauzy shower cap?  Well, maybe I can wear it like a beret.  This room was much more fun than the last, people were coming and going and we seemed to be playing musical beds.  The guy to my left needed more room so I was moved closer to the woman on my right, then they wheeled in someone else and I was moved into the middle, and he was put in my place.  I think it was rather appropriate that we played a few games in Surgical Day Care, there were no toys after all.  I shared my disappointment about the lack of toys with my neighbours, which I think lightened the mood.  It ain't that much fun waiting in line to be put to sleep and sliced open.  We all started talking after that, and when the nurse came back to wheel me away, he told me it was nice to see everyone in such good spirits.  I'm not sure if it's appropriate to tell people to "break a leg" in the hospital, but I like the sounds of it better than "good luck" so as I was wheeled away I wished my bedmates well.

Next stop was the O.R.  Oooohhh, the room where the magic happens.  I wheeled into the brightest and coldest room in the world and was promptly parallel parked next to a thinly mattressed tiny table.  Wow, I'm glad I lost all the weight, the last time I was on the slab I was sorta oozing off the edges a bit.  Who knew one of the benefits of weight loss would be comfort in the operating room.  I shuffled off the gurney and onto the platform and was introduced to two nurses.  Ever the Chatty Cathy, after some small talk Laurie and Tyler asked how I sustained the injury and I went on nervously about my love of taekwondo, and how I couldn't wait to get back at it.  Seriously, as much as I love front snap kicks, I could really go for a spin hook kick every now and then.  Believe me, I'm deadly when faced head on, but move to the side...and well, that's why I'm about to get this operation.  My BFF, the South African, then poked me in the back of the hand with a giant needle.  Well then, I guess we're getting this show on the road.  I was asleep before the surgeon even arrived from what I remember.  No counting backwards, just a mask placed over my mouth (so I could breathe pure oxygen) and my coughing into it because I couldn't get any out.  Breathe deeply?  How?  More like suffocation.  I called for help, something changed, and I took a deep breath.  Next came a giant shiver of medication that shot from my hand all the way up my arm, and I was out.

I woke up in tears and convulsions apologising for my shaking and crying.  It made perfect sense at the time, the nurses just went with it.  "Honey, you've just come out of anesthesia."  Oh, right.  This is where I wish someone had recorded my weirdness.  Oooohhh look at those pretty lights!  Sob, sob, sob.  I started talking total nonsense, I was laughing, crying and complaining about the cold...and telling tales of my life as a ninja.  They swaddled me in more thin blue blankets, and soon I was travelling down the hall again.  Well, that was fun.  Wait, I can't feel my leg.  Quick check.  Yep, it's still there.  That's good. 

Lying in recovery room one, I started to feel the after effects of the anesthetic.  The weird acrid taste in my mouth and up my nose, and nausea.  My new nurse asked me how much pain I was in.  Quite a bit but I'm a big girl, I can yoga my way out of this.  I started practicing box breath, inhale for a count of 5, hold it for 5, exhale for 5, hold it for 5 and repeat.  Apparently, it reduces anxiety, slows heart rate, and gets you smacked in the shoulder in this room.  

"What are you doing?" asked the nurse. 

"I was attempting to control the pain with my mind...yogic breathing." I responded.  Duh.  I was still quite out of it obviously. 

"Don't be a hero Suzie, we can give you more pain killers.  Would you like some?  Also quit that breathing, it's making it look like you're stopping breathing every now and then, which is of course what you are doing,"  she said thoughtfully.

"Yes please, to the painkillers.  I'll do yoga later."

After all, it was going to be a long day, and this was only the first stage of recovery.  Everyone told me there were going to be good drugs, but I guess I always felt like taking pain killers was a bit of a cop out.  Why not figure out what is ailing you and fix it in a less medicationy way?!  This is not how I feel about vaccinations or antibiotics, by the way, I do what the doctor tells me...I take my full course or get shot in the arm.  But painkillers are different.  After all, I didn't want to be anything like a celebrity addicted to prescription medication, slurring words on camera in some terrible reality show.  But, I was in a lot of pain...so, fill 'er up please, nurse! 

