At some point last week or the week before (they all run together nowadays), it occurred to me that pregnant women are the biggest liars in the world. At least if most are anything like I am, they are the biggest liars. Don't get me wrong, I've had a great pregnancy and would, (will) do it again without a second thought. But how many of us, pregnant or not, when asked, "How are you?" say, "Just fine," when really we aren't?
I say that pregnant women are especially the biggest liars because that seems to be a popular question that I get asked several times everyday. I know that this means that I see people who care about me everyday, and that's good, but I still lie to most of them.
"So how are you feeling?"
"I'm tired. I'm huge. There's this spot in my back that won't quit hurting. I have to pee all the time. I'm gassy. I have heartburn. Did I say I'm huge?"
That's what I want to say. But instead, I say, "I've felt great. Can't complain at all," simply because I feel like I can't complain. There are so many women who have had morning sickness and blood pressure problems, very preemie births and a multitude of other problems. So who am I to complain about all these little problems?
Still doesn't mean I didn't lie to them though.
I have used this response, and should probably use it more:
"How are you feeling?"
"Very pregnant."
That's not a lie. But it keeps me from complaining.
I suppose that I was inspired to put all of this down in words after this weekend. For posterity's sake, I had a stomach bug on Thanksgiving. I go 8 years without catching a stomach bug and then manage to get one when I'm 8 months pregnant on Thanksgiving Day nonetheless. This weekend was the first time that I truly wished I wasn't pregnant. Not so much because I felt bad, but because I was afraid that anything I was doing was hurting little Josiah. Not eating, not drinking much, then taking a Zantac for indigestion (the doc told me to), not eating "healthy" stuff, pushing myself to hard, and some other gory details that I'll spare you.
Yet, this somehow makes me a little proud. Somewhere in the first and second trimesters, I made the statement that I think I was the only pregnant-by-choice woman in the world who was scared of babies. But now I've started to feel that love that I'm convinced only God can make me feel for my unborn little baby boy. And this weekend was a bit of an emotional rollercoaster just letting the thought cross my mind that I might have hurt him, that I couldn't or didn't take care of him like I should have.
There's my confession I suppose. It makes me feel better anyway to get all of that out. There's so much more than I can say, but maybe I should just take a cue from one of my favorite movies, The Italian Job, and when someone asks how I'm doing I should say, "FINE." Freaked out, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional. I've heard pregnancy will do that to you :)
Such Big Dreams for Such a Small Person
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Monday, November 5, 2012
Where Else Would I Start?
But at the beginning.
This will be a mommy post, so if you were looking for crafty-ness, it won't be in here. So you can skip it if you like. I know I didn't like reading mommy posts of strangers when I wasn't going to be a mommy.
We decided that we wanted to start trying to have a family in December of 2011. My doctor told me that I could go off The Pill and start trying right away. She said that with me being young and healthy that I should get pregnant within 3 months. 3 months came and went, and those crazy female doubts started sinking in. Especially after 4 months. I had decided that if I wasn't pregnant the next month, I would go to the doctor to make sure everything was checking out OK. (We had deductible money, $3000 of it, put away in a flexible spending account and needed to spend it before the end of the year.) That "Magical Week" rolled around at the beginning of May. My tummy had been feeling funny, but that wasn't unsual. What was unusual was that the "Magical Week" hadn't started yet. So on Thurs, May 3, I peed on the stick, and got two lines! We decided not to tell anyone until Father's Day, after our first Dr's appointment.
I had been feeling fine. Great really. But I have a long family history of sick pregnant women in my family. Like so sick that several had IV shunts in place just to get fluids. I was prepared to be sick. But I hadn't been. Until Sunday, May 7. We had our Middle Schoolers at the house that night. And had Little Caesar's pizza for supper. I was in the bathroom most of the night. No barfing, but the other end. I thought I had just had too much greasy pizza. I called my employer (Daddy) to tell him that I had an upset stomach and I probably wouldn't be in to work that day. What was worse, Hubs left that morning for a week long trip to Suriname, South America for his job. But I started feeling better during the day, and continued to blame it on the pizza. Until Monday night, which I also spent most of in the bathroom.
