Tuesday, March 24, 2009
How ironic!
Perhaps he read my last post/rant. Who knows? But, I actually warranted a "Hey, working hard!" greeting last Friday from one of the "Sweaty Brothers!" Angela was putting her hand weights away and I was standing alone, waiting for her to rejoin me for the next set of exercises. I heard him, didn't realize he was talking to me, then after that panicked spinning of my head to see who else was around, I said, "Yeah! You too!" Wow. Actual "gym banter!" Perhaps I was too hasty in my emotional estimation last week...
Monday, March 16, 2009
Now you see me...or do you?
So I commented on my facebook page the other day that I felt invisible. Let's put this into context. It was Friday of last week. Feeling a bit hormonal, I still went to my session with the Chrisinator when what I really wanted to do was stay home, curled up in my cozy blanket with a cup of tea & a book. But I am intrepid (and a glutton for punishment). This is my story.
Me--dressed ready to sweat in whatever was clean at the time or what was clean the night before that I slept in knowing I would streamline my morning routine. Nine times out of ten, not wearing makeup. Why waste the makeup and the effort? It's going to be washed away within the first ten minutes anyway. Always sporting deo for the b.o. And perfume. "Happy" by Clinique because I love it. Hair? Usually in a tossed up up-do held in place by a clip or hairband. This is normal, whether we are dealing with hormones or not.
My Workout Friend--dressed ready to sweat in a cute and perfectly matched workout ensemble, complete with a beautifully combed ponytail and just the right amount of makeup. Waterproof, apparently, since it stays put. (Seriously, if Angela reads this, I aspire to this! I tease because I'm jealous!) This is normal and unrelated to any hormonal influence.
The other characters in our little vignette are two nameless gentlemen who work out (coincidentally?) close to the same time we do. Allow me another digression to say that I realize this anecdote will smack of sarcasm and bitterness. It's all part of getting this off my chest. Plus, Angela and I already talked about it during the cardio portion of our workout on Friday. Back to the story, I would love to know what these two men do for a living that they can workout mid-morning, three times a week for longer than one hour at a time. Independently wealthy? Business owners who can set their own hours? Bookies? Drug Dealers? (Okay, Steph, rein it in!)
EVERY time we see them, they greet Angela with a smile and a "How's it going?" Small talk ensues. I thought they were friends of hers. Turns out, nope. Me? I get nothing. Just a passing glance; not even really passing but more of a looking through. "Mrs. Cellophane...."
Friday was the last straw. That's when I really felt it. It's the same kind of feeling you got in school when you were ALWAYS the last one picked for the team in gym class. On a non-pms-ing kind of day I could care less, really. I mean, I'm certainly not looking for a pickup artist or whatever. I'm happily married, for Heaven's sake!! I'm just saying, be polite and acknowledge a fellow human with a kind "hello" or a "how's it going?" It's not a come on. It's not a relationship. It's a greeting; a "her husband is a lucky man" kind of thing. That's what I want.
I think I'll do a little experiment on my weight loss journey. I'll make a chart that somehow graphs how much small talk happens the more pounds I lose. Because, honestly? Those of us who carry more bod around and take up more space are WAY less visible to the naked eye than the most petite person you can think of. It happened to me in high school: fat and ignored, thin and recognized. It happened in college: beginning of the slow re-gain=begin to disappear from society and being treated like a poltergeist who bumps into people. But, begin to re-lose and suddenly, attention. (Usually from the nerds and socially inept because all the hotties are: taken, gay or too into themselves)
It's like, if Angela and I were single, I'd be the one that the "wingman" would have to distract while the other one makes his move. Sometimes a girl gets fed up with being second prize. Even if she is happily married and loves her husband and her life.
Me--dressed ready to sweat in whatever was clean at the time or what was clean the night before that I slept in knowing I would streamline my morning routine. Nine times out of ten, not wearing makeup. Why waste the makeup and the effort? It's going to be washed away within the first ten minutes anyway. Always sporting deo for the b.o. And perfume. "Happy" by Clinique because I love it. Hair? Usually in a tossed up up-do held in place by a clip or hairband. This is normal, whether we are dealing with hormones or not.
My Workout Friend--dressed ready to sweat in a cute and perfectly matched workout ensemble, complete with a beautifully combed ponytail and just the right amount of makeup. Waterproof, apparently, since it stays put. (Seriously, if Angela reads this, I aspire to this! I tease because I'm jealous!) This is normal and unrelated to any hormonal influence.
