See? I didn't do it. That blogging every day thing. I mean, seriously. Every. Day. Does it count that I THINK about blogging every day? I do, I swear! There is at least one moment every day when I think to myself, "Oh, right. Blog that." And then I actually write a few lines in my head. Because I'm just that much of a nerd. The problem comes in where I try to get that stuff from my head to my fingers at such a time and place when I a) have a computer in front of me with time to type and b) remember what was so great that I wanted to tell the Internet about it. Let me tell you, a and b? They don't cross paths too often.
But I did have a little flash of insight recently that I thought I'd share. Because I clearly have not yet publicly flogged myself and my neuroses enough...
Recently, I went out to eat with several of my co-workers when the conversation turned to discussion about a particular person, who I did not know. There was some venting going on. And then someone made a comment about this person taking Prozac. And there were some comments like, "That explains things." or "Well, I guess I'd better be nicer to her so she doesn't lose it on me." And I said nothing. I don't know this person. I have no idea how annoying she might be to deal with. And I obviously know nothing about her health issues. However, it finally occurred to me (in a big light bulb DUH moment) that the reason I was not and am still not entirely comfortable with my current prescription is that I make judgements about people who need to take medicine for depression. And clearly I'm not alone. I would feel pretty terrible if some of the people I work with thought about me the things they think about this other person, simply because they were to find out that I take Zoloft. A better version of myself would have said something to them. I would have defended this unknown person, at least from the perspective of her mental health, and explained that it is not her fault. It's a chemical issue. It is medically necessary and does not mean she is weak. But I didn't.
Because I don't believe that, either. I need to get off of this drug or come out of the depression closet and start getting over the stigma I've attached to myself. And I need to quit being a hypocritical jerk, even if I'm only doing that in my head.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Friday, September 7, 2007
And pay and pay...and pay
Well, if I needed some clear indication that life as a consultant who travels most of the time is not for me, I've got it now. I have been in Chicago for the last couple of days at a conference. The conference was great. Hotel room awesome (Seriously - a television built into the mirror in the bathroom. My amazement at that made me feel like a total hick.), comfy bed, wonderful pillows...and today I came home.
Let's think back to when I went to San Diego back in April...remember? Yep, they all got sick and I had the guilt and then I had to take care of them and baby them and not complain about it because I had been enjoying myself in sunny Cali-forn-i-a while they were feverish and achy and sweating and feeling crappy - and Steve also had to take care of the sickly kids. So guess what happened while I was in Chicago...
Yup. Again.
Apparently, this time the guilt and the nursemaiding is going to be payment for the cool iPod and $600 gift certificate I won at the conference. I suppose that's fair. If Abby has to have tonsillitis (according to WebMD.com) in order for me to have have an iPod, I guess that's a sacrifice I'll just have to make.
Let's think back to when I went to San Diego back in April...remember? Yep, they all got sick and I had the guilt and then I had to take care of them and baby them and not complain about it because I had been enjoying myself in sunny Cali-forn-i-a while they were feverish and achy and sweating and feeling crappy - and Steve also had to take care of the sickly kids. So guess what happened while I was in Chicago...
Yup. Again.
Apparently, this time the guilt and the nursemaiding is going to be payment for the cool iPod and $600 gift certificate I won at the conference. I suppose that's fair. If Abby has to have tonsillitis (according to WebMD.com) in order for me to have have an iPod, I guess that's a sacrifice I'll just have to make.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Prayers
I got some bad news on Tuesday. A friend has been diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. I consider this friend a surrogate mother of sorts. She and my mom have so much in common, and are still so different. My friend has moved far away, so I don't get to see her much, but that doesn't make her less close in my heart. I haven't called her yet - I was told this news by another friend. I want to, and I will. But right now, I'm sad and worried. And I'm not sure what to say, or how to say it. She means so much to me and I want to say the right thing.