I was sleep deprived, sick, and knew I couln't go into work like I was. But I was still torn on trying to keep the pregnancy a secret. But I was also afraid that I would get dehydrated, or so sick that I couldn't even get myself to a hospital if needed. So I still got dressed for work and went. I told Daddy that I thought I had a stomach bug and I was going to go to his house where Mama was. When I got to Mama and Daddy's house, I had to tell Mama. It wasn't the most creative way, sick-looking at 9 AM. But it worked. I think she suspected it anyway. I told my brother, Sam that morning too. He came down the stairs in nothing but his boxers. When I told him, his reaction was, "Ahh! My sister's knocked up!" which is the truth. I waited to tell Daddy until he got home that evening. He asked if I thought I had a stomach bug. I told him no. He asked, "Well what do you think it is?" I said, "I think you're going to be a grandpa." The look on his face was priceless. He did a double take. Then I think he may have danced around the room a little. But this was the hardest part. They couldn't tell ANYONE until Saturday when Dave got home. I couldn't let Dave's parents hear through the grapevine that they were going to be grandparents again. And Daddy wanted to tell EVERYONE. But the secret stayed safe, and after Saturday, Daddy told anyone he wanted.
The rest of the week, I stayed at Mama and Daddy's house. Because it sucks to be sick and alone. I spent most of Tuesday that week feeling nauseous. I thought for sure that I would barf that night, and kind of wished I could at one point. And most of Wednesday too. But my OB reccommended taking Unisom and vit. B6, and it worked wonders for me. Every 8 hours for about 2 weeks. Then I decided to see if I could live without it. And I could. I had a few food aversions, and developed a couple of smell aversions, but I had more "evening sickness" than morning sickness. By the time I got home from work everyday, I just wanted to veg out on the couch and eat a peanut butter sandwich. But I still never barfed. To this day, I haven't barfed during pregnancy. (So Blessed!)
We finally told Dave's parents on Saturday, and thanks to a husband who wanted me to tell them, but failed to let me know that, there was a, "You tell them," "No, you tell them," moment. So I think his parents knew before it finally left our mouths. I think they suspected it anyway too, because I'm never sick.
And that was the most eventful thing that happened in the first trimester. We went to our first appointment, saw the heart beat, got pictures of the most adorable little blob I had ever seen, and eventually agreed upon the name "Dumplin'" for until we found out the sex. I just have a problem calling a baby "it" or "the baby" all the time. He needed a proper name.
Stay tuned! More stories to follow on the blame game and kicking!
This will be a mommy post, so if you were looking for crafty-ness, it won't be in here. So you can skip it if you like. I know I didn't like reading mommy posts of strangers when I wasn't going to be a mommy.
We decided that we wanted to start trying to have a family in December of 2011. My doctor told me that I could go off The Pill and start trying right away. She said that with me being young and healthy that I should get pregnant within 3 months. 3 months came and went, and those crazy female doubts started sinking in. Especially after 4 months. I had decided that if I wasn't pregnant the next month, I would go to the doctor to make sure everything was checking out OK. (We had deductible money, $3000 of it, put away in a flexible spending account and needed to spend it before the end of the year.) That "Magical Week" rolled around at the beginning of May. My tummy had been feeling funny, but that wasn't unsual. What was unusual was that the "Magical Week" hadn't started yet. So on Thurs, May 3, I peed on the stick, and got two lines! We decided not to tell anyone until Father's Day, after our first Dr's appointment.
I had been feeling fine. Great really. But I have a long family history of sick pregnant women in my family. Like so sick that several had IV shunts in place just to get fluids. I was prepared to be sick. But I hadn't been. Until Sunday, May 7. We had our Middle Schoolers at the house that night. And had Little Caesar's pizza for supper. I was in the bathroom most of the night. No barfing, but the other end. I thought I had just had too much greasy pizza. I called my employer (Daddy) to tell him that I had an upset stomach and I probably wouldn't be in to work that day. What was worse, Hubs left that morning for a week long trip to Suriname, South America for his job. But I started feeling better during the day, and continued to blame it on the pizza. Until Monday night, which I also spent most of in the bathroom.