The other characters in our little vignette are two nameless gentlemen who work out (coincidentally?) close to the same time we do. Allow me another digression to say that I realize this anecdote will smack of sarcasm and bitterness. It's all part of getting this off my chest. Plus, Angela and I already talked about it during the cardio portion of our workout on Friday. Back to the story, I would love to know what these two men do for a living that they can workout mid-morning, three times a week for longer than one hour at a time. Independently wealthy? Business owners who can set their own hours? Bookies? Drug Dealers? (Okay, Steph, rein it in!)
EVERY time we see them, they greet Angela with a smile and a "How's it going?" Small talk ensues. I thought they were friends of hers. Turns out, nope. Me? I get nothing. Just a passing glance; not even really passing but more of a looking through. "Mrs. Cellophane...."
Friday was the last straw. That's when I really felt it. It's the same kind of feeling you got in school when you were ALWAYS the last one picked for the team in gym class. On a non-pms-ing kind of day I could care less, really. I mean, I'm certainly not looking for a pickup artist or whatever. I'm happily married, for Heaven's sake!! I'm just saying, be polite and acknowledge a fellow human with a kind "hello" or a "how's it going?" It's not a come on. It's not a relationship. It's a greeting; a "her husband is a lucky man" kind of thing. That's what I want.
I think I'll do a little experiment on my weight loss journey. I'll make a chart that somehow graphs how much small talk happens the more pounds I lose. Because, honestly? Those of us who carry more bod around and take up more space are WAY less visible to the naked eye than the most petite person you can think of. It happened to me in high school: fat and ignored, thin and recognized. It happened in college: beginning of the slow re-gain=begin to disappear from society and being treated like a poltergeist who bumps into people. But, begin to re-lose and suddenly, attention. (Usually from the nerds and socially inept because all the hotties are: taken, gay or too into themselves)
It's like, if Angela and I were single, I'd be the one that the "wingman" would have to distract while the other one makes his move. Sometimes a girl gets fed up with being second prize. Even if she is happily married and loves her husband and her life.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Just keep knitting; just keep knitting...
I LOVE KNITTING!! Just wanted to share the passion. Just wanted to open a window into the amazingly wonderful world that is knitting. For starters, knitting comforts a whole lot better than food. I've come to embrace this! (My trainer is very pleased! Not to mention I did knit him a very cool hat) I would put it on par or better even than chocolate. Wait, did I just say that?!? Let's rephrase. Definitely on par with but not better than. Whew, what a braincramp.
Seriously, though, just the feel of the yarn in my hands makes all the "baddies" go away. "Saddies" too. I can fill an afternoon of just blissfully "organizing" my stash. That entails sitting on the floor surrrounded by the overflowing bins of fabulousity. The colors are hypnotic. The textures: soft and softer. I can squeeze the skeins and hanks with all the gusto of Mr. Whipple and his Charmin. And while my senses are dazzled, my mind twirls with the possibilities like a ballroom dancer expertly performing the perfect waltz. "This would be soooo great as a scarf. No, socks. SCORE!! Enough for socks AND a scarf. Or a scarf AND a hat..." When my sensory binge needs a moment to settle before the second, third or fourth courses I peruse my pattern books. I turn each page with care, drinking in the details of the photos. I'm impresses by the brainwork it took to design such amazing things. What a gift from God to be able to design an Aran sweater or a lacy shawl!! Such creativity!! Such masterpieces!!
F.Y.I. Knitting is biblical. It's true. God knits. He knit us together in our mother's wombs (see Psalm 139). He knits hearts together: marriages, friendships, families. Scarlet wool is included in the offerings listed in
Numbers 19. (I learned that at Bible Study Fellowship.)
Now, if you'll excuse me. I've gotta go....KNIT!!
Seriously, though, just the feel of the yarn in my hands makes all the "baddies" go away. "Saddies" too. I can fill an afternoon of just blissfully "organizing" my stash. That entails sitting on the floor surrrounded by the overflowing bins of fabulousity. The colors are hypnotic. The textures: soft and softer. I can squeeze the skeins and hanks with all the gusto of Mr. Whipple and his Charmin. And while my senses are dazzled, my mind twirls with the possibilities like a ballroom dancer expertly performing the perfect waltz. "This would be soooo great as a scarf. No, socks. SCORE!! Enough for socks AND a scarf. Or a scarf AND a hat..." When my sensory binge needs a moment to settle before the second, third or fourth courses I peruse my pattern books. I turn each page with care, drinking in the details of the photos. I'm impresses by the brainwork it took to design such amazing things. What a gift from God to be able to design an Aran sweater or a lacy shawl!! Such creativity!! Such masterpieces!!
F.Y.I. Knitting is biblical. It's true. God knits. He knit us together in our mother's wombs (see Psalm 139). He knits hearts together: marriages, friendships, families. Scarlet wool is included in the offerings listed in
Numbers 19. (I learned that at Bible Study Fellowship.)