I can't remember exactly how long I was in that recovery room, all I know is following that dose of medication, I needed a quick dose of Gravol as I suddenly felt nauseous.  I did not want a repeat of what had happened after my gallbladder surgery.  No one likes projectile vomiting, especially not hospital staff.  Come to think of it, I think they kept me overnight after that incident so they could torment me with Gravol suppositories.  This time I was given the does via my IV, thank gods.  After that, in and out of consciousness I went, wanting to sleep but also just wanting to get out of there.  The drugs weren't helping.  The more I took the longer I would have to stay, that I knew.  And where was Stéphane anyway!?!  A different nurse came over to me and told me I looked familiar.  I told her I blogged for the Times Colonist, and did the Health Challenge in 2013...and this was the reward for my active lifestyle.  Haha...okay, not really.

Being in recovery at the hospital is like waiting in line at Disneyland, as soon as you think you're nearly done, you go through a door or turn a corner and there is so much more line ahead of you.  After stage one, I was moved to another area with beds radiating off a nurses' station.  Oooohhhh...each bed gets curtains on either side for privacy...how fancy!  When I was brought in, a nurse introduced herself and told me that they were going to administer some antibiotics through my IV.  She propped my bed up so that I could take some pain meds orally, and then I never saw her again.  I waited.  I was now almost upright in my bed, so sleeping was out.  I would have preferred to nod off, but instead I listened.  I listened to the guy next to me giving a Tim Horton's order to a significant someone.  I listened to other people in the room snoring, I listened to the tick tocking of the clock.  It was after 5, I thought I was supposed to be done by now.  Also, I was soooooo thirsty.  I hadn't eaten or had anything to drink for 19 hours.  I flagged someone down and asked for a little bit more water.  There was a sippy cup left by my bedside that had previously delivered a 1/4 cup of water to wash down some pills.  Um, do they know I can drink more than that?  Afterall, I drink up to 4 litres of water a day normally!

She gave me half a glass of water.  I drank it in one go.  I was parched!  I tried to flag her, or anyone, down again shortly after and it took a while...eye contact was being avoided for sure.  The guy in the bed next to me was happily chatting away to his friend and munching on his Timmy's.  When I finally got someone's attention, I asked for more water and when I was going to get my antibiotics.  More than an hour had passed since I had been talked to...and I was bored senseless, and THIRSTY!  A new nurse brought me some water, went away, came back, and started administering the medication.  Finally, I asked her when I was going to be released.  She told me not until at least 7 or 7:30PM.  Hmmmphh.  

"When can I see my husband?" I asked.

"When you're released," she said.  

Seriously?  All this lying around and waiting in an uncomfortable position for someone to give me antibiotics and another 6 ounces of water and I can't even see my husband who I told to go home, but he probably didn't, knowing him.  Well, what about...

"Excuse me...excuse me...(finally got her attention again) may I please have my purse?"  

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to look up where it is then."

Um, yeah, I guess.  Why is this such a big deal?  

"It's in locker number 9," I told her.

Fortunately, I remembered the number I was told first thing in the morning...and after anesthetic and all those drugs.  Woot!  I may not have had any company, but I was about to have a mobile phone, 3 magazines, 2 books, and an iPod...let the games begin and let several hospital selfies be taken!  When the nurse returned with my bag, she plopped it directly onto my right leg.  At least the local anesthetic was still in full effect.  What the heck is wrong with this place?!  I will definitely not be making more reservations.  Disappointing food and drink selection and terrible customer service!  Luckily, it gets put on my country's tab when I leave.  Is there a comment card I can fill out?!?

As it turned out, Stéphane did go home, after repeatedly asking when he could see me.  Apparently he sat in the original waiting room until they closed it - I guess surgical day care is just that, once the kids are all picked up, everyone goes home.  So he went home too, and at 7PM the nurse told me I could call him and get him to pick me up.  Hoorah!  Freedom!  