I was sleep deprived, sick, and knew I couln't go into work like I was. But I was still torn on trying to keep the pregnancy a secret. But I was also afraid that I would get dehydrated, or so sick that I couldn't even get myself to a hospital if needed. So I still got dressed for work and went. I told Daddy that I thought I had a stomach bug and I was going to go to his house where Mama was. When I got to Mama and Daddy's house, I had to tell Mama. It wasn't the most creative way, sick-looking at 9 AM. But it worked. I think she suspected it anyway. I told my brother, Sam that morning too. He came down the stairs in nothing but his boxers. When I told him, his reaction was, "Ahh! My sister's knocked up!" which is the truth. I waited to tell Daddy until he got home that evening. He asked if I thought I had a stomach bug. I told him no. He asked, "Well what do you think it is?" I said, "I think you're going to be a grandpa." The look on his face was priceless. He did a double take. Then I think he may have danced around the room a little. But this was the hardest part. They couldn't tell ANYONE until Saturday when Dave got home. I couldn't let Dave's parents hear through the grapevine that they were going to be grandparents again. And Daddy wanted to tell EVERYONE. But the secret stayed safe, and after Saturday, Daddy told anyone he wanted.
The rest of the week, I stayed at Mama and Daddy's house. Because it sucks to be sick and alone. I spent most of Tuesday that week feeling nauseous. I thought for sure that I would barf that night, and kind of wished I could at one point. And most of Wednesday too. But my OB reccommended taking Unisom and vit. B6, and it worked wonders for me. Every 8 hours for about 2 weeks. Then I decided to see if I could live without it. And I could. I had a few food aversions, and developed a couple of smell aversions, but I had more "evening sickness" than morning sickness. By the time I got home from work everyday, I just wanted to veg out on the couch and eat a peanut butter sandwich. But I still never barfed. To this day, I haven't barfed during pregnancy. (So Blessed!)
We finally told Dave's parents on Saturday, and thanks to a husband who wanted me to tell them, but failed to let me know that, there was a, "You tell them," "No, you tell them," moment. So I think his parents knew before it finally left our mouths. I think they suspected it anyway too, because I'm never sick.
And that was the most eventful thing that happened in the first trimester. We went to our first appointment, saw the heart beat, got pictures of the most adorable little blob I had ever seen, and eventually agreed upon the name "Dumplin'" for until we found out the sex. I just have a problem calling a baby "it" or "the baby" all the time. He needed a proper name.
Stay tuned! More stories to follow on the blame game and kicking!
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Determined
Last night, Hubs had a class at the fire department at 6PM that lasted til about 9:30PM. That meant that he wasn't coming home between that and work. And I had to go to the grocery store. And I wasn't going to "cook" supper for just me. (I had a bowl of grits and a Toaster Strudel by the way, plus some Blue Bell Birthday Cake ice cream later. That's a whole 'nother story.) So I went home, ate supper, piddled on the computer while watching Monday's episode of Revolution onDemand and Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog on the CW (never thought that would ever be on TV). And somewhere during this, I realized that I hadn't blogged since April. So I decided that I was determined to write a blog post today.
So while I was in the shower last night, instead of reading the French translations on the back of my shampoo bottle for the millionth time, I carefully planned (meaning randomly thought about) what I was going to write for the next few posts. I went through pictures in my mind that I need to post, pictures that I need to take, and words I want to say. I eventually decided that an explanation was in order.
There are a number of things that I could legitimately blame my absence on. I could say that I've been too busy, had better things to do at home than play on the computer. I could say that since taking my new job, I have a greater feeling of self-worth that makes me not constantly turn to my blog and others' opinions of me. I could say that I've just been lazy. All of those are at least part of the truth.
But the biggest reason that I haven't blogged is probably the overarching reason for all of the excuses above. The truth is that for the past 27 weeks, I've had what can biologically be defined as a parasite. It sucks up my nutrients, makes me tired, continually grows and thrives within my body, and I technically get no benefit from it. But in just another 3 months or so, it will change my life. It will make me and Hubs probably the happiest we've ever been together (that is, if it hasn't already.) I know that it has tickled our parents and siblings.
If you haven't figured it out, I'm pregnant! I'm fulfilling one of the biggest dreams that I've had since I was a kid myself.
