Weight a Minute

This is a hard post for me to write.  Even harder than my depression blog.  This post is about weight.  I've always struggled with my weight--well, no, that's not true.  As a child, I was pretty gangly and really skinny.  My senior year of high school is when I began struggling with my weight.  I've never been a healthy eater, but that year I guess the fast food & french fries caught up with me.  I remember being very depressed and generally unhappy about my weight.  I was still playing soccer, but not as much, and playing with friends after school had turned into extra curricular activities such as drama and mock trial, lending the perfect storm for an expanding waist line.

I was very self-conscious about it.  Looking back at pictures, I was definitely not as fat as I thought I was.  In my head, I was huge. In pictures, I wasn't even really chubby, just slightly heavier than I was comfortable being.  Then came college, and the Freshman 15--I gained that, and probably a little more.  I carried that around for pretty much all of Freshman year & through the summer.  Again, looking back at pictures, I remember feeling much fatter than I actually was (weird how that happens, huh?).

My Sophomore year in college, I decided that enough was enough. I was tired of being overweight, of feeling really self conscious about myself.  I don't know when weight became such a huge defining thing for me, but somehow it had.  I committed myself to losing weight-- I started going to the gym, watching what I ate, and I started losing weight.  Everyone kept telling me how great I looked--and I felt better about myself, but I still kept seeing 'fat!' when I'd look in the mirror.  From my perspective now, I like to say 'it was so much easier back then! all I had to do was go to class, the gym, an easy job at the library, and eat healthy food at the Commons!'

But, there is a different truth than that.  One I gloss over.  One I don't talk about.  Yes, I was going to the gym, and I was watching what I ate, but I was not being healthy.  I had an eating disorder. I would eat a 90 calorie snack, and a half of a sandwich (like the sandwiches you make at home, not subway/quizno's/togo's), and maybe a hard boiled egg.  That's it.  That's all I would eat all day.  On top of that, I would go to the gym 5/6 times a week and run on the treadmill for at least an hour, if not more.  If I couldn't go to the gym, I would freak out.  

I didn't know I had a problem, but there should have been some clues.  For instance, I distinctly remember being at work at the library, and finding a 90 calorie snack in my bag. (Special K made these really good snacks that were only 90 calories a pouch--they don't make them anymore, but they were so good. I called them yogurt chips, but I don't know what they were actually called). Anyway, I found a 90 calorie snack that I hadn't eaten from the day prior or something.  I had already had my 90 calorie snack in my dorm room for the day, and I was still hungry (of course I was, my body was basically starving), and I couldn't resist and ate the extra 90 calorie snack.  I was so mad at myself after I did that--I was doing so well, I chastised myself, then you went and ruined it with an extra 90 calories, you have zero self-control! In reality, it was 90 calories. Not that big of a deal--most diets can spare 90 calories here and there.  But, to me, it was this giant thing--it was terrible, that I couldn't even resist (through my starving, mind you), a 90 calorie snack.  This continued on for a couple of months--I would eat normally in front of my family, but at school, I just wasn't eating, really.

And everyone kept saying how good I looked.  And I still looked in the mirror and saw how fat I was.  

Here is a picture of me shortly before my Sophomore year in college ended, when I still thought I was fat:

I'm in the white shirt-- still thinking I was HUGE.

I didn't realize the error of my ways, I didn't suddenly get the picture, I didn't suddenly discover that I was not, in fact, fat. I think I just went home for the summer, and was forced to basically eat normally again, and ended up being healthy.  The remaining years of college, I still thought I was fat, but I didn't go to extreme measures.  I went to the gym about 3 to 4 times a week, and ate full meals at least twice a day (my junior/senior year I pretty much lived off of grilled cheese sandwiches and white rice for lunch).

