Medifast Begins

I got the big box of food packets a couple of days ago. I have been doing Medifast now for 2 full-days. I've learned that I don't like most of the stuff I've tried, but it does keep me feeling full. Now I'm wondering if it's possible to survive on chocolate protein shakes and peanut butter bars for 6 months. My starting weight was 226 lbs. In order to not be considered overweight by the medical community, my goal weight is 125 lbs. I have to lose 101 lbs.

This weekend was also the second annual Race for the Cure. My whole family does this walk with my mom, who is a breast cancer survivor. That was pretty great. She made it again, although struggled a bit more than last year. She had a stint put into an artery and her mobility has degenerated since last year. It was pretty worrisome thinking about her health. But we all cheered her on and had a pretty fun time ourselves.

I've come to a weird level of acceptance with my mom's health. She is sick and there is nothing I can do about it. I've managed to let go of my anger and frustration with her choices. I need to put that energy into fixing myself. I think a lot of my anger came from the fact that when I look at my mom (diabetes, high blood pressure, heart disease, arthritis) I see my possible future. I don't want to be mad at her for not fixing herself. I want to spend that energy on me. I can prevent that future if I want to. I just have to want it bad enough to make the radical changes that I need to make.

That's the biggest reason why I'm willing to choke down Medifast meals. I know it will get me where I need to be.

And Now for Something Completely Different...

At my annual exam this year, my doctor discovered that I am pre-diabetic. That means that the level of glucose in my blood is higher than what the body can process in a healthy way, but not yet high enough to diagnose me with Type 2 Diabetes. It's the precursor though.

When we eat carbohydrates, glucose is released from our intestines into our blood stream. Insulin is then released to help cells take up the glucose as energy. Without insulin, our cells cannot take glucose out of the bloodstream. We need insulin to process glucose. Now, when you eat a high-carbohydrate diet, your body can become resistant to insulin. In other words, your body releases insulin to process the glucose, but the insulin is less and less effective. More and more glucose is left in the bloodstream as the effectiveness of the insulin drops. Glucose in the blood is toxic in high concentrations. You body tries to compensate by dumping even more insulin into the system, but it doesn't matter because your body is becoming more and more resistant to insulin. This is diabetes. Your body can no longer make enough insulin to deal with the large amounts of glucose, thus slowly poisoning your blood.

There is only one cure for this malfunction: eat a low-carbohydrate diet. The paleolithic diet has been shown to fix insulin resistance. I've tried it in a half-assed way and gotten some proof that it would work for me, if I could really do the work. But I have been unsuccessful at sticking to it. There are too many roadblocks for me personally: too open-ended, too many choices, not enough time to prepare the food, no desire to cook, and, most of all, zero desire to think about food. With the paleo diet, you really have to think, plan, and cook, cook, cook.

But I don't have time to figure out my psychological problems anymore. My body is in trouble. After a lot of reading and thought, I have decided to try Medifast. Someone whose opinion I trust, a doctor, suggested it to me. Here are some of her own words:

"Not the most real food way to lose the weight, but my relationship with food was so fucked up, the only thing I could do was remove most of my choices and retrain my brain...not the tastiest way to go about losing weight, but it gave me time to just stop thinking so goddamned much about food. [After reaching my goal] I switched to a more Paleo diet and still limit my carbs at this point. The thing it did for me was stop the cycle of stuffing sugar/carbs and crashing. Getting the weight off then served as a motivation to stay healthier too."

So I did some research. Medifast was originally a prescription-only diet (now available commercially) used by medical professionals to help patients with diabetes or other metabolic syndrome symptoms. It puts the body into a ketonic state, which is specifically talked about in the paleolithic literature. Look at this cool graph. By keeping your daily intake of carbohydrates under 100g a day, your body will start burning stored fat as it's primary fuel source, as well as regulate insulin production. The science makes sense to me.

Now, I know this is not real food. It's all dehydrated protein shakes and MREs. You eat 5 supplements and then one meal of real food everyday. I don't think this is going to be fun. I also don't think this is a shortcut. I'm very scared to do this. But I do know that I need to do something different, something where I don't have to think, decide, or agitate about food. I eat what they give me, and my body starts to repair itself.

In the meantime, I can focus on preparing a healthy dinner for myself, cooking with my children, and just basically trying to find the joy that is hiding in the kitchen. I know it's in there somewhere, I just can't ever find it.

The shipment of supplements should arrive later this week. I'll be posting my process from there.

I Suck

We recently discovered that my daughter Molly is gluten intolerant. She's not full-on allergic, but her body can't digest it, and she gets terrible belly aches. The good news is that my house was already gluten-free. We just had to convince her dad that this was real and get him on board. She's been a real trooper about changing what she eats. She's had a few chances to cheat, and I've said, "You can eat a little of it if you're willing to deal with the belly ache later." Every single time she has said, "No. It's not worth it."

Now we are at the Disneyland Resort for the week. My mother has generously brought myself and my two kids down here for a crazy, fun and food-filled vacation. Molly has been AWESOME. We went to the breakfast buffet at the hotel; she ate clean. We went to lunch inside Disneyland; she ate clean. We went to the Rainforest Cafe for dinner; she ate clean. That includes some bread-free treats as well. The kids is just on top of it.

Meanwhile, I made a pact that I would eat gluten-free this week in solidarity. "If Molly can't eat it, I won't eat it." That lasted a whole... zero days. At the breakfast buffet, I snuck some banana nut bread while she wasn't looking. For lunch, breaded fish and chips. For dinner...a variety plate of gluten. Oh and my son got some donut holes, and I snuck a few of those as well.