I carefully climbed out of bed and into a wheel chair, easier written than done - oh so happy to have enough arm strength to be able to lift my body weight up without too much problem.  The nurse wheeled me to the elevator, we descended 5 floors then crossed the main concourse.  I could see our red Honda Fit (appropriate now, but ironic at first) pulled up right in front of the automatic doors and Stéphane's smiling face getting my crutches out from the back seat.  He wasn't in shining armour, or on a white horse, but he might as well have been.  I was so happy to see my Prince Charming.  The nurse pulled me up right next to the car and I was able to shimmy myself into the passenger's side.  I thanked her and we were off...I started to regale Stéphane with my tales of the hospital.  He responded with his own side of the story.  Then he told me that he had already bought the pain killers that I was prescribed.  My hero, indeed!  Even if parts of our experience seemed to be a total gong show, we were both well...and on our way home.  

It had been a very long day. 

Saddling up my unicorn.

The best thing about a new day is that you can choose how to face it.

Create your own destiny, follow the fourth agreement and do your best, live in the present, be mindful - every day is a gift, choose your attitude, and blah blah blah blah blah a bunch of other inspirational quotes with fancy backgrounds with stock photographs of beaches or forests or Buddha.  I say almost cliché...because I am notorious for posting such things on my Facebook and Twitter pages, and they seriously resonate with me, sometimes.  Whatever, it doesn't matter...what matters is that when faced with a new day, put your big girl panties on and kick its arse!  Give 'er!  Go for it! 

Yesterday I was riding a dark horse, so today I decided to saddle up that unicorn (with rainbow-coloured mane and tail and glittery gold hooves) and go on a joy ride.

You are always only one sleep away from a new day, don't let your yesterday take over your today!

High Maintenance.

It's time to get off this dark horse and ride a unicorn or something.

At least that's what the ninja said to me a while back. And, in all seriousness, I have been in a bit of funk as of late.

Why in the funk, Suzie Spitfyre!?

I don't want to talk about it.  (Because when I do I get weirdly emotional and cry. WTF!? Ninjas shouldn't be all teary...and broken.)

As you know from previous posts, for the last little while I've been bouncing around at about 145 pounds...I've come as close to goal as 138 pounds and gone as far away as 163. It is very hard for me not to obsess about this. “Focus on how you feel, ninja,” if I feel fit and strong, I'm cool. If I feel wildly out of control, I'm not so cool. In fact, I panic, doubt myself, and fall a downward spiral of junk food and other bad choices. Then I get over it, buckle down and take care of business. I got this, I know how to do it...in fact, I'm pretty good at it...when I focus.

 

That's my resent history...no crazy drops in weight, but no huge gains either. This is the boring part. No celebrating 7 pound losses, no surprising victories over push-ups, no mayor wearing his chains of office to congratulate me for being the biggest loser...just maintenance. And maintenance sucks.

I know, I know, I really don't have problems if these are my problems right?! Nonetheless, this stuff weighs heavy (pun intended) on my psyche. For the last year and just over a half, I have built myself up by leaning myself down, so going in the opposite direction scares the sh!t out of me. And the reason the scale is going in said direction...well, it's because of me. But, just as I had decided to give up drinking wine on the balcony, Bum Biter BBQs, and sneaking in a bag of Doritos while watching True Blood on my Croatian Conscience's couch...

I left the Shimmy Shack and embarked on a run along the Westsong Walkway. The run I do is around 7K and includes the stairs of death (there are 100 of them, and I try and do them at least 5 times..and lately I've been doing them a few more times than that...um...10 times, I'm a keener). So out I go on my merry little way, feeling particularly strong and fit...running to the beat of all these songs on my play list that are all obviously written specifically for me...when SNAP! Limp, limp, limp. Oh crap.