And I also got some good news to balance the bad on Tuesday. Another friend - who also lives far away - had her baby. A beautiful baby girl. She is so precious and cute and has soft squishy cheeks like all new babies should have. I wish I could be there to hold her and smell that sweet baby smell. Of course, that might create discussions at home that Steve is not ready to have...
Happy and sad. Good news and bad. It's the way of the world, isn't it? That whole God-works-in-mysterious-ways thing. Either way, if you say prayers, please include both of my friends. Both for thanksgiving for life and for hope for the future. The needs are the same, no matter the situation.
And I also got some good news to balance the bad on Tuesday. Another friend - who also lives far away - had her baby. A beautiful baby girl. She is so precious and cute and has soft squishy cheeks like all new babies should have. I wish I could be there to hold her and smell that sweet baby smell. Of course, that might create discussions at home that Steve is not ready to have...
Happy and sad. Good news and bad. It's the way of the world, isn't it? That whole God-works-in-mysterious-ways thing. Either way, if you say prayers, please include both of my friends. Both for thanksgiving for life and for hope for the future. The needs are the same, no matter the situation.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Yep, I'm faking it
Confession time. I'm not putting this here to freak anyone out - I just need to tell it. I need it to leave me. And I don't think I can actually bring myself to say it out loud to anyone. Especially not in person where they can see me and I can see their reaction. Here goes.
Today, as I exited the interstate, just for a second, I considered not steering. I considered what would happen if I didn't. If I just crashed. On purpose. Into cement barricades that were left on the shoulder of the ramp for some construction going on. I considered really, how bad would it be? I considered that I wouldn't have to worry about the guilt of leaving my family - I wouldn't be around to know. But then, happily in this case, I also considered what that would really mean for my children. How they wouldn't understand. How they would grow up thinking that Mommy didn't love them enough to stick around. Funny, I never considered any pain that might be involved, and to be honest, I didn't much consider how Steve would be affected. I think on some level, I kind of believe there would be a little relief for him. I'm sure I'm not exactly the most fun person to be around these days. Our tiff this morning and the small bickering flare-ups over the last few weeks would be some evidence of that.
So in a way, I think my brief consideration of options and outcomes this morning was a good thing. It scared me. And you know, I know those are not the kind of thoughts I should be having on my way to work in the morning. Okay, maybe on a Monday, but, hey, there are better ways to get out of working - calling in sick may not be permanent, but it does get you out of work for a day or two. My doctor's office opens at 9:00. I called at 9:01. Amazingly (or not, God and I did have quite the one-sided conversation this morning after that), they have an appointment tomorrow. I will be discussing my level of prescripted help at 10:00 tomorrow morning. I will be asking if perhaps we can consider the possibility that a stronger dose might be of some assistance to me. In other words, I will do all I can to resist begging him to give me more drugs in the desperate hope that I can go back to feeling "normal." And by normal, I mean fighting with my husband, yelling at my kids, getting cranky when I am hungry, but managing to drive to work while keeping the van and myself in one piece.
So now, today, I sit here at work in my new cube in my new department in my new job (all of which I love, love, LOVE), and I am faking it. Every time someone stops by or calls or I have to go to a meeting, I am all smiles and happiness and laughing with the world. And then as soon as I am by myself again, I struggle not to just put my head down on my desk and let it all out. Back when I was normal, sometimes, a good cry would make me feel better. Yes, it's weird, but I think it's a girl thing. I realized today that a good cry would leave me feeling exactly the way I feel right now. So really, why bother?
Seriously, I think men need to give women a little more credit about this whole faking it thing. It is done to preserve their ego, after all, and it is not as easy as it seems! It's hard and it's exhausting to make other people think everything is just hunky dory. Politicians must be tired all the time!
