Another "Duh" Moment

So I went to the gym last night, after taking Thursday night off and feeling like I had something to prove after Wednesday's horrific performance. I'd say I kicked some ass, knocking out 26 serious minutes on the stair climber (320 calories burned), then spending 20 minutes on the treadmill (180 calories burned), then 25 minutes of weights, and finishing with another 6 minutes on the treadmill. I don't know what my total was, but I felt awesome.

Today, I spent 30 minutes on the stair climber and didn't feel like I was able to give it as much effort as last night. But immediately afterward, I got on the treadmill, walked for a minute, and then set the pace at a nice steady moderate jog. And started watching the idiots on Fox News discuss the health care bill and how horrible it is that it might actually pass. (Hooray!) The next thing I knew, I'd been running for 20 straight minutes.

Holy shit--20 minutes? I don't think I've ever, in my lifetime, run for 20 straight minutes. Seriously.

So I decided to see if I could go for a few more.

And I did. Then I walked for about 5 and then decided to run the last 2 minutes. Total time, 31 minutes, of which I only walked 6. Go, ME! :)

Amazing how much easier it is to be physically active when you haven't spent the day ingesting all manner of carbs and sugar.

Although, admittedly, it's also easier when there are cute boys to stare at.

Thursday

We are Bob-less again this evening. I made the Executive Decision not to go to the gym tonight (I stuck to my Good Eating Plan today, so the urge to purge isn't quite as severe as usual). Supposedly I intended to fill that hour-and-fifteen-minutes-or-so with things like sewing (I promised my mom a half-eaten chocolate bunny shirt), ironing a shirt to wear to work tomorrow, and painting my nails. The toddler's been in bed for 40 minutes now and all I've managed to do so far is search for a roll of Scotch tape (which I still haven't found), go through my Google Reader, check out Facebook, and type this blog post.

It's really a shame fucking off isn't an Olympic event, because I would totally rock the gold in that one.

I really think a serious binge is highly effective in putting one off shit food, at least for a while. I walked into my office this morning and when I saw the Lamar's box (that STILL had donuts in it), I didn't immediately want one. All I could think of was huffing and puffing my fat ass on that treadmill last night and wondering why the fuck I couldn't get my legs to move. And suddenly, there was nothing I wanted Less than a donut. I didn't touch them all day. Had no desire to, either. I had my skim latte and my oatmeal and my spinach salad and my Greek yogurt with honey and fat-free granola. For dinner, we made tilapia tacos with my fresh pineapple salsa, black beans and rice. And I'm not hungry. And it feels good.

If you're a finger-crosser, please do so--we've got an iron in the fire that could be a very, very good thing if it happens, but we won't find out for sure til next week and I can't say anything more about it before then. Trust me and cross them, please.

I suppose I should go do something productive now. I miss the days when I could do nothing and feel absolutely guilt-free about it.

Whole Lotta Bingein' Goin On

I'm not sure when it started, exactly. I think Monday, when I decided I would forego the Dinty Moore Beef Stew served over buttered maccaroni noodles Ben was serving for dinner, and make a Healthy Choice instead. Yeah, my Healthy Choice was kind of gross, and I ended up having it as an appetizer before digging into a bowl of maccaroni and DMBS.

Then I noticed the baguettes sitting on the counter. Right next to the butter. How convenient. One and a half baguettes later, I stopped.

Yesterday, there was a candy bar.

Today, that asshole man in our office brought in donuts. Donuts. After my third, I stopped.

I went to the gym last night, and didn't notice any problems. Tonight, however, I thought I was going to die. I managed 20 minutes on the stair climber, then moved to the treadmill and started to run. I was planning on running at least 18 of 20 minutes. Fat (emphasis on "fat") chance. I barely managed to eek out 5 minutes at a time, and even though I got through the whole 20 minutes, I walked at least half of it.

Very, very disappointing.

So tomorrow, no 3-donut breakfasts. No candy bars. No baguettes. I'm back on the wagon, dammit.

If there were about 30 more fucking hours in a day, I STILL couldn't get it all done.

Argh.

Today, after Ben got up to go to the gym at that wicked awful hour he does, I got up, used the potty, and almost giggled when I realized I get to go back to bed for a whole hour! Yippee! Never mind the drama that was to come, I had another whole hour to sleep, dammit!

Indeed, Bob woke up (I'm told) more wigged out than his usual. I sprung the news on him last night before he went to bed--admittedly not my best parenting move, but I knew the kid would stew over it from the time he found out til the time we entered the lab, so I didn't want to give him too much advance warning. You know, give him time to run away or something.