My ten-year-old daughter is showing me how it's done, and still I choose to fail. I suck.

Once More, With Feeling!

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve wandered away from the path of health. Here I am looking for it again. It’s a treacherous path, but I’m trying to stay on the straight and narrow in spite of all the things calling me back to the dark side. I think my metaphor got lost a bit there. Here’s where I’m at: rock bottom. My health has deteriorated to the point that I can no longer ignore.

First, my blood sugar level indicates that I am pre-diabetic. The only way to avoid becoming full-blown diabetic is to get my insulin production under control. I’m going to write a whole post on that later. Next, I have been diagnosed with chondromalacia patella, which is a fancy way of saying that my kneecap is rubbing against my fibula. According to my orthopedist, the only cure is to lose 100 pounds and get all the extra pressure off my knee joint so that it can heal itself. I’m going to write a whole post on that later. Finally, I want to have another baby before my eggs are completely useless, but Robert refuses until I get to a “healthy” state. However, he would not tell me what would indicate a healthy state. I guess he’ll know it when he sees it. I’m going to write a whole post on that later.

Bottom line is that I need to radically change the way I eat and lose a LOT of weight. I’m so depressed. I started crying in Fred Meyer today just because I could. I feel like I’m being punished for something, but I’m not sure what. Bad choices? I think so. I could have fixed my health a long time ago, and I didn’t. I don’t want to do what it takes to get healthy. I’m willing to do the physical exercise. Nobody does CrossFit without a crazy work ethic. But I am pissed about the food restrictions.

I don’t want to cook whole foods. I want to eat cereal and milk for breakfast. I don’t want to spend a fortune on organic vegetables and grass-fed meat. I want to shop at Costco and put the money into our Buy-A-House savings. I don’t want to skip birthday cake while everyone else gets to eat it. I want to fit in with social and familial expectations. But I’m backed into a corner now. The only way out is through food.

Food and I have such a colorful history. The highlights include getting beatings from dad for not cleaning my plate, getting guilt trips from Martha-Stewart-esque mom when I don’t praise (eat) her cooking, a sister who is bulimic, and, of course, pad-locks on the food pantry when I was in high school. I don’t like to cook. I don’t like to be in the kitchen. I don’t even like to eat really. I just shove something quick into my face when I have too. And the more easily obtained and less flavorful, the better.

So here I go again. I’m starting at 236 this time and have to get to 135. Jesus, I’m screwed.

Spoke Too Soon

3 days after I wrote that post, I got some very sad news. My favorite uncle had passed away. I happened to be at a brunch when I heard. I was standing in the kitchen next to a giant platter of muffins, scones, cookies, etc. My brain turned off, and I started shoving that stuff into my mouth as fast as I could. I barely even tasted it. In about 90 seconds, I had eaten 2 pounds of white flour, butter, and sugar. I soon felt very sick, and I was still sad. That was awful.

The good news is that I got back on the wagon immediately. I didn't say, "Well, I screwed up this week. Might as well throw in the towel and start fresh next week." I screwed up, but I didn't have to give up. I course-corrected and kept moving forward. And I was still very sad about my uncle, but food doesn't make that sadness go away. I just have to sit with it until I don't feel sad any more. That's life.

I do have to go down to Southern California tomorrow for the funeral. I'll be with the extended family for the whole weekend. I'm very nervous about how I'm going to handle food while I'm there. Everyone is going to be sad, including me. There will be bad food all around. It's going to take massive willpower to say "no." I also worry that people will feel like I'm saying "no" to them. Food is how we show love. When someone gives you food, you're supposed to eat it. If I don't eat the food, I'm rejecting their love. I know it's messed up, but that's the culture of my family. They don't take "no" for an answer.

A couple of friends gave me some good advice on possible ways to say "no" and explanations. Also, I got some practical advice on things to take along on the trip to help me avoid high pressure situations. I'm going to take workout clothes to go for a run at some point. I'm going to hit the grocery store for fruit and nuts to take with me to my cousin's house. I'm going to find a Subway (or something else healthy) and eat a meal before I go to the wake and have to stand around all that food. I'll deal with it by being proactive. At least, that's the plan.

And speaking of going for a run... yesterday I accomplished a major goal of mine. Before I found CrossFit, I was jogging. I entered a couple of 5k races (3.1 miles) and did pretty poorly, 45 minutes or so. It has been my goal to be able to run a 5k in under 40 minutes ever since I joined CF over a year ago. Yesterday, I did it in 39:24! Yay! It felt great!

Peeking Around the Corner

I'm nervous to say this out loud for fear that I might somehow jinx it, but I believe I've turned a major corner in January. I feel better emotionally and physically than I have in a long time.

My mom was admitted into the cardiac unit again for the same angina that has been bothering her for months. The medication was not controlling it anymore. She had a blocked artery and wasn't getting enough oxygenated blood to her heart. She agreed to have a stent put in. That is a vast improvement because six months ago she refused. I had a terrible day where I couldn't feel anything but despair for the situation. She has given up on her health, and that's that.

It also brought up some feelings about the divorce that were unexpected. My husband left four years ago, and I keep thinking that the pain of that is over. Anyway, when I heard about my mom, I didn't know who to call. I don't have a husband or a boyfriend to help me deal with these things. That's one thing that I lost in the divorce, someone to help manage a crisis. Well, I called someone unexpected and had a good cry over the phone. That turned out to be ok. I put a message on Facebook, and lot of my friends responded. I'm not really alone. There are people who will help me if I'm willing to ask. Then two more friends called me later in the day. Again, people that I would not have expected. And they both offered useful words of wisdom.