Today, as I exited the interstate, just for a second, I considered not steering. I considered what would happen if I didn't. If I just crashed. On purpose. Into cement barricades that were left on the shoulder of the ramp for some construction going on. I considered really, how bad would it be? I considered that I wouldn't have to worry about the guilt of leaving my family - I wouldn't be around to know. But then, happily in this case, I also considered what that would really mean for my children. How they wouldn't understand. How they would grow up thinking that Mommy didn't love them enough to stick around. Funny, I never considered any pain that might be involved, and to be honest, I didn't much consider how Steve would be affected. I think on some level, I kind of believe there would be a little relief for him. I'm sure I'm not exactly the most fun person to be around these days. Our tiff this morning and the small bickering flare-ups over the last few weeks would be some evidence of that.
So in a way, I think my brief consideration of options and outcomes this morning was a good thing. It scared me. And you know, I know those are not the kind of thoughts I should be having on my way to work in the morning. Okay, maybe on a Monday, but, hey, there are better ways to get out of working - calling in sick may not be permanent, but it does get you out of work for a day or two. My doctor's office opens at 9:00. I called at 9:01. Amazingly (or not, God and I did have quite the one-sided conversation this morning after that), they have an appointment tomorrow. I will be discussing my level of prescripted help at 10:00 tomorrow morning. I will be asking if perhaps we can consider the possibility that a stronger dose might be of some assistance to me. In other words, I will do all I can to resist begging him to give me more drugs in the desperate hope that I can go back to feeling "normal." And by normal, I mean fighting with my husband, yelling at my kids, getting cranky when I am hungry, but managing to drive to work while keeping the van and myself in one piece.
So now, today, I sit here at work in my new cube in my new department in my new job (all of which I love, love, LOVE), and I am faking it. Every time someone stops by or calls or I have to go to a meeting, I am all smiles and happiness and laughing with the world. And then as soon as I am by myself again, I struggle not to just put my head down on my desk and let it all out. Back when I was normal, sometimes, a good cry would make me feel better. Yes, it's weird, but I think it's a girl thing. I realized today that a good cry would leave me feeling exactly the way I feel right now. So really, why bother?
Seriously, I think men need to give women a little more credit about this whole faking it thing. It is done to preserve their ego, after all, and it is not as easy as it seems! It's hard and it's exhausting to make other people think everything is just hunky dory. Politicians must be tired all the time!
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Sick. And tired. And very very bitchy.
I had a topic. It was good. A catchy title and everything. But it will have to wait, because I need to vent. And what good is a blog if you can't use it to complain about your husband?
Okay, so I went to San Diego. It as for work, but yes, I had a good time. Okay. And while I was away, he got sick - very sick. 102 degree fever, very raw very sore throat, chills, body aches. The whole thing. And while he was there, dealing with being sick, he was responsible for taking care of the kids. He didn't call his mommy or anyone else for help, he just sucked it up and dealt with it. Okay. It sucked. I get it. I felt terrible about it while I was gone, I really did. And when I got back, I took over. Completely. I put the house back in order - because it looked worse than I could have ever imagined. I waited on him - and the kids, who acted starved for attention - hand and ever loving foot. Seriously. Food brought to him while he laid on the couch, kids kept as quiet as possible. I even did the DISHES for crying out loud, and anyone who really knows me knows that is a major event. And even more than that, I didn't complain. I know it's hard to believe of me, but really, I didn't. Not once all day Thursday, Friday (when I took an EXTRA day off from work, using more of my quickly dwindling PTO bucket because Abby was running a fever), and Saturday, and I made it to Sunday night before I let loose a little. Sunday night, when I got myself a bowl of ice cream and brought it in to the living room, he said "Oh, that's real nice. Thanks for bringing me some." Seriously?!? So I kinda went off a little. But just that once. Really.
He has taken a long time to get over this virus, and when he came home from work Monday, Tuesday (my birthday - he was asleep when we got home, but he did wake up and take me out to dinner), and Wednesday, he took a nap. And I took care of the kids. And made dinner. And put the kids to bed. He did help out some, but he was on fairly light duty. And I understood. He was still feeling puny. I got it. But I was tired, too, and was having trouble shifting my internal clock back from California time and then from the time change. And I was getting a little cranky.