So yeah, he was wigging. But seemed to be handling himself well. And he continued to do so, right up til the point we walked into the Little Room, the one with the tray full of tubes and vials and needles and the big trash bin that says "SHARPS only" and the chair with its evil-looking armrests and rubber strap.

I have to admit, I had a moment of being pleasantly surprised by humanity this morning. We got to the lab right at 8am. At 8:07, a very harried-looking woman rushed in, walked back to the reception area, threw down her purse and keys, pulled on a lab coat, and started rubbing her forehead. It appeared she had been out partaking until a wee hour and had started her Friday on a horribly sour note. Please don't let it be her, I thought. Please don't let it be her, please don't, please please please.

You see where this is going, don't you?

To my complete surprise and delight, she was awesome. She was very cool with Bob where so many phlebotomists in the past have been abrupt, brusque, even harsh with him. She kept him from losing his shit, even though when it was all over, we were momentarily afraid he might pass the hell out. (He didn't.)

And then we went to IHOP. Because what better way to soothe a kid's fears over a blood draw than pancakes? Or in Bob's case, stuffed French toast. Which I gained six pounds just ordering.

After breakfast, I stopped at the pharmacy to drop off one of his prescriptions (which I just noticed this morning he was out of). Then I took him to school, where he had (of course) just missed the last bell, so I had to go in and sign him in. Since I was in no hurry, I stopped at FiveBucks and got my iced skim latte. Then hi-ho, hi-ho, off to work I went. I clocked in at 10:01.

At noon, I clocked out for lunch and went to the fabric store. I like shopping for fabric. I don't like going to the fabric store. Simply put, I don't fit in there. I have a day job. I'm under 60. I'm under 300 pounds. I wear makeup and I don't wear sweats unless I'm at the gym. I'm not Amish and I feel strongly that the ladies at the cutting table could cut a helluva lot more fabric if they would stop the fucking chit chat and do their damn job. I ended up wasting 45 minutes and giving up on trying to purchase a few yards of some really cute hippo-printed flannel because I didn't want to waste another 20 minutes of my life waiting for some stupid old bitch to get sixteen different cuts of the same dog-print fleece. Really, lady? Really? Just get the yardage and take the shit home and cut it yourself!

I spent the afternoon drafting a couple of foreclosure pleadings I have no experience with (this should be a real education when I get them back) and finally it was time to go home. Picked up Bob, came home, fed the kids, got Bob shipped off to db's for the weekend, hit the gym, kicked some ass, picked up Chinese, negated all my gym efforts with kung pao chicken, showered...

...and here I am, trying to figure out how to cram my to-do list into tomorrow.

Kill me. Please.

Getting my Head Back in the Game

So immediately after I finished Sunday's post, I got up from the desk, picked up a load of laundry and carried it upstairs to my room, and started folding it. On the way, I let the dog outside. Going up the stairs, I noticed that blindy-"looked-into-the-sun"-spot in my right eye, and waited for it to clear. After about 10 minutes, I realized I was indoors, had no lights on, and had not in fact looked into the sun when I let the dog out. About that time, the blindy blinky light shifted into my left eye and formed an arc around the outer rim, and then I realized--this is a migraine.

Fuuuuuuccccck.

I got my first migraine about a month or two after I started working at my last job. I'd never had one before that, and it scared the shit out of me. I'm sitting at my desk and suddenly wondering when exactly I looked into a bright light and why I can't see. After 15 minutes I started to wonder if I might be having a stroke and maybe I should alert someone to this fact. Another few minutes and my vision cleared, only to be replaced with That. Pounding. Throbbing. Nightmare. that lasted the rest of the day.

Since then, I've averaged one about every couple of months or so, but they're never really debilitating, and they've never lasted more than that day. I've felt mildly hungover the following day, but have always bounced back relatively quickly. And, as I was just bragging to a co-worker Friday morning, I haven't had one since last fall.

Well, this one flat out sucked balls. As soon as I realized what was coming, I went downstairs and slammed a Coke Zero (caffeine) and popped 2 Sudafed and 2 Tylenol. That took the edge off, and I was able to get through about a third of my list for the day, including finishing my niece's birthday pajamas and getting a good start on another custom project. But by the time the boys returned home, all I was capable of doing was holding up the wall on my way to the sofa. And I remained that way most of the evening and into the night. Go to the gym? I can barely make it to my bed.

I got up yesterday morning--still had a headache. I went to work--still had a headache. I came home--still had a headache. I took Bob to Target to get a pair of pants and shoes for his class music show (tonight)--still had a headache. As we were eating Drumsticks around the dining room table, the flashy lights started again and I briefly entertained a visit to the ER because I just couldn't deal anymore, but it passed. Another workout passed over in favor of comforting myself with snacks on the sofa.