My little injury (ruptured ACL) has reared its ugly head yet again. Apparently, at the time of the MRI there were possibly two little strands holding on for dear life, and what I just did took care of at least one of them. Normally I wouldn't be such a cry-baby, but I was out on a trail about 2 kilometres from home and I was sore. I walked back along the pathway to my house...dragging my leg, ruing the decision I made to leave my mobile phone at home.

Realising that walking home in such a gimpy way ate into my precious get-ready-for-work-time, when I finally got home, I showered very quickly...but how was I going to work a shift if I couldn't even walk properly!? And to top that off, thou shalt wear heels on counter is practically written in the MAC dress code. I called my manager. “I don't think I'll be able to come into work today, I just felt something in my knee pop and there's a lot of swelling. I should probably ice it and keep it elevated, at least for today.” Damn, someone beat me to the punch, so no sick day for me. Already one man down. In pain, I put on my knee high combat boots, a skirt, button down shirt 'n' tie, braided my hair into two tight French braids, and took the bus two stops to town. Suck it up, Princess.

On a side note: As I “toughed it out” on counter, one of the department’s staff told me I looked less Wednesday Addams bad-ass private school girl (the look I was obviously going for) and more, well, how do I put this!? Nazi. Oh good. I wonder if that's why my sales were so high...”Buy this make-up or I invade Poland!” I know, I know, not funny...sorry.

The point that I am trying to make is this...when I feel out of control or upset, an easy fix for me used to be to lose myself in food. And now, it is to find discipline and focus at the gym...even if it's after losing myself in food because I'm not going to lie and say that never happens.  It does. Still. So what happens if you take the gym away?! Well, nothing good.  I get a little down in the dumps.

The gym is my meditation station, my decompression session, my opportunity community.  I

feel safe, and loved. Before embarking on this journey, I regarded gyms as places where hyper fit and annoying people hung out and tried to out-do each other. These gym-types were judgmental and exclusive. And then I walked through the doors of the Crystal Pool & Fitness Centre...and I realised, it was the opposite. I was the bitter, annoyed person...I was judgmental and exclusive.  I was not looking forward to entering the gym, I didn't know what to wear, how to do anything...and the people behind those doors, well, they became a huge

support system, my mentors, teachers, my friends...they welcomed me to the health & fitness community with open arms, smiles free of judgement with a pat on the back for all my efforts. I had never experienced such a sense of community. My knee, on occasion, takes all that away, and I am left to stew. I start shutting down.

As soon as I was well enough to start gymming again, the Crystal Pool & Fitness Centre closed for maintenance.  I told you maintenance sucks.  But, at least I found my unicorn.

On balance, ballast, and bobbles.

I am seated in half-lotus position, precariously perched atop the exercise ball that serves as a chair in front of my laptop.  I suppose there's no need to tell you that my balance has significantly improved since that fatefull day in New Orleans in 2012 when I rolled my ankle  and my 294 pound self came crashing to the ground.

But has it?

Yes, I can twist my body into different asanas and hold them, I can jump from a plank to a squatting position on top of a Bosu ball, and I can even walk on top of logs at the beach without fearing for my life...but sometimes I can't find my balance.  Coordination at the gym, studio, or in the great outdoors, no problem...but, trying to find equilibrium in life, well, that's just waaaaaaaay harder. 

Ironic, non?

How am I supposed to get up, go to the gym, workout, get home from the gym, shower, get ready for work, walk to work, get home from work, get ready for taekwondo, get to taekwondo (or yoga, or whatever), do taekwondo, get home?  How am I supposed to eat 6 times a day, and find time to make those healthy mini meals?  How do I get 8 hours of sleep a night?  How do I find time to read, write, blog, paint, draw, create, play, perform, and participate in all the other activities that I love and that have been falling to the wayside?  How do I do all the things I want to do?!?

Just breathe.

I started this post with yoga, so I will continue it in that way...it all comes down to breathing.  Deep breath in, deep breath out...I am feeling overwhelmed by everything right now.  So I have to break things down and concentrate on the one thing I do without thinking.  Breathing.  

You know how they say you don't know what you've got until it's gone?  The same thing goes for balance.  Losing my balance only makes me want to find it again.