Thursday, Andrew was sick. We pulled a split shift - Steve worked in the morning, I went in for the afternoon. Friday, Andrew and Abby were both sick. We split the shift again. And by the time I got home Friday night, I had it. Oh, crap. No sore throat, but maybe one of the worst colds I ever remember having. I was wiped out, butt kicked. Head cold, coughing, sneezing, nose that is both runny and stuffy at the same time, fever, lost my voice, general bleachness. Saturday, I laid around a lot. Didn't do too much. And I did get a nap. But I also took care of kids, picked up around the house, made the kids lunch, made dinner, and answered almost every one of the approximately 4,000 times one of the kids said "Mom." I didn't do it all, but I did enough. I was nearly delirious.
And then today. OMG, today. Wait, first let me back up a little. I need to point out that it is March. If you don't know anything about basketball, let me tell you that there is a reason they call it March Madness. My husband is a big fan of college basketball. And when he is using all of his visual sense to watch college basketball, he often loses function in his other senses - especially hearing. So while the tournament is going on, it's a hit or miss proposition as to whether he's aware of what is going on around him. I only wish I was exaggerating. So even on Saturday, there were many times when he would wait until I prompted him before he would react to whatever needed reacting. Things that I didn't have the energy to give the proper amount of authority. Like kids hitting each other, throwing Legos, spilling food, etc., etc.
So last night, I got some things ready that needed to go to church - prepared them for Steve to take since I obviously wouldn't be going. I also helped to finish the church directory so the church secretary and her husband could finish printing it for today's service. All of this while I couldn't breathe - it was really quite an accomplishment. He took the things to church today, but only did half of what I had asked - because he didn't have time. Uh, that's because you didn't get your ass up out of bed when I told you to (since I was already up taking care of the kids, still sick), Jack Ass! Okay. Moving on.
He kept talking about going to see a movie. Alone. A movie I didn't want to see. Today. While I'm SICK and the kids are getting over being sick and are whiny because they've been basically cooped up in the house since Thursday. I just let him talk. Surely he didn't really intend to go. On his way home from church, he stopped to pick up groceries to make this special cheesy tomato rice dish that his mother used to make. I hate it. Can barely stand the smell of it. And he knows this. We've had many discussions about it. So he clearly didn't intend on including me in this lunch he was planning to make. Just as well, I had already fed the children and planned on eating some of the soup I had made the day before. You know, when I was also sick. Fine. Okay. The cheesy tomato rice preparation took long enough that he missed the starting time of the movie. So I still don't know if he really intended to go or not. But he looked at the listings for a long time. And he made plans with Andrew to take him to the TMNT movie next weekend. So I'm pretty sure he at least considered it.
I mentioned that we were going to need more Kleenexes - we're going through quite a few of them around here right now - and we were getting low on bottled water. And I asked what the chance was of him going to Wal-Mart. He said "Not," but that's a pretty typical response for him. Smart ass, all the time. Then we ran out of bottled water. And I don't drink Indiana tap water - it's gross. If you don't live here, just trust me on this. And I'm sick (have I mentioned?), so I really need to drink a lot of water. At 7:30, I got up to MAKE MYSELF DINNER - he ate cheesy tomato rice leftovers at 5:30. Didn't offer to make me anything (but to be fair, I was half-asleep), didn't feed the kids. The kids asked ME to get them some dinner. So I did. And he sat on the couch. And then I ate while the kids yelled and ran and fought and did not go to bed. And he sat on the couch. So at 8:30, I tried to make myself presentable enough as to not scare the innocent public, made a list, put on my shoes, and prepared to go to Wal-Mart. And he sat on the couch. When he finally asked what I was doing and I told him, he actually asked me if I wanted him to go. Seriously? YES! So he said I should give him the list. I told him to forget it and just take care of getting the kids to bed (because honestly, going to Wal-Mart takes a lot less energy and I knew I was going to be stuck with one or the other). And I went to Wal-Mart.