Ok, so it may seem a little inappropriate to call my baby a parasite. But I'm also the girl who kind of enjoys funerals because I get to see friends and family, then I break down afterwards. It also kind of grosses my brother out when I call the baby a parasite.
There will be more stories to follow of the first and second trimesters. Some with weeks attatched to them, most without. I haven't been a "good mommy" and written down everything that comes to mind about this "magical time." But neither did my Mama, and I don't think I'm any worse for the wear. There will be pictures. Pictures of belly, studio-turned-nursery, projects for our little Dumplin', and all the likes of that. And I'm cramming 6 months of all the "interesting" things that have happened into just 3 months of blogging. As if I needed to add anything to my to-do lists here lately!
Anyway, Josiah David, you are going to be one loved little boy, with one crazy Mama!
So while I was in the shower last night, instead of reading the French translations on the back of my shampoo bottle for the millionth time, I carefully planned (meaning randomly thought about) what I was going to write for the next few posts. I went through pictures in my mind that I need to post, pictures that I need to take, and words I want to say. I eventually decided that an explanation was in order.
There are a number of things that I could legitimately blame my absence on. I could say that I've been too busy, had better things to do at home than play on the computer. I could say that since taking my new job, I have a greater feeling of self-worth that makes me not constantly turn to my blog and others' opinions of me. I could say that I've just been lazy. All of those are at least part of the truth.
But the biggest reason that I haven't blogged is probably the overarching reason for all of the excuses above. The truth is that for the past 27 weeks, I've had what can biologically be defined as a parasite. It sucks up my nutrients, makes me tired, continually grows and thrives within my body, and I technically get no benefit from it. But in just another 3 months or so, it will change my life. It will make me and Hubs probably the happiest we've ever been together (that is, if it hasn't already.) I know that it has tickled our parents and siblings.
If you haven't figured it out, I'm pregnant! I'm fulfilling one of the biggest dreams that I've had since I was a kid myself.
Ok, so it may seem a little inappropriate to call my baby a parasite. But I'm also the girl who kind of enjoys funerals because I get to see friends and family, then I break down afterwards. It also kind of grosses my brother out when I call the baby a parasite.
There will be more stories to follow of the first and second trimesters. Some with weeks attatched to them, most without. I haven't been a "good mommy" and written down everything that comes to mind about this "magical time." But neither did my Mama, and I don't think I'm any worse for the wear. There will be pictures. Pictures of belly, studio-turned-nursery, projects for our little Dumplin', and all the likes of that. And I'm cramming 6 months of all the "interesting" things that have happened into just 3 months of blogging. As if I needed to add anything to my to-do lists here lately!
Anyway, Josiah David, you are going to be one loved little boy, with one crazy Mama!
Monday, April 2, 2012
One of Those Weekends...
I know that I promised a caution sign for negative posts. There's not one here, but I'm not apologizing. It's not all going to be negative. In fact, my plan is to make it funny.
This Saturday did not turn out at all like I had planned. I woke up in a foul mood. Thus, I was in a foul mood all day. I couldn't get my mind wrapped around what project I wanted to tackle. I should have known not to tackle anything too hard.
The first plan was to do my second pin-up style knock off. But the shirt that I was going to refashion no longer fit (darn the local Mexican restaurant). So I decided to make the dress I wanted with the beautiful navy blue ponte knit that I bought for way too much. I needed to do this. After all, I finally had my red wedges to match that I had been in search of. But as I was winding my bobbin, my thread ran out. I had to go to two different stores to find some navy thread.
All was made better for a while when I got home and X-Men Origins was on. Even as a mutant, Hugh Jackman is one fine man.
Then I commenced to making the dress. Nothing went as planned. I think the dress was mutating on me. I finally decided that it wasn't going to turn out how I had imagined. I changed my game plan and started redesigning.
Until I accidentally cut the straps off.
I think I threw it across the room. I'm not sure. I was in that mode where I just threw things. I know I threw the mayonnaise jar across the kitchen. Thankfully those are no longer made of glass.