I went through grad school, and managed to somehow keep the weight off--though, of course, the lingering thought 'you're so fat' was always at the back of my mind.  At one point, after I moved back in with my parents, I remember getting Chipotle, and thoroughly disgusted with my lack of self-control (fast food, again?!), that I devised a plan.  I would chew the food and spit it out, thus enjoying the taste but not ingesting all the calories.  Yes, this is embarrassing to write, and pretty gross, but it's the truth. And the truth is sometimes both of those things.  I sat on the floor of my room chewing pieces of burrito, and spitting them into a grocery bag, which I threw out after the "meal."  I feel unbelievably sad recalling myself sitting indian style in front of my small TV, doing this incredibly destructive and weird thing, thinking that it was my only option.  I did this for a few meals, but it didn't stick-- believe me, I know how crazy this sounds, but I felt such desperation.  I thought 'this could be a solution to your fatness.' Until now, I'd never told anyone about that.

Meanwhile, this is approximately what I looked like at that time:

I'm on the far right.

I know what Body Dysmorphic  Disorder is (read about it here), and there's no doubt in my mind that, at least on some level, I certainly suffer from it.  I couldn't see it then, but I can see it now. I can see it now, looking back at those pictures where I thought I was fat, I know that something in my brain was not perceiving the image in the mirror correctly.

Which is what makes it so hard about the weight I've gained now. For me, the mirror may not be a reliable source of information, but the scale certainly is.  And I'm a good 30 pounds from where I want to be, and at least 20 pounds from where I should be, medically. And it has made me withdraw.  I don't want to see anyone because I've gotten fat, and of course they'll notice, and I'm embarrassed. I don't want to see anyone until I lose the weight.

I keep trying-- I keep leaving details out in my brain about what I did in college and telling myself 'you did it once before!' And I keep failing, remembering that this time it will be harder--to do it healthy will be harder.

The other day, Tom & I had our engagement shoot.  I have been trying (and kind of failing) to lose weight for a few weeks now. I'll do well, and then fall off the wagon.  The evening before the engagement shoot, I was getting really down and depressed--knowing I wasn't going to like any of the photos that were taken of me. Knowing I was going to look like a 'fat cow' (my brain's nice words to me) in all of them. Knowing that no matter what I wore, I would be hideous. I went to Target to try to find something to wear, and I stopped to get a soda, and somehow ended up with a small cheese pizza.  I wasn't even that hungry-- I was just sad. And mad. And frustrated at myself.  I ate the piping hot pizza (as I type this, I can still feel the burn on the roof of my mouth), and hated myself even more with every bite.  When I was finally finished, I thought for the first time ever, very seriously about throwing it up.  I thought about it the entire time I was walking around Target.  I didn't do it, but I was seriously thinking about it-- and that was scary.  It is scary.  I've had anorexic thoughts, I've had severe restriction thoughts, but I've never had bulimic thoughts. Not real ones, anyway. Growing up, I had a disease called CVS, which basically caused me to throw up a lot--since then (perhaps, apparently, thankfully), bulimia has not been an option for me. So, the fact that it was nearly an option for me is genuinely frightening.

I went home and tried on outfits and felt increasingly hopeless, eventually having a meltdown and throwing on my pajamas, while trying not to cry. Eventually, I settled on some pants, a cardigan, a tank, and snazzy shoes.  But the process was very eye-opening.  I am always saying that I can't be too hard on myself when I make a mistake, but the truth is that I am hard on myself.  Too hard on myself.  And this might be why I so often spiral out of control. Instead of being like 'oh well, I ate three mini kit kats, I'll do better next time,' I turn it into 'of course you ate three mini kit kats, you have zero self-control, no wonder you're fat. You won't do better next time.  In fact, you shouldn't even try to lose weight because obviously you can't do it, you'll just fail, so you might as well just have two mini butterfingers and a bag of microwave popcorn.'  It sounds funny, and I actually laughed just now typing it, but in the moment, it really, really isn't.

So, what do I do?  I want to lose weight-- I need to lose weight in order to be healthy.  But how do I stop this?  How do I stop beating myself up for failing the impossibly high standards I set for myself? I never go with 'baby steps.'  And I think that's what I need to do-- I need to get out of the mentality that it doesn't matter if you walk a mile unless you also starve yourself.  It's not true.  If I can change my thinking, I can lose this thirty pounds, and I can do it the healthy way this time.  

But, only if I can build myself up, instead of tearing myself down. Or, in other words, undo a lifetime of habit.  I'll let you know how that one goes, but I don't really know how to start.