Everyone had the same advice for me: you have to be afraid. There is no running away from or trying to bury fear. You just have to feel it and move through it. That was pretty awful to hear, but I knew that they were right. So I tried it. I didn't go to sleep in the middle of the afternoon. I didn't go to Dairy Queen. I just felt sad and frightened for a whole day. And when I woke up the next morning, it was gone. I don't mean my feelings were gone, but the overwhelming pressure on my chest was gone. I could go about my day.

And I didn't turn to food for comfort.

I'm still sugar free after 25 days, and I have given up fast food as well. I'm steadily losing weight, but more importantly, my performance at the gym has seen significant improvement. I feel great. I jogged a mile today in 11:37. That's a personal best. :)

C'mon, Jen!

I am so angry that I am shaking. Texas sent me a couple of emails today that have me furious, but I'm furious with myself. There were parts of our relationship that were abusive. I pretended I didn't see it so that I could have a boyfriend. How sick is that?

Today I called him out on it and used the word abuse. His response was, "What? I didn't know I was abusing you." I listed all of the behaviors that I've been objecting to for two years. Then he says, "Oh yeah. I knew I was doing those things, but I didn't know it was abuse."

I think it's time for a little Feminism 101.

We all know what physical abuse is, right? I don't need to explain that a man should never use physical or sexual violence to control a woman. But what about the other stuff? The verbal stuff can be very damaging as well, and this is the stuff that tends to get missed. Or in my case, blatantly ignored due to my own insecurity about being unloved. Read this...

"Abuse is any behavior that is designed to control and subjugate another human being through the use of fear, humiliation, and verbal or physical assaults." Counseling Center at University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign

When a man makes demands and attempts to control your behavior, insists that his feelings are the most important, and ignores your basic human rights by threatening to leave, blowing up in anger, and generally disrespecting you, THAT IS ABUSE.

I ignored this controlling behavior and to some extent let it succeed for far too long. I was walking on eggshells to avoid fights. I looked the other way when he said I made him do it. I had accepted his excuses for his behavior and rationalized that he had a bad childhood, he's insecure, and he's really trying to change. But none of that matters. I was the one accepting it. I was the one who kept coming back for more. Who can I blame for being treated badly except the person who let it happen? Me.

So I'm angry at myself. I want to be a strong woman who doesn't take abuse from anybody. How could I have been so pathetic? Is feeling love worth giving up my self-respect?

More importantly, why on Earth did I think that what he was giving me was love?

Only As High As I Reach Can I Grow

I heard something on the Biggest Loser last week that has been stuck in my mind. (Yes, I love the Biggest Loser. Shut up.) Jillian was yelling at some fatty as usual to, “Reach for it! Reach for it!” The fat girl was barely extending her arms all the way. Jillian stopped her and said something to the effect of, “Don’t you know how to reach for something?” The girl started crying and had a major breakthrough. That’s why I call Jillian the “Fat Whisperer.” She knows just what to say to get fatties moving.

Anyway, I have been stuck on that idea of reaching for what you want. There are people in this world that let fear, or pain, or history, or whatever stop them from reaching for things that they want. I am not like that at all. If there is something that I want, I go get it. When I wanted to be a Montessori teacher, I picked the whole family up and moved to Wisconsin for a year. That’s who I am. I reach for things. And more often than not, I get them.

[Side note: this is why the food behavior has been a weird struggle for me. I want to be healthy, right? But if I really wanted to stop eating junk, do the work, and get thin, I would. I obviously don’t want it deep down. So the question is “why?”]

Recently I learned that the private school where I started my teaching career is looking for a head of school. Moving into a leadership position has always been my ultimate goal in the Montessori world. It would mean a huge bump in salary and getting back on track with my career.

There are a lot of reasons why I should NOT apply. First, I’d have to leave Eugene. Second, I’d be living in the same town as my ex and that means more shared parenting. Third, I’d have to run my own household again instead of letting my parents take care of me and the kids. Fourth, it’s actually a pretty demanding job that requires a lot of different skills. Finally, and possibly the worst part, I’d have to start wearing suits and make-up. All of these things terrify me.

But here’s the thing, I would be good at it, maybe even great at it. I have no idea how I will stack up compared to other candidates, but if given the chance, I would be fantastic. I’m very scared about the interview process. I have no idea what kind of reputation I left behind at that school. I’m extremely scared to be disappointed and feel worthless. But the opportunity is right there. I have to try.

I don’t understand people who are so afraid of change that they don’t even try for happiness. You might epically fail and have to pick yourself back up. You might be monumentally successful and discover a life you never dreamed possible. You might end up in the exact same place that you started from. There is NO way of knowing. Why wouldn’t you roll the dice?

Life is too short not to reach for it.

Early Signs of Progress

This was a shitty week. I don’t need to go into all the reasons why. I’m just trying to accept a lot of things that I don’t have control over right now. Breaking up with Texas feels like some kind of spiritual test. I didn’t want to do it; I’m still full of doubt about it, but it was the right thing to do. I can’t continue to make excuses for his behavior and keep my self-respect. So now I have my self-respect, but I don’t have him. What a lousy choice to have to make! And I am not turning to food to numb the pain. I just have to feel sad.

