A Battle Within

I'm not going to lie, I've been struggling a bit lately when it comes to body image, the number on the scale, and what I see in the mirror. I have days where I feel absolutely fantastic about myself, proud of what I've accomplished, days I don't really think about it, and days where I'm still ashamed of the flab/loose skin/stretch marks/cellulite that still exists, negative voices secretly whispering in my mind to rip the mirror off of the wall. I see the fitness models and images I gain inspiration from through Instagram/Twitter/Facebook that help keep the "drive alive" when it comes to getting fitter/better/faster/stronger/leaner each day, but some days it makes me even more ashamed of who I am. Some days I crave to look like a beast; other days I realize I don't want to put that much time in each day at the gym because, to put it bluntly, I have a life. I have husband and a four-legged child I adore and love, a full-time job, a part-time "job," another part-time job, a school life, and somewhere in the middle, a social life too. I love to travel, I love to spend time with family, and I love to be myself. But some days, my thoughts can get lost or convoluted...

To be honest, even if I have lost 110+ lbs., even if I lost a "baby horse," a person, whatever you want to justify it with, I still have days where I find myself feeling awful about the way I look.

...as you may or may not have read in my last post, I started weight training. Though I had thinned out and was able to "run" off quite a bit of weight/mass, I didn't have much muscle tone throughout my upper body and midsection. I wanted to change this so, after the Mini Marathon, I decided to back off my miles to something manageable for me, 8-9 miles/week average, or run at least 3 times a week, 1/2 hour at a time, with two days (at least) of strength training.

So far, strength training has blessed me with what appears to be obliques and a line running between my bicep and deltoid on my upper arm. (Side note: I squealed like a little girl the same as when I found my jawline or collar bone for the first time.) I do monitor my measurements more, but what I've found most difficult to deal with is the fact I've gained back about five pounds according to that pesky number on the scale.

I'm sure you're thinking, "big whoop, Ash. You've lost a metric crap-ton of weight." Well, for me, it's just like buffets. It's a slippery slope; a slope I don't want to have to climb back up. With buffets, or an abundance of food available, I have a hard time managing how much I eat. I'll keep eating until the point of sickness, especially with sweets. If I get around food, my mind honestly turns to mush. I'm like a zombie searching for brains to feast (and I will tackle someone standing between me and cake).
I have a very difficult time saying no, and give in to temptation way too easily.

...and I eat irrationally with emotions during difficult times.

Seeing the number on the screen creep back up has caused me to crack down, taking myself out of a difficult "food" situation, and trying to track every single thing I put in my mouth. And even though I've been focusing on it, with weight training, I've slowly watched my weight creep up the scale still. Now, of course you hear "muscle weighs more than fat." I don't necessarily think that's true. Sure, muscle is much more dense than fat, however one pound of fat is one pound of muscle. It's just a difference in mass & size.

I track calories every day using My Fitness Pal. It's easy, you can scan UPC barcodes for nutrition information, and set goals, whether it's nutrition or exercise levels.

Typically, I limit myself to 1400 calories/day, however I bend here and there every once in a while for a splurge. I try to limit them as much as possible, and eat as "clean" as I can, but I'm only human. Lately though, I feel as if I haven't been eating enough, or that my body is going in to "starvation mode." I've been gaining where I should be losing, in that I haven't been "eating back" calories burnt while running or working out, and only going over my daily calorie limit here and there, in hopes of losing that pesky five pounds I've put back on.

Plateaus can go kick rocks.

After speaking with a few "weight loss"  buddies, friends, and a family member who also is a fantastic Zumba/Spin/Piyo instructor and personal trainer, I've decided to bump up my calories a few, to 1600 a day at least to see where it gets me. Maybe it's that I need to eat more to lose? It is possible afterall, and is a common weight loss myth.

...but just eating more calories doesn't mean you will eat more to lose, you have to eat more of the right things.

 ...and you have to persevere.

:)

Just My Luck

Dear Mother Nature,

Why on God's green (or soon to be white) Earth did you decided to schedule a snowstorm during my surgery? I'm not too thrilled. I know we have a love/hate relationship when it comes to your gloomy and grey winters, but could you cut it out? Let us compromise: How about you just dump what is supposed to be tomorrow, on us in January? I'll even let you double it? If you keep this up, I have a feeling we can't be friends much longer...

Sincerely,

Ash

____________________________________________________________________

(Ok, but seriously...that's just my luck. I'm not even kidding. And people are spazzing around here. French Toast Warning!)

I always joke I make the worst hockey fan. I hate winter. Well, not completely, but I would hate it completely if hockey season wasn't in winter.

Tomorrow's the (scheduled) day for knee surgery and depending upon who you ask, we're basically getting smacked with 2-9" of snow starting tonight, ending sometime tomorrow evening. I'm rather miffed. I just want to get through this surgery and start to heal. Get over my nerves, get knocked out, wake up, and be on my merry (but gimpy) way. To run again.

The hospital called earlier this morning stating we still are on for tomorrow, I should be at present no later than 6:30am, and a bunch of other fun stuff like no eating or drinking anything after midnight. (Side note: Yes, I will die of starvation.) Surgery is scheduled for 7:30am (a 1/2 hour earlier than the first scheduled 8am), just in time for what could shape up to be a rather craptastic Indiana-winter day.

(As if I wasn't freaked out enough about the surgery, of course Momma Nature had to flex her muscles.)

I'm trying really hard not to freak out, however I'm not the easiest when it comes to things like this. I don't like not being in control, even though I know I have one of the best (and highly, highly recommended) doctors in the area performing my surgery, and well, you can't control the weather. The storm will happen regardless. The surgery will only take 20 minutes (if that), and I know it will take me longer to conk out before and wake up after than the actual procedure. But I'm still uneasy...

I've done my research (thank God for Google), as well as surgery prep, doing my homework of watching animated videos of what is to be performed. It's easy peasy, and I was fine until the anesthesia portion mentioned 'death.' Now before you say it, yes, I know it's a risk and they're basically just covering their asses. But 'out of sight, out of mind,' is something I thrive on. If I don't know about it or realize it, it's probably for the better, especially when I'm rapidly turning into Anxiety Girl (my alter ego).

(Totally me. Just ask anyone who really knows me.)

Then came my favorite question when being interrogated asked about medical history pre-surgery this morning: "Do you have a DNR order (Do Not Resuscitate) or Living Will?"

Sigh. Just stop already. Let me sign the waivers and just get it over with.

Again: I know it's totally a routine procedure, and I'm pretty sure Dr. R could do it with his eyes closed. This is a total cakewalk for him, however the fact that I'm not in control, or I have to be knocked for a loop and eventually unconscious still gets my nerves going...

I'm really trying hard not to freak out. Suck it up, Ash. You can't run without it, and it's not like you've been here before. Well, sort of.

Also, the lovely French Toast Warning isn't helping me in the slightest. (Whoever coined that phrase, you're a genius. Had a good giggle this morning over it.) For those who aren't sure what I mean by French Toast Warning, you know when everyone goes out and buys bread, milk, and eggs before a winter storm? What will you make? French Toast? There ya go...

So, here's hoping all goes well/scheduled. I'm still waiting to hear final totals for snow, but of course living in Indiana, every Hoosier knows 14+ inches of snow means two, and 2+ inches of snow means 14. It can change on a whim, just as anything can with life. (Older Ash is still trying to learn to let go what younger Ash wants to hang on to.) I'll try really hard to quit freaking out. Promise, folks.

Bottom line: I want to run again. The only way to do that, is to just do it.

(So suck it up, Anxiety Girl! The Indy Mini training won't happen without it!) ;)