When I got home, and UNLOADED EVERYTHING, INCLUDING TWO CASES OF WATER, I came inside to find the kids in the back of the house, but most certainly not laying in bed. And he was sitting on the couch. They were yelling and giggling and very clearly together in one room, not each in their own, they were up and playing in the bathroom, they were playing in the hall. And he SAT ON THE COUCH. Finally, at 9:30 (NINE FRIPPING THIRTY), I got up and asked if he was actually going to sit there and do nothing and make me be the bitch. You'll just never guess what he did. Jerk. So I went and yelled at the children, put them back in their own beds, threatened them as any proper Mommy Ogre does, and came out here to type all this streaming vent in one massive bitch-a-thon.
And he's now laying on the couch.
God, he's hot. Or maybe that's the cold medicine I just chugged talking.
Okay, so I went to San Diego. It as for work, but yes, I had a good time. Okay. And while I was away, he got sick - very sick. 102 degree fever, very raw very sore throat, chills, body aches. The whole thing. And while he was there, dealing with being sick, he was responsible for taking care of the kids. He didn't call his mommy or anyone else for help, he just sucked it up and dealt with it. Okay. It sucked. I get it. I felt terrible about it while I was gone, I really did. And when I got back, I took over. Completely. I put the house back in order - because it looked worse than I could have ever imagined. I waited on him - and the kids, who acted starved for attention - hand and ever loving foot. Seriously. Food brought to him while he laid on the couch, kids kept as quiet as possible. I even did the DISHES for crying out loud, and anyone who really knows me knows that is a major event. And even more than that, I didn't complain. I know it's hard to believe of me, but really, I didn't. Not once all day Thursday, Friday (when I took an EXTRA day off from work, using more of my quickly dwindling PTO bucket because Abby was running a fever), and Saturday, and I made it to Sunday night before I let loose a little. Sunday night, when I got myself a bowl of ice cream and brought it in to the living room, he said "Oh, that's real nice. Thanks for bringing me some." Seriously?!? So I kinda went off a little. But just that once. Really.
He has taken a long time to get over this virus, and when he came home from work Monday, Tuesday (my birthday - he was asleep when we got home, but he did wake up and take me out to dinner), and Wednesday, he took a nap. And I took care of the kids. And made dinner. And put the kids to bed. He did help out some, but he was on fairly light duty. And I understood. He was still feeling puny. I got it. But I was tired, too, and was having trouble shifting my internal clock back from California time and then from the time change. And I was getting a little cranky.
Thursday, Andrew was sick. We pulled a split shift - Steve worked in the morning, I went in for the afternoon. Friday, Andrew and Abby were both sick. We split the shift again. And by the time I got home Friday night, I had it. Oh, crap. No sore throat, but maybe one of the worst colds I ever remember having. I was wiped out, butt kicked. Head cold, coughing, sneezing, nose that is both runny and stuffy at the same time, fever, lost my voice, general bleachness. Saturday, I laid around a lot. Didn't do too much. And I did get a nap. But I also took care of kids, picked up around the house, made the kids lunch, made dinner, and answered almost every one of the approximately 4,000 times one of the kids said "Mom." I didn't do it all, but I did enough. I was nearly delirious.
And then today. OMG, today. Wait, first let me back up a little. I need to point out that it is March. If you don't know anything about basketball, let me tell you that there is a reason they call it March Madness. My husband is a big fan of college basketball. And when he is using all of his visual sense to watch college basketball, he often loses function in his other senses - especially hearing. So while the tournament is going on, it's a hit or miss proposition as to whether he's aware of what is going on around him. I only wish I was exaggerating. So even on Saturday, there were many times when he would wait until I prompted him before he would react to whatever needed reacting. Things that I didn't have the energy to give the proper amount of authority. Like kids hitting each other, throwing Legos, spilling food, etc., etc.
So last night, I got some things ready that needed to go to church - prepared them for Steve to take since I obviously wouldn't be going. I also helped to finish the church directory so the church secretary and her husband could finish printing it for today's service. All of this while I couldn't breathe - it was really quite an accomplishment. He took the things to church today, but only did half of what I had asked - because he didn't have time. Uh, that's because you didn't get your ass up out of bed when I told you to (since I was already up taking care of the kids, still sick), Jack Ass! Okay. Moving on.