Yesterday I drove to the coast and had a big cry about it. Then I went to the casino and won $150. Life is strange.

Alright, on a positive note, since going sugar-free I have not puked at one workout. This may seem like a silly thing to be excited about, but I was throwing up almost every time I went to the gym. My body was so full of garbage that I just couldn’t handle strenuous work. For the past week, I’ve seen significant improvement to my cardio conditioning. My heart gets pounding and the sweat is pouring off of me, but I don’t feel like my insides are fighting to be outside.

I lost 4 lbs. the first week, and although the end of week 2 is not until tomorrow, I cheated and got on a scale mid-week. I had already lost 2 lbs. I know that weight fluctuates during the week, but I’m feeling very confident that tomorrow will show that the plan is working. My body feels like it’s working. Maybe that’s all that matters.

The Silent Treatment

My mother has access to patient records at Peace Health due to her job position. She broke into her lab tests and read that the growths in her remaining breast are benign. When she informed me of this, I responded with a neutral, “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it.” Mom was pretty upset that my reaction was not more joyous and energetic; since it turns out that she’s ok. I pointed out that she has made it clear that she does not want to talk about her health with me, even going so far as to tell me to shut up recently. She said, “Well I think not having cancer is a little different than you wanting me to lose weight.”

Something snapped in me. I started yelling, “I don’t give a shit if you lose weight. I give a shit that you have heart disease, and diabetes, and joint immobility, and you are in denial. You don’t want to do anything about it.” She silently got up and starting down the hall to her bedroom. I yelled after her, “See what I mean? You just walk away from the truth. I give a shit that you are going to die!” She locked herself in her room and spent the rest of the day in bed, only getting up to take the dog to the vet. Then it was right back to bed.

I tried going in and talking to her in the evening. She said that she is “done being abused” by me, and until I apologize for my behavior, she had nothing to say to me. I said that I was done being polite about her health problems. She responded, “Then we have nothing to say to each other.” It’s been the silent treatment ever since.

This is ridiculous. Why doesn’t anybody else in the family want to hold her accountable? Should I just put on a good face and pretend this is not happening? She has completely given up, even going so far as to start using a motorized wheelchair when she has to walk long distances.

And Here I Go Again...

2010 was a strange year. In some ways, I wandered off the path of Project Jen. I quit watching my diet, I stayed with a bad coach too long for emotional reasons, and I put a romantic relationship above myself out of fear of being alone. In other ways, I did make some steps forward. I walked a half-marathon, starting competitive weightlifting, and put a lot of energy into my children. In terms of numbers, I was 13 lbs. heavier Jan. 1, 2011 than I was on Jan. 1, 2010. I kinda feel like the year was a wash. I didn't make significant movement forward or backward. Looking back, I can see that a lot of the good work that I was doing was being sabotaged by poor decisions that were based on fear and depression.

Which brings me to food. I've said many times, and will have to say many more times, that food is my addiction. I use it as a coping mechanism just like people use drugs or alcohol. My new coach, at my new gym, personally challenged me to give up sugar for one month in an attempt to break my addiction to using food as comfort. I decided this was a good opportunity to go back to Weight Watchers and try to tackle my bad behaviors with food.

I have been sugar free for 10 days now and also I'm back to following the Weight Watchers program. I lost 4 pounds in the first week. And that's great, but actually I'm more proud of the choices that I have been making when faced with pain or fear. In these 10 days, I have been sorely tested and the pull to binge has been great.

My mother's health continues to deteriorate while her denial deepens. Recently, she literally locked herself in her room rather than listen to concerns about her diabetes, hearth disease, arthritis, etc. etc. (the bedroom where she has a "secret" stash of candy bars.) I learned that my Aunt Joyce is having her SECOND leg removed due to diabetes! And I also decided to end my 2+ year relationship because I don't want to keep compromising myself. He was my best friend. I am depressed people. And I am angry.

But instead of eating chocolate cake or ice cream or going through the drive-thru, I am channeling my feelings into action. These things are making me angry and I feel something completely new: defiance. I do NOT want to be sick and obese and sad. I want to show all of these people that I am stronger than that. I can take care of myself and choose happiness. When I am faced with something that upsets me, I want to rebel against the choices of others and NOT eat. That's new. I have never associated opting to not eat as the self-reward. But defying the pull of all these people around me who are selfish, and making my own happiness, feels like a reward. My relatives can kill themselves. I can't control that. My ex can be ego-centric. I can't control that. All I can control is myself.

And I desperately want to control myself.

High Low

I finished the half-marathon. That's 13.1 miles. Nobody is more surprised or proud than me. I went into it pretty nervous but confident that I could do it. The plan was to jog some and walk most of it. I knew it wasn't going to be fast, but worse case scenario I would walk the whole thing and still could say I did a half-marathon.

The first 5 miles were awesome. I was in high spirits, smiling, and giving high-fives to spectators. Then my right hip started to ache. When I reached mile 7, my whole right leg was throbbing. My left leg didn't start to hurt until mile 9. By mile 10 I was in some serious pain and wasn't sure if I could physically finish. At that point, it became a mental battle. I am too stubborn to do 75% of something and then just give up because my legs hurt. If I sat down, the 10 miles and messing up my legs would have been for nothing. I wanted that finisher's medal.