But all hope is not lost! I still think I can salvage a decent dress from what I had. I was just so frustrated that I couldn't think of anything besides my "failure." I'm so self concious aboug failing. It has always seemed like the world was just waiting on me to fail. I've always felt like there were very few people who liked me. I'm not really sure if that's the truth, or if it's just a lie that Satan planted in my little middle schooler brain 15 years ago that somehow flourishes. Even if it is true, I KNOW there are some really great people who do love me. Even and especially when I do "fail." And to all of those people who fall into that category, thank you. You know who you are :)
But the only ones who never fail are those who never try anything new. I can tell myself that now.
So now the hunt is on for a shirt to refashion. And my seam ripper is going to get a lot of love.
But this weekend, I'm going to Dollywood again with Hubs, my Mama and Daddy, and Sam and Megan, my brother and his girlfriend. So unless the urge hits me after work one day. There ain't nothing in that sewing room getting much love this week!
This Saturday did not turn out at all like I had planned. I woke up in a foul mood. Thus, I was in a foul mood all day. I couldn't get my mind wrapped around what project I wanted to tackle. I should have known not to tackle anything too hard.
The first plan was to do my second pin-up style knock off. But the shirt that I was going to refashion no longer fit (darn the local Mexican restaurant). So I decided to make the dress I wanted with the beautiful navy blue ponte knit that I bought for way too much. I needed to do this. After all, I finally had my red wedges to match that I had been in search of. But as I was winding my bobbin, my thread ran out. I had to go to two different stores to find some navy thread.
All was made better for a while when I got home and X-Men Origins was on. Even as a mutant, Hugh Jackman is one fine man.
Then I commenced to making the dress. Nothing went as planned. I think the dress was mutating on me. I finally decided that it wasn't going to turn out how I had imagined. I changed my game plan and started redesigning.
Until I accidentally cut the straps off.
I think I threw it across the room. I'm not sure. I was in that mode where I just threw things. I know I threw the mayonnaise jar across the kitchen. Thankfully those are no longer made of glass.
But all hope is not lost! I still think I can salvage a decent dress from what I had. I was just so frustrated that I couldn't think of anything besides my "failure." I'm so self concious aboug failing. It has always seemed like the world was just waiting on me to fail. I've always felt like there were very few people who liked me. I'm not really sure if that's the truth, or if it's just a lie that Satan planted in my little middle schooler brain 15 years ago that somehow flourishes. Even if it is true, I KNOW there are some really great people who do love me. Even and especially when I do "fail." And to all of those people who fall into that category, thank you. You know who you are :)
But the only ones who never fail are those who never try anything new. I can tell myself that now.
So now the hunt is on for a shirt to refashion. And my seam ripper is going to get a lot of love.
But this weekend, I'm going to Dollywood again with Hubs, my Mama and Daddy, and Sam and Megan, my brother and his girlfriend. So unless the urge hits me after work one day. There ain't nothing in that sewing room getting much love this week!
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Knock it Off!
I love knocking stuff off. I'm sure there's something wrong with that. But I love it. I always have. I have boxes of beads and shells from making hemp jewelry when I was in middle school and early high school. I didn't want to pay $10 (which was a lot to a 12 year old back then) for a necklace I could make for about $3. Plus I got the satisfaction of knowing that I made it. I think I've always been very analytical. I can look at stuff and figure out what went into making it. I've always been good at spatial things, like geometry. I think that was one of my favorite classes in high school and I did really well in physics in college. I just like figuring stuff out. And it's awesome when all of that combines into something more useful than what time two trains will collide.
All that being said. I found this dress at Belk a few weeks ago.
All that being said. I found this dress at Belk a few weeks ago.
(Yes, I succumbed to Pinterest, I feel like a sell out)
But I did find this dress in real life at Belk. There were just a few problems. 1) It was in the junior's department. Some things I can get away with in the junior's dept. like T-shirts. Not dresses. 2) Coming from the junior's dept. it was very short and see through. People complain about what hoochie mama's today's teenagers are becoming. Part of the problem is that mamas are buying the hoochie mama clothes for their teenagers. OK, getting off the soap box now. 3) The print is all wrong for me. Petite girls should wear petite prints. Not giant butterflies gracing their naughty bits.
So I studied the dress in the store while the Clinique lady wondered what I was doing to the poor hanging half mannequin thing and remembered it for the day I found the perfect fabric. Little did I know it wouldn't be long before I found it.