He kept talking about going to see a movie. Alone. A movie I didn't want to see. Today. While I'm SICK and the kids are getting over being sick and are whiny because they've been basically cooped up in the house since Thursday. I just let him talk. Surely he didn't really intend to go. On his way home from church, he stopped to pick up groceries to make this special cheesy tomato rice dish that his mother used to make. I hate it. Can barely stand the smell of it. And he knows this. We've had many discussions about it. So he clearly didn't intend on including me in this lunch he was planning to make. Just as well, I had already fed the children and planned on eating some of the soup I had made the day before. You know, when I was also sick. Fine. Okay. The cheesy tomato rice preparation took long enough that he missed the starting time of the movie. So I still don't know if he really intended to go or not. But he looked at the listings for a long time. And he made plans with Andrew to take him to the TMNT movie next weekend. So I'm pretty sure he at least considered it.
I mentioned that we were going to need more Kleenexes - we're going through quite a few of them around here right now - and we were getting low on bottled water. And I asked what the chance was of him going to Wal-Mart. He said "Not," but that's a pretty typical response for him. Smart ass, all the time. Then we ran out of bottled water. And I don't drink Indiana tap water - it's gross. If you don't live here, just trust me on this. And I'm sick (have I mentioned?), so I really need to drink a lot of water. At 7:30, I got up to MAKE MYSELF DINNER - he ate cheesy tomato rice leftovers at 5:30. Didn't offer to make me anything (but to be fair, I was half-asleep), didn't feed the kids. The kids asked ME to get them some dinner. So I did. And he sat on the couch. And then I ate while the kids yelled and ran and fought and did not go to bed. And he sat on the couch. So at 8:30, I tried to make myself presentable enough as to not scare the innocent public, made a list, put on my shoes, and prepared to go to Wal-Mart. And he sat on the couch. When he finally asked what I was doing and I told him, he actually asked me if I wanted him to go. Seriously? YES! So he said I should give him the list. I told him to forget it and just take care of getting the kids to bed (because honestly, going to Wal-Mart takes a lot less energy and I knew I was going to be stuck with one or the other). And I went to Wal-Mart.
When I got home, and UNLOADED EVERYTHING, INCLUDING TWO CASES OF WATER, I came inside to find the kids in the back of the house, but most certainly not laying in bed. And he was sitting on the couch. They were yelling and giggling and very clearly together in one room, not each in their own, they were up and playing in the bathroom, they were playing in the hall. And he SAT ON THE COUCH. Finally, at 9:30 (NINE FRIPPING THIRTY), I got up and asked if he was actually going to sit there and do nothing and make me be the bitch. You'll just never guess what he did. Jerk. So I went and yelled at the children, put them back in their own beds, threatened them as any proper Mommy Ogre does, and came out here to type all this streaming vent in one massive bitch-a-thon.
And he's now laying on the couch.
God, he's hot. Or maybe that's the cold medicine I just chugged talking.
Monday, March 12, 2007
When my love for food meets my love for clothes that fit
Dear cookie-leaver (may I assume cookie-baker, as well?),
I hate you (I love you. Marry me?). You left evil (yummy) cookies on the Food Table, which is right next to my cubicle. Those (delicate, pretty) pink cookies called my name until I could no longer resist. I ate one and it was (wonderful, perfect, strawberry/cherry-flavored heaven) terrible! And still the plate of cookies remained, calling to me as I walked past to and from my cube; drifting into the corner of my vision even as I looked away. And so I ate them. Most of them. I would have taken a picture of one - because, yes, I bring my camera to work - had I not devoured it before I thought to do so.