This Weigh-In Wednesday is brought to you by ballast. 

1bal·last
noun \ˈba-ləst\

: heavy material (such as rocks or water) that is put on a ship to make it steady or on a balloon to control its height in the air

When I stepped on the scale this morning, I was burdened by my heaviness.  But now I realise that the extra weight that I have put on over the summer is a reminder that I need to find more equilibrium in my life.  I choose to interpret today's weigh-in as a reminder that ballast can also restore stability of character and conduct.  I will resuscitate, I will breathe, and I will regain my balance.  This is just a bobble.

Namaste.        

Congratulations, it's a food baby!

Sushi Spitfyre

My tummy.  My stomach has been relatively flat (considering all the excess skin) for the last few months...but lately, I have noticed something.  Something that happens after a big meal or after a weekend of indulging...the food baby.  I remember when girls at MAC would complain about their "food babies" and I would have no idea what they were talking about, except for now.  You see, at 294 pounds, if you eat a big meal, there's no way to notice any sort of difference in your physique...other than the mild discomfort that comes with overeating.  Now, I get it.  When I have larger portions, or if I have a weekend of indulgence, then I am inevitably blessed (for lack of a better word) with a "food baby."  This is not something that I can take a pill for, nor can I utilise any sort of contraception to negate any unwanted consequences...the only way to avoid this procreation is abstinence.

Is it time to revisit correct portion sizes?!  I think so.

In the last few weeks, I have been with child.  One that only becomes apparent after eating too many potatoes and sometimes, to my chagrin, after fabulous weekends of imbibing.  Mondays and Tuesdays are when I get some serious bloating and the telltale swollen abdomen that comes with progeny begat of wine and rich fare.  Am I preggers?  No.  Does my husband notice?  No, not if he knows what's good for him.  BUT, someone else does.  Someone I see regularly and who apparently looks me up and down a bit more than I thought he did.  Sneaky ninja.

I have been fighting the good fight for about a year and half now...and looking down at my cereal bowl the other day, I think perhaps my portions are creeping up on me.  Breakfast means 1/3 of a cup of high-fibre, sugar-free cereal, 100g of fat-free, sugar-free yogourt, 1/8 of a cup of nuts, and some sort of fruit.  So, how could I possibly let this get out of control?!  Well, I was free-pouring the cereal, I was scooping the yogourt with a giant spoon, cutting up however many nuts I wanted, and then adding A LOT of fruit...not just 1 green banana, more like 2 bananas and possibly a bunch of strawberries too.  Is this bad?  No, none of that black and white thinking for me...but perhaps I was being a bit too generous with the free-stylings of this dish.  And, I'm not going to lie, I have also been eyeballing a lot of other portions as well.  Is this okay?!  Yes, of course, intuitive eating is something I wish I could do.  Am I ready for it yet?!  Possibly not.  Not if I want to get to my goal of 137 pounds.

Yesterday was my weigh-in day, and I was up...up from last week...up to a February/March weight...up the most I think I've ever been up actually.  What am I having?  Twins!?

Starting weight - January 16th, 2013 - 294lbs
53rd weigh-in - January 22th, 2014 - 151.8lbs

54th weigh-in - January 29th, 2014 - 144.3lbs

55th weigh-in - February 5th, 2014 - 154.8lbs

56th weigh-in - February 12th, 2014 - 146.1lbs

57th weigh-in - February 19th, 2014 - 143.7lbs

58th weigh-in - February 26th, 2014 - 145.7lbs

59th weigh-in - March 5th, 2014 - 141.4lbs

60th weigh-in - March 12th, 2014 - 145.1lbs

61st weigh-in - March19th, 2014 - 149.4lbs

62nd weigh-in - March  26th, 2014 - 143.3lbs

63rd weigh-in - April 2nd, 2014 - 147.1lbs

64th weigh-in - April 9th, 2014 - 147.4lbs

65th weigh-in - April 16th, 2014 - 140.7lbs

66th weigh-in - April 23rd, 2014 - 141lbs

67th weigh-in - April 30th, 2014 - 149.3lbs

Time to get down to my "pre-pregnancy" weight of 140.7...that's the lowest I've been so far.  I know I can get there, I've done it before, and this is how I'm going to do it:  