Exercise is Hard

Exercise is hard.  And, of course, I mean that literally--it is literally hard to do the things you are doing for a prolonged period of time when you are exercising.  But, I also mean that mentally--perhaps even more so.

It is so hard to get out of your warm bed when that alarm goes off no matter what you're doing, but it is especially hard when you are losing precious sleep to exercise of all things.  You would think that it would be easier to get out of your warm bed in the summer, when it's 82 degrees outside, your apartment faces the sun, there are no trees in front of your place, and no air conditioning in your bedroom, but somehow, it's not.  It is just as hard to drag myself out of bed, get ready, take Cash for a walk, and then drive my lazy ass to the gym, park, and walk into the gym in summer as it is in fall and winter.

It's rough.  So, I got my gym membership last February.  No, the February before that--February 2013.  And I, like everyone else, when they join a gym, convinced myself that I would totally use it. I would definitely take advantage of all the group fitness classes! Of course I would. Fast forward nearly a year and a half, and let me tell you: that is not the case. While I have been to two fitness classes (read about that here), I have not taken advantage of the multitudinous unique classes my gym offers.

So, why haven't I quit?  Well, for a lot of reasons, not the least of which is that hope springs eternal.  Also, because of this (if you're on your phone and it won't link it's "I want to quit the gym" from Friends): 

So, I never quit the gym.  Instead, I've been paying my monthly fee, and many nights I go to bed with the thought 'tomorrow' running through my head, promising myself that tomorrow will be the day. The day I use the gym!  Of course, it never is.

This past week, however, I finally started going to some classes that I've always wanted to try.  While I am limited in the ones I can attend (I can't get there at 6:45am, and I can't go at 6:45pm because of work), I have finally started going.

My [gym provided] Yoga Mat for Ashtanga

Saturday, I attended Power Yoga at 12pm.  This is a 90 minute class billed as good for 'all fitness levels.'  I lasted the entire 90 minutes, so I know that must be true.  But, it was hard.  This wasn't just stretching yoga.  This was power yoga, and I was super sweaty and sore by the time the class was over.  But, I also found out that I really love it.  It was basically the antithesis of my Spin Class experience (again, here), where I didn't stare longingly outside of the classroom wishing I was anywhere but where I was.  In fact, I didn't even look at the clock ONCE during the entire 90 minutes. I really enjoyed pushing my body, and even though I am sure I looked ridiculous doing some of the poses, I am so glad that I went. I know I'll definitely be back to a yoga class at my gym.  Maybe I'll even join a yoga studio, who knows! For my first class in Yoga since my Sophomore year in college, I think I did pretty well!

Mat & tools for Barre Assets class

Tuesday, I attended Barre Assets (which several people called 'bare assets,' but it's actually 'Bar'), and this was a nice little mix of aerobic activity and light weight training coupled with bar work (think plea, etc.).  I liked it, and I only looked at the clock once.  I am finding that how many times I look at the clock during a fitness class has a direct correlation with how much I enjoy the class.  After class, I stayed for a little cardio in the Zumba class right after Barre Assets.  I had been to Zumba before, and it's pretty fun.  So, each class was a 60 minute class, so I spent 2 hours at the gym for the first time since I'm guessing college.

Thursday, I went to Barre Assets, with a different instructor who was a sub. It was good, and we did a few different things than we did on Tuesday, but overall I enjoyed the other instructor more. 

Surfset Board

Then, since I was already at the gym, I went ahead and stayed for H2-OM, which is an integrated yoga class where you do some floor work, but then you also do some work on the 'surfset,' which is basically a mock surfboard.  This class was only 45 minutes, but it was such a good mix of floor work and work on the surfboard.  The surfboard (which is basically set up on three balls and strapped down--see below for a picture from the side) is pretty hard to balance on (at least for someone like me who hasn't done yoga since college), so you really had to concentrate on tightening all the muscles in your body in order to stabilize yourself.  The instructor for this class was pretty great, because he kept repeating that we should go at our own paces, and sometimes while people were doing crazy stuff on the board, I was just trying to balance myself (even so, I could feel all of my muscles burning with the effort).  I think this is a class I would definitely like to try again.  I'd like to see myself become fully stabilized on the board and able to stop wobbling.

Surfset from the side.