Now, if you'll excuse me. I've gotta go....KNIT!!
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Veloci-what?!?
If you try to find the definition for "velocitization" in Webster's Dictionary, you won't. But, look in Urban Dictionary and you will. Velocitization is becoming desensitized to high speed. You know that feeling you get when you've been driving 70 mph and suddenly need to slow down through a small town? You hit the brakes to bring your speed down to, say, 35 mph. Y-o-u
f-e-e-l l-i-k-e y-o-u-r-e i-n ssssssss-----lllllll------ooooooooo---------wwwww mmmmmmm----ooooooo---ttttttttt-------iiiiiiiii-----ooooooooo-------nnnnnnnnnn. Like crawling through quick dry concrete as it hardens around you. Like thick molasses being poured outside in freezing weather. You get the idea. I am experiencing velocitization. Not behind the wheel of my car at the moment. Behind the "wheel" of my life. You don't realize how fast life travels until YOU can't travel at the "normal" pace. My torn plantar fascia has opened my eyes to my "life velocitization syndrome."
Suddenly, I can't walk at my usual pace. I can't move with my normal gait. The one that I use when I walk through the house, or to the car, or from the car to the store/school/church/etc. The one that says, "I have a purpose. I have a place to be, three seconds AGO." This FRUSTRATES me!! I prefer fast. I have to admit it. I am a "fast-aholic." I walk fast. I talk fast. I want to get things done fast so I can move on to the next thing, whatever it is, but make it FAST. My gimpy foot is unable to keep up with my fastness. It rebels when I try to hurry it up. It shoots pain up my leg, through my knee and hip, to my brain. Brain translates the message, "Slow down, Stephanie McSpeedypants!!!! That HURTS!!" So while I sit with ice on my inflamed fascia, I am forced to face my situation. It occurred to me that it is no accident that this happened to me when it did. Sure, there's never a "convenient" time for an injury with a
3 to 6 week sentence (I mean recovery). But when I really think about it (NOT a fast process), I can see Providence at work. I'm not saying God made me hurt my foot. I am saying that by looking at this from a godly perspective, I can see that He wants me to slow down. He wants me to take my time: to pray, to read His word, to listen to my husband and son in an un-Stephanie kind of speed, to listen to friends...really listen. So with grateful tears, my prayer has changed from "God, please heal my foot superFAST" to "God, please help me slow down, see opportunities, and catch up on the things of life that I sped through."
You know what? God answers prayer! Always. Even when we move too fast to see it. AND especially when we ask Him to help us slow down and then deal with the slowed down-ness. That's just how God rolls!
f-e-e-l l-i-k-e y-o-u-r-e i-n ssssssss-----lllllll------ooooooooo---------wwwww mmmmmmm----ooooooo---ttttttttt-------iiiiiiiii-----ooooooooo-------nnnnnnnnnn. Like crawling through quick dry concrete as it hardens around you. Like thick molasses being poured outside in freezing weather. You get the idea. I am experiencing velocitization. Not behind the wheel of my car at the moment. Behind the "wheel" of my life. You don't realize how fast life travels until YOU can't travel at the "normal" pace. My torn plantar fascia has opened my eyes to my "life velocitization syndrome."
Suddenly, I can't walk at my usual pace. I can't move with my normal gait. The one that I use when I walk through the house, or to the car, or from the car to the store/school/church/etc. The one that says, "I have a purpose. I have a place to be, three seconds AGO." This FRUSTRATES me!! I prefer fast. I have to admit it. I am a "fast-aholic." I walk fast. I talk fast. I want to get things done fast so I can move on to the next thing, whatever it is, but make it FAST. My gimpy foot is unable to keep up with my fastness. It rebels when I try to hurry it up. It shoots pain up my leg, through my knee and hip, to my brain. Brain translates the message, "Slow down, Stephanie McSpeedypants!!!! That HURTS!!" So while I sit with ice on my inflamed fascia, I am forced to face my situation. It occurred to me that it is no accident that this happened to me when it did. Sure, there's never a "convenient" time for an injury with a
3 to 6 week sentence (I mean recovery). But when I really think about it (NOT a fast process), I can see Providence at work. I'm not saying God made me hurt my foot. I am saying that by looking at this from a godly perspective, I can see that He wants me to slow down. He wants me to take my time: to pray, to read His word, to listen to my husband and son in an un-Stephanie kind of speed, to listen to friends...really listen. So with grateful tears, my prayer has changed from "God, please heal my foot superFAST" to "God, please help me slow down, see opportunities, and catch up on the things of life that I sped through."
You know what? God answers prayer! Always. Even when we move too fast to see it. AND especially when we ask Him to help us slow down and then deal with the slowed down-ness. That's just how God rolls!