1. Clean eating:  I will eat well balanced, appropriately portioned meals.  I will not eat processed foods (or as few as possible), only whole grains, lean proteins, and fruit and veg.  For extra accountability, I will also blog everything I eat...enter SEE FOOD!  A photographic journey of accountability.  
2. Clean drinking:  No more alcohol!  At least not until my birthday, I may have a sip or two then, but for the next 10 days I will be drinking loads of water, and a whole bunch of tea.  All will be featured in SEE FOOD!
3. Dirty Training (that sounds a whole lot better when I say #eatcleantraindirty) Haha...how about just "training:"  I will follow the ninja's instructions, I will double up when I need to, and not go into over-training mode because I feel guilty for something or another. 

I know you're not supposed to eat seafood when you're "with child" but I am going to SEE FOOD it up so that I am held accountable...nothing like laying it all out there.  If I eat it or drink it, you will see it...which is kinda the way I feel about this food baby that I have strapped to my front right now.  No more whining (or wining) about this, now is the time for action! 

Happy New Year! Weigh-in Wednesday #50

It's New Year's Eve...and I am bouncing on an exercise ball masquerading as a chair in front of my computer, sipping a cappuccino (best Christmas present ever...get your husband an espresso maker...he'll make you coffee every morning!), I am fresh out of the shower, dressed in a towel, and thinking about New Year's resolutions.

I certainly didn't expect 2013 to go the way it did...last year at this time, I was preparing the loft for a NYE party that was James Bond themed.  The next day, after looking at the Polaroid snapshots of the event, I told myself..."you've got to do something about your weight."  My first step was to committing myself to that idea...and believe me, it's not something that comes easily.  I mean, when I was big, I knew that I was big.  I wasn't an idiot, I wasn't in denial about it, but it was just too far out there to think that I could actually do something to change my life.  And, I know I'm not the only fat girl who thought/thinks that way.  Spraining my ankle lead to several doctors telling me that I was morbidly obese.  Thanks, really?  I kinda knew that already.  It was the truth, and the truth hurts.  In my case, it cuts to the bone...more specifically, my ankle.  Doctors in New Orleans told me to lose weight, doctors in Canada mentioned my weight in clinical notes, so I recommitted (for the umpteenth time) to eating healthily and getting more active in 2013. 

res·o·lu·tion

 

noun \ˌre-zə-ˈlü-shən\

: the act of finding an answer or solution to a conflict, problem, etc. : the act of resolving something

Suzie's 2013 New Year's Resolution - Get healthy, get active - lose weight in process.

I'd say it worked.  

Today is January 1st, 2014 and the first time I've weighed-in in two weeks.  I had a bit of a Christmas crisis and flat-out refused to weigh-in Xmas morning.  I know, I know...I should have, but there were celebrations that week, and I may have had a little extra to eat and drink.  So I opted out.  Gutless, though I think it made me even more determined to see a difference on the scale today.  This past week I buckled down.  The ninja took the week off, but left me with a handy dandy customised sheet filled with various exercises to do in combination, and I worked out every day (with the exception of Christmas and Boxing day) like a mad woman.  Yesterday, I even ran at 7.7 miles per hour on a treadmill for a bit...that's 12.4 kilometres per hour, thank you very much!  Funny how that turns my crank these days.

I wrote a blog post on Sunday, January 20, 2013 entitled Nothing happens until something moves.  I wrote that post after my first meeting with the ninja, and today on this first day of 2014 I look back at some of the goals I set for myself then:

And so I must move, because I want something to happen.

So...why do I want to move?  Well...Here's the reason I gave the paper: 

I want to rekindle my love affair with being active.  I used to swim, ski, mountain bike, ride horses, snowboard, kayak, hike, and dance up a storm...and I want to get back to all of that.  Heck, I'll be happy to climb up a flight of stairs without winding myself.  Ha!