I got up this morning--STILL had a headache. And continued to have one all day at work. Which I consoled myself for with chocolate donettes and a bag of Sun Chips and a delightful dinner of Taco Bell. I'm not proud. And then I had to sit through the horror show that was the 2nd Grade Spring Music Concert, and watch while my son became that kid. The one who makes faces, and says rude things to the girls around him, and falls off the risers, and generally acts like a tool while his mom hisses "stop it!" at him over the top of her video camera. And I had to look at Father of the Year until I was able to wrestle that kid out of the auditorium and get home. And then I came home and briefly entertained the idea of going to the gym, and was promptly reminded by a gentle thud..thud..thud in the back of my head that one more night would have to pass before I grace 24 Hour with my presence.

So I read today that a migraine can last "up to 72 hours." That will be noonish tomorrow. I swear to God, if my head still hurts after 2pm tomorrow, I am going to take a fucking hostage.

So Much for a Day of Rest.

Ben took the yunguns to his parents' house, presumably so I could get started on the pile'o'shit I need to get done today. We've been making some changes to the website and traffic is picking up--meaning I need to get off my ass and sew, dammit. I sent out my first order yesterday. It was awesome. Helped that I was really pleased with the end result, too.

Anyway--in addition to the ton of sewing I need to get started on, my mission (should I choose to accept it) also includes:

• laundry (does it ever end?)
• litter box (ditto)
• canceling one of the credit cards I just paid off
• going to the gym
• picking up mushrooms at the grocery store next door to the gym.

Canceling the credit card was fun--but it prompted me to pull my "free credit report" and take a look. I started with TransUnion and they were so bloody slow and so depressing were the multiple collection accounts (all medical bills, and one mystery charge I'm still not sure what it is) that I aborted that mission. I think it's probably best to continue with my current plan of laying low, keeping my head down, paying stuff off or down as best we can, and slowly but surely digging ourselves out of the mud. Of course this would be infinitely easier if someone would start paying child support on a regular basis and/or someone else would get that kickass job offer he's been waiting for--but of course the first is a pipe dream and the second, well, suffice to say I don't get my hopes up in terms of the job market anymore. It seems no one is interested in paying people a decent living wage anymore and the only people doing well are the ones who picked the "right" career path years ago. But I digress...

Anyway, now that I've moved away from financial doom and gloom I can't seem to get motivated to move away from the computer. The sewing machine is right next to it, but I really should get a load of laundry moved around before I settle in. Plus, I'm freezing, so I need to go upstairs and turn the heat up. Not sure when I'll get to the gym, but I will. I'm down at least 4 pounds since I got back in gear 2 weeks ago, and last night I set a new personal best--30 minutes on the Escalator to Hell and I didn't die! Yaaaaay! Spinach salads for everyone!

Can't wait til it's warm enough to ride my bike to the gym. I miss my bike so much, I almost rode it last night but I dare not ride around the more heavily trafficked areas of Gladstone in the dark for fear of being flattened like a squirrel.

Okay--off to work...

Now that that's off my chest...

The husband took Bob to the movies, so it's just me and the toddler tonight. He's chilling on the sofa with some Yo Gabba Gabba right now, and I'm looking forward to his bedtime so I can finally use the restroom.

Today was the day of the dreaded "health screening" at work. Apparently Blue Crap and Blue Shit offers incentives to companies who participate (i.e., give us your employees' stats so we can start charging you based on how many fatties you hire), so our employer in turn gives us incentive to participate ($10 off your premium a month--for $120 a year, I'll spend an hour being lectured by a fat nurse, no prob).

I didn't figure I had anything to worry about--I'm back on my diet/exercise bandwagon and last night weighed in with a 1.5 lb loss this week, heh--but considering I don't go to the doctor unless I'm, well, pregnant, I wondered what might turn up. All they did was calculate weight, height, BMI, fat percentage, total cholesterol, HDL or whichever one the "good" cholesterol is, and blood glucose.

I weighed in at a pound less what I weighed myself last night, my BMI was 23 (which I find high but is in the normal range), body fat was 27% (again, this seems high to me but is still in the mid-range of normal), cholesterol 164, HDL 64, glucose 92, blood pressure 110/68. So yeah, I'm going to live. Unless I get hit by a bus on my way to the gym.

So yeah, I guess I'm on the right track. Even a year ago those numbers wouldn't have been as good. So I suppose I'll buy some more spinach and not revert to Hardees for lunch.