I found this wonderful cotton knit at Hancock for $3 a yard! $3! And I used less than 2 yards. So that's a new dress for less than $6. It kind of has an Indian feel to the print. But it's in dominantly berry color. I love berry color. And I got some practice matching stripes. I'm wearing a long sleeve T-shirt under it because it was cold that day and I couldn't wait to wear my new dress, but the little white panel in front is sewn in so I won't have to wear a cami underneath in the summer. And the fabric is such better quality than what's in the stores.
I'm in love.
So my next knock off project is in the works. Because I think it's senseless to pay $200 on sale for a bag just because it says Michael Kors. Did he sign it? Sew it together himself? Guaratee it free of defects in workmanship? Write you a personal thank you note for shopping his brand? Even if he did, there's no sense in spending that kind of money for a bag that will go out of style next season. Just sayin'.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Supporting the March of Dimes!
Hey everyone! This is going to be a short-ish post with a lot of horn blowing advertising. BUT...it's for a good cause. I have a friend from church who has an adorable baby named Ruthie. Ruthie was born at only 24 weeks and spent her first 3.5 months in the NICU. Ruthieis doing much better now, but sadly, Jay, Gina and Ruthie aren't the first family that has had to go through this and they won't be the last.
The March of Dimes aims to help more babies be born healthy and full term. Gina will be walking in and Ruthie stroller riding in a Greenville March of Dimes event in October. I'm helping her to raise money with this little cutie:
This is the Ruthie Bag. Made with colors and prints that Ruthie loves. It's small, but very versatile and sells for $15 in Evan Becky's Gift Shop. Good news is, that $10 of that will go to Gina's efforts to raise money for her walk.
So go check it out! You'd be getting a cute bag and helping babies!
The March of Dimes aims to help more babies be born healthy and full term. Gina will be walking in and Ruthie stroller riding in a Greenville March of Dimes event in October. I'm helping her to raise money with this little cutie:
So go check it out! You'd be getting a cute bag and helping babies!
Monday, March 5, 2012
1st Day to 5K
I honestly can't recall if I've ever said anything about my excercise habits on my blog. I know I've mentioned a few things about losing some weight, but not much more than that. So here goes.
I've struggled with my weight since I was in middle school when I started drinking Diet Dr. Pepper. I started getting chunky and just never lost it. I loved eating too much. I would try one thing after another and nothing really worked for me being a teenager with self esteem issues and no will power. I got up to 135 lbs. by the middle of my junior year of high school. You're probably laughing now because that's probably a healthy weight for a lot of people. I'm 5'1". If I gain 2.5 lbs, I look like I've gained 5. So I finally decided to get the weight off by eating lots of small meals and dairy products. It didn't help that I was running around like a wild thing between band practices. I finally got down to 110 by my senior year.
I gained some in college, lost some elsewhere, gained a lot after getting married, lost some more working 2nd shift then gained some more after starting my new job. My weight rarely stays steady. I know that's not exactly good, but I'm trying my best to keep it in the healthy range.
Although I look healthy enough though, I rarely exercise. I hate it. I cannot understand someone who loves to exercise (like Hubs). There is nothing fun about working yourself until you are sick, and then hurting for the next 4 days because of it. I get no self satisfaction out of it. More than exercising, I hate running. I was always the kid who ended the game of tag because I couldn't run for long enough to make the game interesting. I was the girl who was judged unfairly in PE because I couldn't run constantly for 20 minutes whereas my peers on the championship Cross Country team could run for the whole hour and a half if they wanted to. I still feel like I'm mocked when I say that I can't run a whole, or maybe even half a lap around the 1/4 mile track at the high school. Especially when my friends are always posting on Facebook how they just had a great 3 mile run. I would love to be able to run, but I can't.
I have a bad taste in my mouth about running.
And considering my record with running, I wasn't about to go and spend money on a "Couch Potato to 5K" program. Especially since I've noticed that "Couch Potato to 5K" probably means "Someone who already can run at least a mile non stop to someone who wants to win a 5K."