That sounds really good, right?

Well, what if I said I also long to wear skinny, leather pants at some point...and pencil skirts, with Cuban-heeled stockings and high, high, high heels, and those pirate boots that go over your knee...haha...and dresses!?  Would you think me superficial?  Well, maybe I am a bit...and I don't care.  I miss fashion.  For the last 15 years, I have not been able to fully express myself through my clothes and I work for a fashion brand!  At least my make-up is trendy.

And so of course, at our meeting today...I told ALL of this to Jonathan Carpenter, my trainer..."oh, and also..muscles are sexy, sign me up for some of those."  *Cringe*  Luckily, he's super professional and has a plan.  Starting tomorrow I'll be doing cardio 6 days a week at the Crystal Pool & Fitness Centre...and doubling up with added strength training on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  I have Saturdays off...thank gods.  It worries me that Jonathan repeatedly said that this week would be the easiest.  I'm going to die.

Jonathan, you have your work cut out for you.

This morning I rang in the new year with a loss of 2.4 pounds.  That brings me to a total loss of 141.1 pounds.  I am very happy to report that this past year, I have gone swimming, ridden my mountain bike around town and on the Goose, kayaked off of Willows Beach with my folks, hiked up Mount Doug several times and Mount Finlayson once, I danced up a storm on several occasions, and I almost exclusively use the stairs, and I don't end up winding myself.  Haven't ridden yet because I haven't had access to a horse, and skiing and boarding will have to wait until after knee surgery...damn you lateral movement!  As for the skinny leather pants?  Well, I don't have leather pants, but I did buy a pair or polyurethane jeans the other day that are quite fitted...so they count, right?  And...I've worn dresses, Cuban-heeled stockings, and high, high, high heels.  Life is good.  I even have some of those sexy muscles that I signed up for...and even though it's been 50 weeks of hard work, I didn't die.  

I still think Jonathan has his work cut out for him, because I'm setting new goals for this year.

Just in case you missed it...this is what 2013 looked like for me:

Starting weight:  292.1 - January 16th, 2013

1st weigh-in:  286.8

2nd weigh-in:  280.1

3rd weigh-in:  276.4

4th weigh-in:  274.1

5th weigh-in:  270.6

6th weigh-in:  266.2

7th weigh-in:  262

8th weigh-in:  261.4

9th weigh-in:  257.7

10th weigh-in 251.4

11th weigh-in 247.3

12th weigh-in 243.6

13th weigh-in 241.7

14th weigh-in 235.4

15th weigh-in 235.4

16th weigh-in 227.7

17th weigh-in 223.5

18th weigh-in 223.5

19th weigh-in 221.6
20th weigh-in 221.6

21st weigh-in 215.6

22nd weigh-in 213.2

23rd weigh-in 207.9

24th weigh-in 206.6

25th weigh-in 200.1

26th weigh-in 199.7

27th weigh-in 197

28th weigh-in 191.3

29th weigh-in 189.9

30th weigh-in 180.7

31st weigh-in 183.4
32nd weigh-in 186.4
33rd weigh-in 186.3

34th weigh-in 174.8

35th weigh-in 174.8

36th weigh-in 170.1

37th weigh-in 169

38th weigh-in 170.2

39th weigh-in 174.7

40th weigh-in 166.4 

41st weigh-in 162.8

42nd weigh-in 159.9
43rd weigh-in 166
44th weigh-in 161.7
45th weigh-in 158.5

46th weigh-in 156.5

47th weigh-in 154.1 

48th weigh-in 153.4

49th weigh-in ??? Christmas Day (Didn't step on the scale.)

50th weigh-in 151 January 1st, 2014

And...this is what I look like today.  Haha...perhaps falling asleep in my make-up last night was not a good idea.  Oh yeah, I still know how to party.  Ugh!  My head.

January 1st, 2014