Now that I've gone to a few classes, a bit of the nervousness and apprehension has worn off, and I will continue to drag myself out of bed to partake in group fitness merriment (or torture?).

Has anyone out there tried any unique fitness classes?

Self-Control & the Giant Licorice Tub

So, I'm not going to lie.  Last week was a little rough as far as the whole 'eating healthy' thing goes, anyway.

I'd been doing pretty well-- I have my cheat days, of course, as those are still imperative, at least right now.  But, mostly it was one day a week (Saturday), or sometimes two (Saturday and Sunday).  I was even going to the gym-- in a 7 day period, I went 5 times, and went on a 3 mile hike on an additional day.  That had me being active 6 out of 7 days of the week.

I'd even been running on the treadmill at a 6.2 speed, which I hadn't done in forever-- if ever, actually.  I ran a mile in 10 minutes and 6 seconds, which granted, isn't that fabulous, but I hadn't done that since college.

Anyway, things were going well!  Until I twisted my ankle, and it was difficult to walk without pain, let alone run.  So, last week was unfortunately gym free.

Still, I was cooking! 

However, things took a turn for the worse when I walked into work on Monday morning and discovered, to my horror, that a co-worker who sometimes keeps candy on his desk had placed on the corner of his desk a shiny full five and a half pound tub of Red Vines.

Let me tell you a little something about me: I love Red Vines.  So, from the get go, I knew I was going to get my little paws on at least some of those delicious licorice treats.

At first, all was well-- I started out with 4 pieces, as single serving according to the Tub O' Plenty.  But, as the night progressed, things got much, much worse.  It was as though I was trapped on a desert island, and licorice was my way out.

I ate those little pieces.  I would always set out to be good-- to just grab one or two, but then I would go back after I shoved the previous licorice pieces in my mouth and chomped like a madwoman.

It was anarchy!  On Monday, I topped out at about 12 pieces of licorice, 3 times my original goal of 'one serving.'

And, for fear of having to buy my coworker a new tub o' licorice, I will refrain from telling you how many pieces, in all, I consumed. But, the rest of the week didn't see me eating much less licorice, until Thursday/Friday, when I was apparently licoriced out, and only had 2 pieces.

This weekend brought fast food by the fistful into my body, and though it wasn't intentional, I'm doing my best to not beat myself up about this-- or the licorice.

When it comes to two things, I really struggle with self-control. The first is shopping-- which is a different story for a different day.  And the second is, of course, eating.  I have been doing much better lately-- as a result of cooking more and eating out way, way less, I have nearly eliminated my previous intense cravings for junk food.

But, the fact remains: junk food is delicious, and if I make the decision to begin eating it, I have a difficult time stopping.  The licorice could just have easily been McDonald's fries, or something else that I really enjoy that isn't all that healthy for you.

These are things about myself which I am trying to reconcile--and, truthfully, I may never be able to do it.  All I can do is try.  I've grown leaps and bounds with the whole food thing.  In fact, I've eaten more healthy foods and vegetables in the past two months than I have in my entire life.  No, I'm not exaggerating.

As weird things are apt to do, the licorice thing got me thinking about all of this-- about how I have become much less of a slave to my cravings and poor eating habits.  Sure, they sneak in every once in awhile.  They likely always will.  But, for the most part, I am doing my best to silence them--and with weeks like the last one, it is this that I have to remember.

I've written about this before, but I have a tendency to beat myself up a bit a lot.  And when I have these failings, when I eat a significant portion of a 5.5 pound tub of licorice in one week and go on to eat Chinese food, pizza, and a burger & fries on the weekend of that same week, I have to be extra diligent to make sure that I don't allow that to derail me completely.  It's not hyperbole to say that in the past, that is exactly what would have happened.  I would have quit-- I would have said 'Obviously I can't do this,' and I would have gone back to my old ways.

But I didn't.  I woke up today and I broiled Cilantro Lime Chicken Breasts and made a Black Bean Salad from a cookbook dedicated to heart health.  And I'm currently sipping Starbucks Zen Green Tea as I write this.