Somewhere around mile 12, I saw the tower at 5th Street Market, which is where the finish line was. I knew I was going to make it, and I started jogging again. I ran most of the last mile. Partly it was because I was so excited, partly it was because I wanted to be done so bad. My mom was near the finish line and cheering. That was pretty awesome. Nobody ever comes to see me do this stuff. When I turned the last corner and saw the finish line, the big clock said 3:44:14. I really wanted to get it before it turned to 3:45. I sprinted the last 500 feet or so with my eyes locked on that big clock. I made it. I found out later that my official time from the chip on my shoe was 3:42. Not bad for someone who did zero preparation.

It was obvious within minutes that I had seriously fucked up my legs. I had trouble getting to the car. I took a cold bath when I got home, did some stretching, and passed out into a long nap. When I woke up, I was unable to move anything below my belly button. That was two days ago and I'm still pretty sore, although I am looking more homo erectus today. I was feeling pretty stupid yesterday as I laid in bed with my legs propped up, trying to drain out more lactic acid. Why did I do it? I'm going to miss at least 2 days of CrossFit because of this. What was I thinking?

I was thinking, "I can't do a half-marathon. Real athletes do that. I'll embarrass myself." Lately, that's all it takes to get me to try something. And I keep discovering that I can do things. I might not be the fastest or the strongest, but I can do hard things. I'll finish eventually. I don't need to be afraid of anything. I wrote on Facebook, "I did it! I did it! I'm in horrible pain, but I finished! I did it. And I never have to do it again."

That night, as I was nursing my legs and still high off the whole day, my ex-husband called. He's going to marry the woman he cheated on me with. He wanted me to hear it from him before he put the kids on. Then he did. They were all excited because they're going to get "a new mom!" Holy shit.

I got off the phone and started sobbing. Not because I'm jealous of them. They're both miserable people who totally deserve each other. I'm just so jealous of what they have. I'm the one who wants marriage and a family. I want someone to talk about my day with and to celebrate great days with. I want someone to take care of me when I'm sick and I want to take care of him when he's sick. I want to go on family trips with the kids to interesting places. I'm a good person and I'm working hard to be even better. Why doesn't anyone want to be with me? Blah blah blah. There's no need to keep going on; you get my point.

Anyway, things are in better perspective today. I think it was poetic that the half-marathon and the wedding news came on the same day. The half-marathon reinforced my growing realization that I can do anything I choose to do. I don't need to be afraid of getting hurt, or looking foolish, or even failure. All of those things or none of those things might happen, but I'll be fine. Same with being a single mom. I'll be fine. It's hurting right now, but I keep getting stronger. Someday this whole process will be over, and I will be able to say, "I did it. And I never have to do it again."

How much is this costing me?

So counseling is not exactly what I was hoping. I've gone for a total of three sessions now. I can't decide if my problems are too mundane or if the solutions are too obvious. Either way, she's telling me stuff I already know. For example, when I tell her that I have compulsive eating behaviors, she suggests I used a structured program like Weight Watchers. Check. When I tell her that I binge when I'm stressed, she suggests that I make a list of other self-soothing techniques. Check. When I tell her why I'm stressed, my parents' and sister's health issues, she tells me that I can't control others only my own feelings about things. Check. Yeah, lady. I know all of this, but what happens when I don't stick to Weight Watchers, or I flip out about my mom's angiogram and then head straight to Burger King? I'm intelligent enough to know how I should behave, but not always able to do it.

Oh well, at least she's better than the first woman I met with. She tried to convince me that I should have never left church. It did not feel good to argue with a therapist on my own dime.

I did restart Weight Watchers this week. I had gained back 8 pounds since I fell off the wagon. That's not too bad. It could have been a lot worse actually. I'm re-recommitting. Again.

I'm Living the Dream

In CrossFit, every workout has a prescribed difficulty level. When you can do a workout at that prescribed level, without having to scale anything back, it's called doing it Rx. You might hear me say something like, "I did it in 18 minutes, but not Rx." That means I used less weight for a lift or maybe a lower box for the jumps. I have a friend at the gym who says that doing a workout at Rx is "living the dream." It's that goal that all of us are reaching for. This week, I joined the small group of women at the gym who can use the Rx weights in the daily workout. I still need to scale a lot of other things, like pull-ups, box jumps, muscle ups, pretty much everything else, but when it comes to lifting, I get it done. It feels pretty great to be talented at something. I have a gift for lifting heavy things.

I met with my coach one-on-one today to discuss what my personal goals are. My attitudes about so many things have changed since starting this process. I came into the gym eight months ago with one goal: get skinny. That's not even on my list any more. First of all, I've been putting weight on, but dropping clothing sizes. I'm burning fat and gaining muscle. This has made me stop caring about the number on the scale (almost.) Second of all, I realize now that being fit is more important than how I look. The stronger I get, the better I feel about my body regardless of the size. I feel comfortable doing physical labor, more confident in my physical capabilities, and more confident in myself emotionally too. All of this is happening without getting skinny. Finally, I'm starting to think of myself as an athlete. Athletes are motivated by things other than what size their ass is.

My attitude about the work has changed as well. I am enjoying the challenge more, pushing myself more, these days. I want to be the kind of person who works hard and doesn't quit or take the easy way out. Ultimately, my goal is really about being the best person that I can be. Part of being that best person is being strong and healthy no matter what size I end up being.

Best Week Ever!

Let's start with the CrossFit games. They were held last weekend in Southern California, and streamed live all over the world via the internet. Basically it's the international competition to determine who are the fittest man and woman on the planet. I got so sucked into watching my buddy Cheryl Brost kick some serious ass that I neglected my children for two days. She ended up coming in 13th! The 13th fittest woman in the world?! And I work out with her! Crazy.