Please (don't) stop bringing cookies to work! It is not in keeping with our corporate values of respect to all people - you clearly do not respect my lack of will power and my efforts to maintain a more healthy eating lifestyle. It's almost as if you knew that I have consumed four boxes of Girl Scout cookies in the last five days and are attacking (consoling) me while I am at my weakest. What have I done to deserve this treatment (I'll do it again!)?
Yes, I was in California enjoying warm weather and sunshine for five days, but I worked, I swear! It was work! Hard, hard work! I drove the golf cart, for crying out loud - is that not effort enough? I had to drink free beer. With consultants - the horror! And all the sunshine - it hurt my eyes! And watching Dean Hager - these are the lengths I go to in order to bring back new Lawson knowledge for you. And still you torment me...Please, no (yes, yes!) more cookies. Maybe some carrot sticks (better yet, potato sticks) or a nice (chocolate-covered) fruit plate.
Begging for (more treats, like a lap dog) your understanding,
Me
I hate you (I love you. Marry me?). You left evil (yummy) cookies on the Food Table, which is right next to my cubicle. Those (delicate, pretty) pink cookies called my name until I could no longer resist. I ate one and it was (wonderful, perfect, strawberry/cherry-flavored heaven) terrible! And still the plate of cookies remained, calling to me as I walked past to and from my cube; drifting into the corner of my vision even as I looked away. And so I ate them. Most of them. I would have taken a picture of one - because, yes, I bring my camera to work - had I not devoured it before I thought to do so.
Please (don't) stop bringing cookies to work! It is not in keeping with our corporate values of respect to all people - you clearly do not respect my lack of will power and my efforts to maintain a more healthy eating lifestyle. It's almost as if you knew that I have consumed four boxes of Girl Scout cookies in the last five days and are attacking (consoling) me while I am at my weakest. What have I done to deserve this treatment (I'll do it again!)?
Yes, I was in California enjoying warm weather and sunshine for five days, but I worked, I swear! It was work! Hard, hard work! I drove the golf cart, for crying out loud - is that not effort enough? I had to drink free beer. With consultants - the horror! And all the sunshine - it hurt my eyes! And watching Dean Hager - these are the lengths I go to in order to bring back new Lawson knowledge for you. And still you torment me...Please, no (yes, yes!) more cookies. Maybe some carrot sticks (better yet, potato sticks) or a nice (chocolate-covered) fruit plate.
Begging for (more treats, like a lap dog) your understanding,
Me
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Don't sign me up for the Boston Marathon yet
I realize my posts are fairly random. I post about writing batch file programs, my kids, work, depression, Momtinis...I know. But, seriously? That's how my life is. It is random and nonlinear and full of lots of different things. So...today I've got a new random subject: my treadmill. More appropriately, my LOVE for my new treadmill.
I never believed I would be a runner or a treadmill owner. And I don't think I'm going to go so far as to call myself a runner now, either. But I think I have more potential to become a runner now than I ever thought I would. My friend (also my boss - yes, it's awesome) had a treadmill she was looking to sell and Steve and I have talked about getting a treadmill. Yes, we have made the same goal that millions of other people make every January - to lose weight/get in shape. But I feel more serious about this than just a diet. In fact, I don't really think about this as a diet. We are trying to make a change in how we live. I am actually very consciously trying NOT to use the word diet or talk about losing weight. I don't want to start those images and ideas in the kids' heads already. I know it's never too early to start lifelong problems with food and self-image. So anyway, we got the treadmill. We've had it for a couple of weeks now, and I really really like it. I don't really like the fact that it's in the living room, but since we don't have an extra room to put it in or a basement, the living room is the best option.
I have not been on it every day, but I have been on it more days than I have not. And I have even started running on it. I read somewhere that beginners should start out alternating walking for 3 minutes and running for 2 to ease in to running. I did that all this week for a mile or so each time. Today I did that for a mile and walked another 2 miles. I know, I'm a wuss. Please, don't tell me. I KNOW! But for me, this is a big step away from my sedentary lifestyle. I want to be healthy. I want to be a good model for my kids. We're all eating a little better - but we aren't going crazy. I love food. Get that right - I LOVE food. And if I try to eliminate all the things I love the best (that would be French fries, for starters), I know it won't stick. But if we add in more fruit and vegetables, switch to brown rice, eat more fiber, reduce the fat and sugar...blah blah blah...I just might be able to do it. And my kids might not become one more statistic about obese children. Though, to be honest, I don't see Andrew having trouble with that any time soon. For him, I want him to learn how to eat healthy. With the history of heart trouble on his dad's side, he needs to start early.