So, yes, I may have lost the battle with the Giant Tub of Licorice from Hell.  But, I've told myself that I'm not going to lose the war. It's an important lesson for me, and it's one that I have to continue learning--we are bigger and better than our own failings. It is something that I have believed of others most of the time.  But, there's another aspect of it that is more difficult for me.

I am bigger and better than my own failings.  I need to learn and believe that.  I have confidence that I will-- and that I will win this war, that I will lower my blood pressure for the family I someday hope to have-- and for myself.

Sorry, 5.5 tub of Red Vines, but you're not going to get in the way of that.

New Page -- Cash's Corner, and more cooking shenanigans on the 'Food' tab for all those who're interested!

Revelations in February

The month of February has been full of revelations for me, despite the fact that it has only just begun.

This week I went to my first Zumba class (this was, indeed, my first fitness class ever), and my first spin class.  I'm going to talk about the latter, even though I enjoyed the former much more.

I tore myself out of bed on Wednesday, after falling asleep at approximately 6am, in order to make it to the class by noon.  I signed in, headed to the locker room, and then went to the room where the class is held.  I'd reserved my spot the night before, and I found it, good ol' bike 22--nestled in the back, of course.  I fumbled around with the seat, trying to adjust it, and I eyed everyone in the class surreptitiously as he or she (mostly she) adjusted the bike.  (is it actually even called a bike? I don't really even know).

After fiddling around with it, I still couldn't figure it out, and since the class wasn't even half full, considered switching bikes, but I couldn't figure the one next to mine out, either.  Frustrated, I eyed the room, and immediately began to feel self-conscious, as I often do since I've gained a bit of weight.  Everyone in there was pretty skinny, except for me.  Nobody was looking at me, though, so that's good at least--for all they knew this was my hundredth spin class, not my first.

When the instructor arrived, he asked if anyone needed help adjusting their bike.  Oh, hey, it is called a bike.  Anyway, my arm shot up really fast--I figured I'd feel less embarrassed if I made a joke out of not knowing what in the actual hell I was doing. He came over, adjusted my bike, and told me some basics--like, don't lean on the handlebars, and some other stuff I can't remember now.

Then, suddenly, it was time for class to begin.  He began talking about resistance, and where we should set our resistance, and again, I was looking around the room. This time, I saw everyone fiddling with some red knob beneath the handlebars, so I did the same, and found out how to increase/decrease the resistance.  I don't know what I was at, what percentage--he threw out 20%, but I'm pretty sure i was at like 5%.  Whatever.

Now, a bit about this spin class-- at my gym, they really try to pump you up in this spin class.  The lights dim (save for the one on the instructor, unless he turns it off), and there's lots of flashing lights and it kind of seems like a party.  

Let me just say that I have never been more glad to be in the relative dark as I was on Wednesday.  Because after the instructor dimmed the lights, what followed was the worst 45 minutes of my life.  Okay, that's definitely hyperbole. But, it was pretty bad.  Unlike Zumba the day before, my eyes were glued to the clock situated directly to the right of the very enthusiastic instructor's head.  The second hands ticked away, taunting me, as the instructor told us when to stand, when to sit, when to increase or decrease our resistance.

Sure, it was a party.  A party in hell.

I spent much of the class gazing longingly at the girl running on the treadmill.  I wanted to be running on the treadmill.  Desperately.

These spin people were maniacs.  There was a 60 year old woman in the front putting me to shame.  I didn't even pedal for the whole 45 minutes.  I kept stopping, and I definitely didn't do much with that resistance button, let me tell you.

I thought about getting up and walking out--it was dark, they wouldn't even know who I was!  Fear of offending the instructor, however, kept me glued to my very uncomfortable seat.  I did pedal some, and I did it for as long as I could, and it was definitely better than lying in bed, which is what I would have been doing otherwise.

I would steal glances around the class, and everyone (some of them even having little clips they use for this cycling occasion) were pedaling their little hearts out.  And there I was, in the back, panting and stealing sips of water feeling sorry for myself.

And I was feeling sorry for myself.  I even began to cry at one point.  Why?  I'm not sure-- maybe I was embarrassed, maybe I was overwhelmed, maybe I was mad at myself because there was a time when I probably would have been able to keep up, and I somehow let myself get so far away from that.