When you see someone achieve something amazing, you cannot help but be inspired to try a little harder in your own life. I ended up going to five sessions of CrossFit this week; that's a new record for me. Not only did I go more, I worked harder too. Watching the games gave me a major paradigm shift. This stuff is fun, and I'm going to go in there and kill these workouts! And I did. I performed better this week than I ever have. There was no belly-aching and no half-assed performances. I went in their with the attitude that this stuff is a piece of cake (compared to what Cheryl had done,) and I was going to tear it up. That's a pretty awesome feeling.

Today was a team workout with 3 other women. For the first time, I felt like they didn't have to carry me because I wasn't as fast or as strong. I did more than my fair share of the work, and it felt fantastic to have them say, "Good job, Jen. You really helped us on the lifts." That's a first for me too, being thanked for my effort. I helped them achieve success.

On the home front, I was determined that Griffin would be a bike rider before he turned 11 on July 26. He's been afraid of it for years. Last Sunday, I worked with him slow and steady, doing one skill at a time: first learning to take off, then making turns, breaking, etc. As an incentive, I told him I would take him to the movies any time he wanted if we rode our bikes. By the end of that first trip he was feeling comfortable, and we've been out a total of 5 times this week. The last couple of times were by Griffin's request. It's a miracle what the promise of a movie or a favorite restaurant can do. Although, my bank account is shrinking rapidly.

The weather has been spectacular, and I went sailing twice this week. I can't say enough how much I enjoy being out on the water in the sunshine. It is exhilarating. One night we were out pretty far at sunset and decided to stay out after dark. Sailing in the moonlight is a whole other level of wonderful. Next week I'm on sail duty and have to start mastering the hard stuff. It feels so... I don't know... alive to be outside and using your body in nature. It just feels gratifying.

I even volunteered for some brush clearing on my parents property this week because since getting more fit, I enjoy the feeling of physical labor. My dad and I are starting a massive tree-house project together. I'm actually looking forward to the manual aspects of carrying lumber, hammering, sawing, etc. I can't believe I just said that.

I Write Like Stephen King

Somebody posted a link on Facebook to a website that analyzes a writing sample and spits out which author your sentence structure, grammar, vocabulary, etc. is most like. To my infinite delight, it spit out Stephen King for me. What I call "Classic King" is my favorite author. "New King" is kind of a hack.

The year I turned 13, a movie came out called "Stand By Me;" famous around here for being filmed in Brownsville. Besides introducing me to the boy-god River Phoenix, that movie really resonated with me and what I was experiencing right then with my friends. My mom told me it was based on a short book, and she had a copy of it at home. It was actually quite a big book with four novellas collected in it. She adamantly insisted that I not read one of the other stories, "Apt Pupil." I remember her describing it as violent and evil. I devoured the other three and went in search of more.

King wrote 10 great novels before he went off the rails. He also wrote some short stories that are hit and miss, and he wrote a couple of crappy novels under the name Richard Bachman. Then by the end of the 80s, he had basically turned into a parody of himself. I picked up a new one a couple of years ago and it read like a bad King knockoff. But his Big 10 are all classics, and I used to own lovingly dog-eared paperbacks of them all. I can definitely say they made intense impressions on me during my teen years.

Both "Carrie" and "Firestarter" shaped my budding feminism. "Cujo" redefined my understanding of real monsters i.e. divorce and affairs and domestic violence. I contemplated justice, duty, and nobility with "The Dead Zone." I wouldn't call these horror novels. I've never understood how he got that label. They weren't scary or even graphically violent like horror movies. I would maybe call them fantasy, certainly thrillers, but they never evoked horror. Well, except maybe "Salem's Lot." That was a good old fashioned scary story. But even that had grand themes about facing your demons both figuratively and literally.

The two grand-daddies are "It" and "The Stand." Both of these beasts are over a thousand pages and tackle no less than the nature of man and the existence of good and evil. There is no doubt in my mind that these books formed my idea of what it means to be honorable, kind, brave, and strong. My firm belief that we are all in this life together to stand with each other in times of disaster comes from King's epic stories. Any evil can be overcome when we love and take care of each other. Also, "The Stand" introduced me to the love of my life.

Stu Redman is a factory worker from a small town in Texas. He gave up college to support his younger brother when their mother got sick. His brother repaid him by getting as far away from Texas as he could. Stuart married his sweetheart, only to have her die of cancer a short time later. When the novel starts he is alone, hanging out with guys who are clearly his intellectual inferiors, but he cares for them. He's intelligent but a good-old boy, he's tough but a romantic, and he treats everyone, including women, with the utmost respect. He's a poet-cowboy who is good with his hands and his mind. Oh yeah, and he leads the fight against the devil's army in order to save humanity! Man, did I fall hard for him! I'm still searching for Stuart, the perfect combination of masculine strength and wisdom. It was only made worse when a young Gary Sinise played him in the mini-series! sigh...

Anyway, I was thrilled to be compared to him. I like his prose for a couple of reasons. First, his style is very every-man. You can easily imagine your uncle telling one of these stories to you while your fishing or maybe whittling something. Secondly, he doesn't overly romanticize life. Well, at least Classic King didn't. Death, sex, pain, joy, violence, and fear are things that happen everyday. His characters speak very matter-of-factly about topics that are often socially taboo. That delights me. I wish real life was like that. Plus, nobody can set a mood in time and space better than Stephen King. You can see the cars passing by, hear the music playing nearby, your can hear the voices and inflections of his characters; you are entirely transported to the event. That's not so much fun for many King stories, but for me it's something that I never stop marveling at.

