First Healthy Thought… without trying.

the South Texas sky

You know how it takes 21 days to make something a habit?  Well, I’m not saying I’m there yet, but something pretty amazing did happen to me today.  I had my first healthy thought, probably ever– without trying to have one, that is.

I went to yoga.  Afterward, I had lunch, and then was driving home when this thought jumped in my head.  I should go for a walk.

As if I’m a normal healthy person and would normally have a thought like that.

Yeah, I heard myself correctly.  I should go for a walk.

And I’m right.  I should go for a walk.  The weather is beautiful.  Winter in South Texas is kind of like San Diego weather.  Not that I’ve ever been to San Diego, but I hear they have great weather, and we are having  great weather, and since a=b and b=c, then a must surely equal c.  And who cares when the train is leaving Boston.

Part of my routine is picking my child up from school.  The school is only a couple blocks away, but we live on a giant hill, so I usually drive because of course, if you walk off this hill, then you have to climb back up it to get home.  That part is not fun.  But today, I’m getting off my tuffet and my hill and I’m walking to that school, which is also on a hill, and then I’m walking back home.  And I will enjoy it because that’s what healthy people do.  The don’t mind exercise.  They enjoy great weather.  That’s almost so “me.”

Namaste

The one thing that is keeping me from success is my activity level.  I hate to sweat, I’m not athletic, and I constantly make up excuses for myself.

Here’s the good news:

  • I quit my full-time job and left my career six months ago, so I have the time to dedicate to my healthy goals.
  • I have a degree in health education, so I know how to do this (not that I’ve ever done this before).
  • My family loves me and supports my endeavors.
  • My husband started his new healthy lifestyle in October, so I have a partner on this journey.

So wanna hear what my activity is?

Freakin’ Bikram Yoga.  Hot Yoga.  The kind where you go into a 105 degree room with 60% humidity for 90 minutes.

I figured that I have to get over my aversion to sweating, and with Bikram, you can’t really avoid sweating.  You just have to embrace it.  And let me tell you, the sweat is flying in there.  If I don’t turn my brain off, my inner epidemiologist starts telling me to leave while it counts the invisible bacterial growth in the room.  Especially now that the new year has begun and the room is packed.

When they tell us to put our hands over our head, sweat is cast off the yogi’s arms, landing on the other yogis around them.

Pretty gross, right?

If you get too hot, you just lie down on your mat in the cadaver position (don’t know it’s real name yet).  The only bad thing about that is that you get ball sweat, leg sweat, and ALL kinds of sweat landing on you while everyone else is standing.  It’s great incentive not to lie down.  I’m sorry, but all sweat is not created equal and there are some sweaty boys in the room.

Anyway, today is January 5, and today was my 4th day of Bikram Yoga.  Today is also the day my husband noticed a change in my body.  So let tomorrow be day #5.

Namaste, Bitches.

The 4-1-1

You probably want to know who I am.

That’s me in the orange sweater.  Those other people live with me.

I’m round.  I’m chubby.  I’m the f-word.

And I’ve heard about it my whole life.

Four days ago, my son said, “You’re going to be in trouble when Daddy finds out how much you weigh.”  Even a six year old knows what fat is.  More disappointing, though, is that he thinks I’ll be unlovable when his dad finds out.

When I was pregnant (my pre-pregnancy weight is about 5 pounds less than where I am now) six years ago, I went to my new ob/gyn to take the blood test and get a confirmation that I had my very own fetus.  Instead of congratulating me, the doctor said, “You’re too big to have a baby.”  Wow, that stung.

Or when my cousin Wayne said, “5.0 on the Richter scale” when I sat down at the table one Thanksgiving in 1987.

Or in middle school gym class when a mean girl made fun of me for my spare tire/muffin top/love handle/fat roll.

Or my whole life hearing that I have a nice personality.

Or that I’m photogenic (because clearly I don’t look like that in real life?).

I’ve never been in a normal weight range, and for once, I’d like to be overweight instead of obese.  So that’s my goal.  I want to be overweight.  If I lose 50 pounds, I’ll be in an overweight category for the first time in my adult life.

*If you want to find out if you are overweight or obese, check out your BMI by plugging in some numbers here.  FYI, if you are real muscular, this will be complete rubbish, and you’ll need a better form of measurement than this.

Epic Like Beowulf. Kind of.

No, I’m not epic like Beowulf.  But just in case I was, I checked the definition of epic.

According to dictionary.com, it means

1.)  noting or pertaining to a long, poetic composition, generally centered upon a hero, blah, blah, blah.

Nope, Sorry.  I’m not your hero.  I am not the wings beneath your wings either.

2.)  resembling or suggesting such poetry.

Although I might be considered a haiku-ologist in some circles, I’m not epic in the poetic sense right here right now.  Yet.

3.) heroic; majestic; impressively great:  the epic events of the war

Um, yeah, go see #1 again.

4.  of unusually great size or extent

Yes, that it’s it.  This is my quest of unusually great size to get my big ass looking better naked.  Or healthier.  Or whatever.

Here’s the real deal.  I just turned 39, and it hurt.  Not as bad as 38, but still, people, I’m almost 40.  I heard that shit starts falling apart once you hit 40, so I’m getting my proverbial back field in motion, and in 358 days, when I turn 40, then perhaps, for me, maybe 40 will really indeed be the new 30.

Goals:  Lose 50 pounds, exercise (without dreading it), eat healthier, and slowly but surely, get my shit together so that I can face the other side of this hill with a bit of dignity.