Finally, the minutes on the clock wound down, and the instructor was rallying us for one final push-- my spin mates were whooping, and seemed to be genuinely enjoying the experience.  I decided to pedal for the last 5 or so minutes non stop, even though I had just spent the last 40 feeling sad and fighting tears--and eventually losing that battle and actually crying (did I mention how thankful I was that it was dark?).

It was during this rally (where all I was thinking--and had been thinking the whole class-- was "I can't") that the instructor said something that really hit me-- he said "Your mind is stronger than your body, I promise you."

Now, I don't know if that's true or not.  I think sometimes our minds want us to do things that our bodies just can't--but it really got me thinking.

My whole life things have come easy to me--if they haven't, I stopped doing them.  Anything that was difficult or required much practice, I wouldn't do.  And I'm not sure why.

For instance, I like to say that I'm not good at math.  But, that's not true.  My standardized test scores from elementary through middle school prove it.  The fact that my sixth grade math teacher said he thought I could go on to advanced math the next year proves it.  But, I declined.  I was too afraid of failing--too afraid of working hard, so I went on to regular 7th grade math.  I got Cs in Math in high school and college without even trying.  When I worked at it, I understood it--I was good at it, and I even sometimes liked it.

But, still, I say I'm not good at math.  No.  I'm not good at focusing on Math, because I'm used to things coming easily to me, and when they don't, I don't want to work at them.  Apparently.

Yes, that comment by an energetic sprite of a spin instructor brought all of that on.  And it brought on the notion that I want to change.  I want to start accepting challenges instead of avoiding them--or, at least, try to start doing that, anyway.  Habits are, they say, hard to break.

So, I'm going to put change into motion.  "There'll be some chaaaanges, they're long overdue; there'll be some chaaaanges in my life."  I'm not even sure what they are.  But, I'm going to try to quit telling myself I can't do things.  I'm going to try to realize that just because I have to actually work at understanding or accomplishing something doesn't mean I'm not smart enough or good enough or whatever-else enough.

I'm sure it won't be all that easy--changing my body won't be that easy, but hopefully I can take it one day at a time.  I did pretty well this week.  I ate relatively well (no fast food at all), I exercised, and I didn't berate myself for grabbing twinkies from the vending machine-- I accepted it, and moved on.  And that's a step in the right direction.  Whereas, before I would let the cheat spiral me completely out of control and use it as an excuse to eat whatever I want because obviously I couldn't do it, and I was dumb to even try.

I'm still going to In-N-Out today, but I'm also eating healthily all day, and possibly going to the gym.  

As for the spin class?  It definitely won't be a weekly thing for me, but I would like to have a long-term goal of being able to pedal for the whole 45 minutes, and eventually (who knows when) be able to do the class as it is intended.  So, I'll get back in the highly uncomfortable saddle in a few weeks, to see where I'm at after exercising regularly--in the meantime, maybe I'll start a petition for more comfortable seats on those bikes. I mean, I know we're exercising, but is a little comfort too much to ask?  A sore ass for days after a failure like that just adds insult to injury.  Or... injury to insult, as it were.

This hasn't been my only February revelation; thanks, February, for the lesson.  And, thanks, Self, for the patience.

The Art of Moderation...

The Art of Moderation, or Why I Do Not Deprive Myself Too Much or Push Myself Too Hard

Hi, my name is Natalie, and I have high blood pressure.

Whew.  Felt good to get that off my chest.

I'm 27, so this whole high blood pressure thing is not good, to say the absolute least.  It runs in my family on both sides--my mom and dad both have high blood pressure.  I'm sure the fact that I've gained a little weight doesn't help, either, but even before that happened, I had high blood pressure every time I went to the doctor.

Part of it, I'm sure, is the cuff they put around my arm--how tightly it has to squeeze definitely stresses me out.  Plus, being in a doctor's office for any reason is definitely not fun--I can feel myself start to get so nervous that I begin to feel sick to my stomach, though I'm not even really sure why.  Nothing THAT bad has ever even happened to me at the doctor's office.  I'm just a weirdo, I guess.

When they take it manually, it's lower--but, still high.  Just not AS high.