Then I started reading about interval training. If you know nothing of interval training like I did, it's basically when you walk/jog at a slow speed for a period of time, then jog/run at a faster speed for a period of time and just alternate between those speeds. At first I thought I'd bombed it again. I found a program that the slow speed was faster than I could run anyway, so I knew I couldn't keep that pace. But while trying and failing at that attempt, I did find a song in my arsenal that was comfortable to walk to. So I put my phone on repeat and kept the beat. Being a marching band dork, this pleased me, a lot. So after that, I went in search of songs with similar beats per minute (bpm). I was fully prepared to buy some new music just so I could keep myself entertained, but I found this:
I've struggled with my weight since I was in middle school when I started drinking Diet Dr. Pepper. I started getting chunky and just never lost it. I loved eating too much. I would try one thing after another and nothing really worked for me being a teenager with self esteem issues and no will power. I got up to 135 lbs. by the middle of my junior year of high school. You're probably laughing now because that's probably a healthy weight for a lot of people. I'm 5'1". If I gain 2.5 lbs, I look like I've gained 5. So I finally decided to get the weight off by eating lots of small meals and dairy products. It didn't help that I was running around like a wild thing between band practices. I finally got down to 110 by my senior year.
I gained some in college, lost some elsewhere, gained a lot after getting married, lost some more working 2nd shift then gained some more after starting my new job. My weight rarely stays steady. I know that's not exactly good, but I'm trying my best to keep it in the healthy range.
Although I look healthy enough though, I rarely exercise. I hate it. I cannot understand someone who loves to exercise (like Hubs). There is nothing fun about working yourself until you are sick, and then hurting for the next 4 days because of it. I get no self satisfaction out of it. More than exercising, I hate running. I was always the kid who ended the game of tag because I couldn't run for long enough to make the game interesting. I was the girl who was judged unfairly in PE because I couldn't run constantly for 20 minutes whereas my peers on the championship Cross Country team could run for the whole hour and a half if they wanted to. I still feel like I'm mocked when I say that I can't run a whole, or maybe even half a lap around the 1/4 mile track at the high school. Especially when my friends are always posting on Facebook how they just had a great 3 mile run. I would love to be able to run, but I can't.
I have a bad taste in my mouth about running.
And considering my record with running, I wasn't about to go and spend money on a "Couch Potato to 5K" program. Especially since I've noticed that "Couch Potato to 5K" probably means "Someone who already can run at least a mile non stop to someone who wants to win a 5K."
Then I started reading about interval training. If you know nothing of interval training like I did, it's basically when you walk/jog at a slow speed for a period of time, then jog/run at a faster speed for a period of time and just alternate between those speeds. At first I thought I'd bombed it again. I found a program that the slow speed was faster than I could run anyway, so I knew I couldn't keep that pace. But while trying and failing at that attempt, I did find a song in my arsenal that was comfortable to walk to. So I put my phone on repeat and kept the beat. Being a marching band dork, this pleased me, a lot. So after that, I went in search of songs with similar beats per minute (bpm). I was fully prepared to buy some new music just so I could keep myself entertained, but I found this:
It's a free 9 week series of music downloads that follows the 1st Day to 5K plan. Just download the music to your music device, hit play and keep up with the beats per minute (each beat = 1 step). It's not music from the latest top 20. It's actually not music that many people have even heard. Kind of techno-y, tribal-y, funky-y. But the important thing is that it makes me exercise. And I can do it. I actually just speed walk the whole time. I'm so short and my steps are so quick I can walk fast and not have to run. I actually cover more ground walking fast that trying to jog at that pace, and I can't stand to see someone "jogging" when I can walk faster, then hearing them say "What a great run!" Isn't the purpose of running to get somewhere faster than if you are walking? Ok, sorry for that caveat. It just had to be said.
Anyway. I've been at it for two weeks now, and I feel so much better. I'm not sore because I'm walking, something I do all the time, and I don't feel like I'm dying from the invisible knife that stabs me in the side when I try to run. Yet I'm still getting the cardio exercise that our bodies need. And I'm gradually covering more ground in less time. I probably won't be ready to enter a 5K race at the end of the program since I'm walking. That would be quite embarassing to step off the line power walking. But I'm one step closer to having better cardio endurance. And I get to spend some time with Hubs walking the 1/8 mile track at our local fire dept.
And maybe I've given someone else the motivation to start doing something healthy by writing this post.
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