Friday, March 6, 2009
July 2006 019
"Cool" Dave and Evan!
When Evan started talking, he would unintentionallyl leave off the
"un-" part of uncle, thereby shortening the word to "cle" or "cool". That's how his great-uncle became "Cool" Dave!
"You hurt your what?"
Last Friday, the day of Katherine's nursing home move, I hurt my foot. Not just, "Wah, my foot hurts." But, "Holy Hallelujah, my foot HURTS!" I felt a pop in my right heel during my training session that morning. I am just stubborn enough to not say anything about it. No one wants to be the fat, whiny girl at the gym. Least of all me. So, I limp along trying to not look limpy. Pain pretty much subsides UNTIL...I am at Katherine's apartment for cleanup and packup. Somehow during the ride to her place, I don't really notice anything odd until I get out of my truck. Upon weight bearing, pain shoots up my leg through my heel. Oh Dear Jesus! (prayer, not swear) Wishing I could drag myself to the elevator instead of walk, I press on. Trying to find the least painful method of movement AND trying to look like I don't have a SEVERE handicap. The people in the sitting area offered me their canes. Nice.
LONG story short, I pack, check Katherine out of Crestview and go to pick up Evan from school. Carol, the M-I-L, is a big girl and can handle the rest of the packing at the apartment. I call Bobby when Evan and I get home. THAT was when the tears came. Flooding my eyes, streaming down my face. Tears of pain. Tears of ANGER! What is my problem? How can I be THAT clumsy? This is the longest stretch of exercise sans accidents that I've ever had. WTH happened? Clarifying that I had felt a pop, Bobby said, "Sounds like you gave yourself a fasciiotomy." Ex-squeeze me? I baking powder? (Waynes' World reference, 5 points if you caught it). "Instead of having a doctor sever your plantar fascia, you did it yourself." Yippee. And crippled myself in the process. Nice. On the bright side, I got out of loading Katherine's stuff onto Carol's truck. Down side: hopping my "svelte" self to the bathroom, kitchen, etc. Evan kept climbing on me to kiss my head and say "Poor Mommy." Awwwwww. Sweet Boy!
Thank God for Aleve, ice packs and Ace bandages. By Monday morning I was good as new. Excellent news since I was going back to the gym no matter what. At least I could walk in on foot like a normal person. Not crawl in on hands and knees, trying to act normal. Chrisinator was kind to us, too. No high impact stuff. Just serious squatting and leg weights. Not to worry, I still perspired enough to soak my clothes and soak my hair. Thanks, Chrisinator!
LONG story short, I pack, check Katherine out of Crestview and go to pick up Evan from school. Carol, the M-I-L, is a big girl and can handle the rest of the packing at the apartment. I call Bobby when Evan and I get home. THAT was when the tears came. Flooding my eyes, streaming down my face. Tears of pain. Tears of ANGER! What is my problem? How can I be THAT clumsy? This is the longest stretch of exercise sans accidents that I've ever had. WTH happened? Clarifying that I had felt a pop, Bobby said, "Sounds like you gave yourself a fasciiotomy." Ex-squeeze me? I baking powder? (Waynes' World reference, 5 points if you caught it). "Instead of having a doctor sever your plantar fascia, you did it yourself." Yippee. And crippled myself in the process. Nice. On the bright side, I got out of loading Katherine's stuff onto Carol's truck. Down side: hopping my "svelte" self to the bathroom, kitchen, etc. Evan kept climbing on me to kiss my head and say "Poor Mommy." Awwwwww. Sweet Boy!
Thank God for Aleve, ice packs and Ace bandages. By Monday morning I was good as new. Excellent news since I was going back to the gym no matter what. At least I could walk in on foot like a normal person. Not crawl in on hands and knees, trying to act normal. Chrisinator was kind to us, too. No high impact stuff. Just serious squatting and leg weights. Not to worry, I still perspired enough to soak my clothes and soak my hair. Thanks, Chrisinator!
Like Manna From Heaven
Have you ever had one of those weeks? I've had one this week. Gotta tell ya, I thought Friday would NEVER come. But, in the last seven days there have been two bright spots--Wednesday and Friday. Wednesday, I went with my sweet Margaret to pick up her bridesmaids dresses. In Houston. Awesome mid-week road trip! Friday, I had lunch with my friend, Sue. Up until today I would have merely categorized her as an acquaintance. Today we bonded over lunch. Sue rocks! She is smart and funny. Plus, she dresses so totally cute! She uses words like "bucolic." How cool is that! Sue is ten years my senior. I never would have guessed that. She has asked me to pray for her and be an accountability person for her on her lifestyle change. What an awesome privilege to be that for someone! Wow. I am excited to see how this will change me (for the better, I pray). Stay tuned!
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