Anyway, for months now, I've been saying I'm going to do this and that, but let's be real for a second: it's hard.  It's really, really hard to eat healthier, exercise more, and generally be healthier.  And it's ESPECIALLY hard when you work night shift, like I do.  Most people can go home after work and cook a nice meal (even though they're tired).  I can't do that.  I don't get home until 1am, sometimes a little earlier, sometimes a little later, and the last thing I want to do is cook.  On top of that, you're not even really supposed to eat after 7, 8, or 9 or whatever the rule is anymore.

So, a few months ago, I found myself eating out a lot--it's convenient, and although it's not cheaper, it's definitely a time-saver.  I've definitely cut back on that in the last two months, though, and instead I've been turning more to frozen meals which are cheaper and also more convenient.

But, I've not deluded myself into thinking that these packaged meals are healthy.  Not by a long shot.  I'm well aware that they are terrible for you--the overly processed food from a box that sits in the freezer for months can't be good for your body, not to mention that most of these frozen meals pack in the sodium to make up for a lack of taste.

So, despite the fact that I've only been (usually) eating a frozen meal a day, and a few snacks or sandwiches for lunch (also packed with sodium in the form of lunch meat), I haven't really committed to a low-sodium lifestyle, which I think I really need to do if I want to get healthier and be able to have a child someday.

But, that is gradually changing.  Last week, when looking through Ye Olde Internet for some low-sodium snack options, I came across this blog (www.SodiumGirl.com) with which I was totally unfamiliar.  I spent a bit browsing the page, looking at some recipes, and then decided to order her cook book through Barnes and Noble.

Then, I decided to try and take this a little more seriously.  I went to the gym Friday - Sunday, and am planning on making that a regular thing that I do.  It's weird because by Sunday, my stamina running was already improving.  I was able to run a 12:43 mile, which isn't very impressive, but the previous two days, I was hovering around 14 minutes, closer to 15.

The cookbook arrived yesterday, and I went through and wrote down some ingredients I'll need, and am planning on getting them this Sunday, then making a meal plan.

Sodium Girl's story is actually pretty incredible (not to mention inspiring!)-- she went into complete renal failure, she was on a transplant list and everything, and then she decided to really make a change for the better, and she was taken off the transplant list, and her kidneys pretty much revived themselves.  She studied low-sodium diets, made a habit of reading labels in the store, and has really turned things around.

When I ordered her cookbook, I didn't know this story-- I didn't know that she completely changed her life like that.  I find this feat pretty amazing, actually, and I hope it continues to serve as an inspiration to me to do better, to be healthier.

My first step is to try to stop the excuses-- I've been giving myself them for months (Oh, I can't go to the gym because I'll be too tired, or Cash will be sad, or I'm too sore from going yesterday).  Or, the excuses for why I can't cook (I work night shift, I don't have time, heating stuff up in the microwave causes the nutrients to be destroyed) etc., etc., etc.  I'm gradually giving myself fewer excuses, and one day I hope to not have any.

I'm going to have cheat days-- at least right now.  I have to.  Hence the title of this blog-- the short explanation of the blog title is this: I know Me.  

The long answer is that pushing myself too hard at the gym, or depriving myself completely of things I love (In-N-Out, movie theater popcorn) won't work. It just won't.  Not for me right now.  So, I have to start small.  I have to make healthier choices when I feel I can-- I have to deprive myself when I feel I can, and not when I feel that I can't.  And, so, that's what I've been trying to do this week.  I'm snacking on almonds (raw, unsalted) and craisins (0mg of sodium) as I write this, and when my boyfriend and I went to the movies on Sunday, we shared a medium popcorn instead of a large.  

Doesn't sound like much, but it adds up-- and, I'm confident I'll get there someday, and hopefully soon.

Until then, I will continue to make healthier choices when I can, and to not deprive myself of too much, too soon.  I will continue going to the gym, and trying to be more active, but I won't kill myself when I go--I'll do what I can, and push myself to do a little more than that, but not tons more.  At least, not right now.  

Truthfully, my will to do this is still a little fragile--but, the good news is that I get that, understand it, and am not ashamed of it! Which means that I might really be able to do it this time.

If you're doing any diet restrictions/exercise plans, leave me a comment and let me know! I could use some moral support.