Oh yeah, and to this day, even though I've read everything that King wrote prior to 1990, I have never had the guts to defy my mother and read "Apt Pupil." If she thought "The Shinning" was ok for a kid, but that story wasn't... I can't even imagine how horrifying it must be.

The Façade Is Starting To Crack

As parents there are moments when we are called upon to put on a good display and remain stoic in the face of disaster. We want to reassure our children that there is no reason to panic; everything is going to be alright. Last night I gave an Oscar-worthy performance. My nine-year-old daughter came to me complaining that her butt was itching. Let me be absolutely clear: nothing at all can prepare you for the sight of worms trying to escape from your child's asshole. Nothing. I was momentarily torn between screaming and vomiting. Luckily I was able to get a grip and paste a "happy" look on my face. As I calmly explained to Molly what I was seeing, she asked me, "Why are you smiling? This isn't funny." "Uh, well, it's kinda freaky and I don't want you to be scared." She responded, "It's ok, Mom. I'm not scared. You don't have to make that face." Smart kid.

Why am I telling you this story? First, I want all of you to have the image of little, white worms squiggling out of a tiny, pink rectum because I shouldn't have to suffer alone. Secondly, a worm infestation is the cherry on top of my stress cupcake. I am losing it people. I cannot take care of one more person with a medical issue.

I can't stop ruminating over the problems the other adults in my life are having. Here is what I predict is going to go down in the next five years. My father is going to require full-time care due to Alzheimer's or dementia. My mother is going to require full-time care as her mobility disappears due to diabetes and heart disease. My sister is going to require full-time care due to brain damage caused by malnutrition. Oh, and of course, any of them could also die. And who does that leave to be the responsible one? Only me. There is no husband to help. There are no other siblings to help. Just me. I am terrified.

I've noticed that I've started clenching my jaw again, a habit I haven't seen since the last couple years of my marriage. I'm having trouble sleeping. I'm eating junk food like it's medicine. Even my period is out of whack. I'm calling psychologists today.

Time To Bite The Bullet

I can't deny it any longer. I need to talk to a professional. I haven't had positive experiences with psychologists in the past. Also, I have the whole "I'm not crazy, so I don't need a therapist" prejudice. But the truth is that I do need someone to talk to (and maybe I'm a little bit crazy.)

Lately I have been unable to handle the increased family stress and responsibility falling on my shoulders without turning to food. I don't know how to take care of myself any other way. Or, actually, I know there are other ways, but they don't soothe me emotionally. I've been puking more at CrossFit, and people are giving me props like, "Hey, way to push yourself." Inside I'm thinking, "Uh, I puked because I had a candy bar and a cherry coke for dinner last night." Not exactly the best fuel for pull-ups and push-ups!

In an attempt to make myself feel better about the scary things that are happening around me, I am basically sabotaging all of my hard work to get healthy. Why do I make choices that are ultimately destructive to my body? And also, eating junk feels good in the moment, but very soon after I feel guilty and have a belly ache. I keep repeating the behavior thinking it will be ok, but it never is. That is the very definition of crazy.

So it's time to talk to someone who can offer some insight. I want to find someone to challenge my perspective and coach me on better ways to deal with life. I'm also hoping that just by talking to a neutral third-party, I won't keep swallowing my stress along with all the candy.

Baja Part Tres

I have the coolest kids on the planet. I know, I know. All parents say this. But mine are genuinely awesome! They are open to adventure, they are easy-going travelers, they are polite, they do what I ask, they are funny, they are kind, and they are good to each other. How many siblings can you say THAT about? I was a bit worried that being unplugged for a week was going to be a problem. It was a pointless worry. They can find creative ways to play anywhere they go.

They took to the ocean like the LaVelles that they are. (My maiden name.) We come from a rich tradition of being beach bums. Molly especially was smacked around quite a bit at first, but they both got the hang of maneuvering big waves by the end of the first day. On the second day, they were out on boogie boards. On the fourth day, Griffin worked up the courage to go out with my uncle on a real surfboard. That was amazing to see.

Griffin is a unique creature. One of his oddities is that he refuses to take instruction from a stranger. He's never been successful in any martial art/swim lesson/group class that he has tried because he "doesn't like people telling him what to do!" Pat and his son Kyle both wanted to give him some surfing lessons, but I was positive that Griffin would not go for it. What I didn't count on was the enormous gravitational pull from "cool cousin Kyle." Kyle is 23 and a pretty kick-ass surfer. He should be since Pat put him on a board at age 4! Griffin and Molly were instantly mesmerized by him. He spoke almost completely in slang. By the end of the week my kids sounded like Keanu Reeves. Griffin would stand on the beach and watch Kyle out there catching waves and you could see he was just in awe. So when Pat approached Griff about going out on a real board, he jumped at the chance.

That was my favorite moment of the trip. As I stood on the beach watching my uncle push Griffin out deeper and deeper into the bigger waves, I was overcome with what a wonderful opportunity this was for my son. Not only was he breaking out of his protective shell to try something a bit scary and difficult, but he was having this experience with part of our extended family. And it was all happening on a gorgeous beach in Mexico!! I am so grateful that I can provide these experiences to my children. My parents provided them to me, and they are my fondest memories of childhood. My parents took us out camping, swimming, exploring, and it made me who I am today.