So the treadmill. Have I mentioned that I love it? Yes, I did. Really, if I'm being honest here, I don't love running, or even walking that much. While I'm doing it, I have a very strong hatred of the effort it takes to make my body go. I don't like being sweaty. It's gross. And I am not cute when I sweat. But at the same time, I love the way I feel. I love that the sweat means I am working and the working means I am burning calories and the burning of calories means I am healthier! They aren't lying when they talk about those endorphins. I feel them. I take pride in the (yes, wussy) fact that I can run. No, I can't run far - yet - and I don't run for very long - yet. But I am already getting stronger. I feel confident that I am going to make the goals I've set. Where I am weak in the face of food, I am strong when I am on my treadmill. Maybe it's because the treadmill is pointed right toward the kitchen and I have direct line view of the refrigerator....it's the old carrot on the stick trick!! Ha!
I never believed I would be a runner or a treadmill owner. And I don't think I'm going to go so far as to call myself a runner now, either. But I think I have more potential to become a runner now than I ever thought I would. My friend (also my boss - yes, it's awesome) had a treadmill she was looking to sell and Steve and I have talked about getting a treadmill. Yes, we have made the same goal that millions of other people make every January - to lose weight/get in shape. But I feel more serious about this than just a diet. In fact, I don't really think about this as a diet. We are trying to make a change in how we live. I am actually very consciously trying NOT to use the word diet or talk about losing weight. I don't want to start those images and ideas in the kids' heads already. I know it's never too early to start lifelong problems with food and self-image. So anyway, we got the treadmill. We've had it for a couple of weeks now, and I really really like it. I don't really like the fact that it's in the living room, but since we don't have an extra room to put it in or a basement, the living room is the best option.
I have not been on it every day, but I have been on it more days than I have not. And I have even started running on it. I read somewhere that beginners should start out alternating walking for 3 minutes and running for 2 to ease in to running. I did that all this week for a mile or so each time. Today I did that for a mile and walked another 2 miles. I know, I'm a wuss. Please, don't tell me. I KNOW! But for me, this is a big step away from my sedentary lifestyle. I want to be healthy. I want to be a good model for my kids. We're all eating a little better - but we aren't going crazy. I love food. Get that right - I LOVE food. And if I try to eliminate all the things I love the best (that would be French fries, for starters), I know it won't stick. But if we add in more fruit and vegetables, switch to brown rice, eat more fiber, reduce the fat and sugar...blah blah blah...I just might be able to do it. And my kids might not become one more statistic about obese children. Though, to be honest, I don't see Andrew having trouble with that any time soon. For him, I want him to learn how to eat healthy. With the history of heart trouble on his dad's side, he needs to start early.
So the treadmill. Have I mentioned that I love it? Yes, I did. Really, if I'm being honest here, I don't love running, or even walking that much. While I'm doing it, I have a very strong hatred of the effort it takes to make my body go. I don't like being sweaty. It's gross. And I am not cute when I sweat. But at the same time, I love the way I feel. I love that the sweat means I am working and the working means I am burning calories and the burning of calories means I am healthier! They aren't lying when they talk about those endorphins. I feel them. I take pride in the (yes, wussy) fact that I can run. No, I can't run far - yet - and I don't run for very long - yet. But I am already getting stronger. I feel confident that I am going to make the goals I've set. Where I am weak in the face of food, I am strong when I am on my treadmill. Maybe it's because the treadmill is pointed right toward the kitchen and I have direct line view of the refrigerator....it's the old carrot on the stick trick!! Ha!
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