Meanwhile, Miss Molly, who is normally quite nervous unless I am close by, practically forgot about me on this trip. First there was Aunt Barbara who very much encourages Molly's girly girl. They talk fashion and decoration without me (thank goodness.) Molly loved hanging out with her. Then there was Pickle. Yes, THE Pickle: legendary surfer chick who was moved to Baja permanently. Pickle lives in an old Airstream trailer and surfs every day. She earns money by being a caretaker for the vacation homes of Americans who only come down once or twice a year. It's a pretty sweet gig. Anyway, Pickle really caught Molly's imagination. Also, Pickle has a pack of Mexican dogs that follow her around because she feeds them. Molly fell right in with the dogs. Pretty soon Molly was talking about how she wants to decorate her trailer when she's older and what she wants her surfboard to look like. All I can say is that I'd rather her be a surfer chick than a fashion model.

I was going to write more, but I don't know what else there is to say that would be interesting to anybody. Yeah, there were a lot of insects. Insects that could eat American bugs for breakfast. BIG. And Kyle recognized a UFC fighter who was down at the beach learning to surf. Kyle geeked out and made me take a picture of them together. I think the fighter was a bit embarrassed because he really had looked like a goof out on the water. But oh well, everyone looks like an idiot when they are learning to surf. It's hard!

Also I could write a whole post about the poverty in Mexico and the asshole Americans who are moving down there and changing things and how we really could be doing more to build our neighbor up instead of exploiting her in so many ways. But I don't feel like going off on a political rant that most of you would already agree with anyway. Why preach to the choir?

However, I will end on food. I love fish. Why do I not eat more fish? Almost everyday we ate fish that we bought right off the boat. Amazing! And fresh, homemade tortillas! I could eat that combo, with some cillantro and fresh lime, every single day for the rest of my life.

Baja Part Dos

If I could magically extract my sister from the vacation, it would have been maybe the best trip I've ever had. The weather, the landscape, the people, the food, the place we stayed, and the surf were all perfect

Let me start with the landscape. Baja Sur is a desert. We're talking arid, dusty, cacti, and prickly brush. There are rattlesnakes and scorpions running around. I didn't think that such a harsh environment could be beautiful, but it was. There was so much variety of plants and animals. I saw things that I had never seen before, including a real, live road runner. I also saw many jackrabbits, cotton tails, brown pelicans, frigate birds, quail, and a few tough looking chipmunks. Anyway, this harsh desert is right up against the Pacific Ocean, which provides glorious respite.

Thirty-some years ago, my uncle Pat, my dad, and a couple of their friends went in together to buy ten acres of this desert right on the beach near this small village called Todos Santos. Over the years they've slowly made some improvements. They started with a well and then a water tower. There are a couple of small concrete "houses," and I put this in quotes because they would never qualify as houses in the U.S. My uncle didn't want a house; he's a firm believer in keeping the property as un-molested and wild as possible. He poured a concrete slab as a floor, made a counter with a sink for an outdoor kitchen, and threw up a couple of walls for a small indoor storage/bathroom combination. Then he put a giant palapa over the whole thing. A palapa is a palm-thatched roof (think Tahitian postcard.) It's basically an open-air shelter with a concrete floor that is cool on your feet. Throw some hammocks up and you've got the Ritz!

Now sometime around 1980, my parents moved from Southern to Northern California and they needed some money. My dad decided to sell his share of the property. He got a couple thousand bucks if memory serves. For a piece of beach in Mexico! Then a bunch of Americans discovered this little spot and started buying up the land around it. There is a whole community of ex-patriots down there now, building beautiful haciendas, driving up land prices, and the combined property (that my dad bailed on) is worth millions! Todos Santos has grown as well, while still small in population, there is now several high-end art galleries and a couple of five-star hotels to entertain the tourists. But Pat keeps his little piece as a natural desert while the mansions go up on either side and the town creeps ever closer to his preserve.

For a week we had no electricity, no phones, no hot water, and no clocks. It was fantastic. We got up at first light, used candles at night, and pretty much went to bed soon after sunset. It felt so good. You just can't be worried about things in that space. Everything moves at its own pace, its own manner. You start to notice things that you weren't paying attention to before. Instead of being sucked into Facebook for an hour, you get sucked into watching the sunset for an hour.

Pat and his wife Barbara (my step-aunt?) made me feel very welcome. I enjoyed pitching in with maintenance chores and feeling like a contributor. They invited me to come back on my own next time. And I'm seriously considering doing it. I think it would be great to be in a foreign country on my own. First, there's the obvious advantage of going where I want, when I want, without having to get the whole group moving. Secondly, I think it would be empowering to travel somewhere where I don't speak much of the language. The little spanish I did use made me feel confident that I would be ok. I don't need to be afraid. Also, I got a lot of thinking/processing done in the moments when I was alone on this trip.

One morning I got up in the dark and walked along the beach as the sun rose. A couple of nights I climbed up to the platform on the roof and watched the sunset over the water. I had more than one epiphany during the week in these quiet times, soaking in the wonder of it all. The biggest one was that I need to stop searching for someone to experience these adventures with. I invite people and they don't want to go and then sometimes I sit out myself, rather than forge on alone. That is absurd. I have one life. If nobody wants to go with me, that is their loss. I need to start forging ahead and making these experiences happen for myself. It is better to have an amazing experience alone than to not have it at all.

Up next in Baja Part Tres: bonding with my children, taming the insect legion, and meeting a cage fighter!