What does the word tough mean? According to Websters, one meaning is: "capable of enduring strain, hardship, or severe labor." I don't feel tough. Now, mind you, I am still trying, I just don't feel tough. So how will I ever last a whole year? This exercise thing is hard on my body. It makes me hurt. Most of the hurt is a good thing, but then there is the pain in my knee and lower back. I limp right along. The hardest part for me is the mental part. I am far from being mentally tough. My knee hurts and I think I can't do this. My back hurts and I think I can't do this.
Wednesday night, I hurt my knee and my lower back was having muscle spasms. I left the workout area briefly, to cry and came back to try again. Nope...I felt like I was quitting. My body just wouldn't respond the way I wanted it to. I told Bethany I was sorry for quitting and she got after me...I don't remember her exact words, but I do remember her telling me it was an attack from the devil and that I needed to quit being angry because that gives him victory over me. She had me stretch my back for the rest of the time.
I went home and took some medicine and went to bed. I didn't feel good about myself and that attitude continued into the next day. My students ask about my workouts and we talked about me hurting myself and they offered encouragement. One of the boys told the others that I was going to do a 5k with his mom (that is another story for another day). Their eyes got big and they all smiled. They told me I could do it.
The workout last night was hard! It was cold and it seemed like every exercise seemed to put pressure on my knee and back. Oh, and it was COLD! When we got to the TolarPlex, it was 30 degrees (that would be Fahrenheit for those of you that live outside of the US). When we were finished it was 26 degrees. The wind was cutting through me. I worked out hard enough to have to remove some of my layers...but I still don't feel tough!
How in the world am I going to convince my brain that I can do this...well, to start, I am praying about it and having others pray. Next, I am surrounding myself with people that will encourage me. There is always someone at camp that comes to me at the end and tells me I did a good job. This helps. And, I am blogging about it. Like I said before, this blog is really for me. It is a place for me to document my successes and my struggles...
I am nine days in to a journey that will take some time. I have committed myself to making this work. I have made some modifications to my diet and started working out...do I really need to be the definition of TOUGH, no! God can do mighty things...in my weakness, He is made strong. He will honor my effort and He will lift me up and carry me when I feel like I need to quit. That is the great thing about God...He is always there and He never gives up on me...I would much rather be weak so others can see He is strong...
Be blessed!
Friday, January 24, 2014
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
Step By Step, Bit By Bit
I didn't get to be as big as I am overnight. It happened a few pounds at a time over many years. I am not going to be able to drop this weight overnight. What? That is not what I want to hear! We live in a right now world. I can get information at any time, from almost anywhere in the world, right? Yes. And I can do things that will help me loose weight quickly, oh, wait...I did that...
The root problem of my weight problem is not really what I eat. There are skinny people that eat the same things. The problem is in my head. Why do I eat? How did I get to this point? How am I going to stop?
We eat. We have to do it. Have you ever stopped to think about the role food plays in your life? Well, I have never really thought much about it until this past weekend. I was watching television and noticed there are hundreds of food related commercials. I noticed this because I was really wanting a hamburger from a fast food place. We are bombarded with wonderful images of yummy looking food when we watch t.v. So much so that tonight during our workout I made reference some brightly colored, candy covered chocolates. Are you wondering why? Well, the song that was playing had a phrase in it: I'm sexy and I know it. The ONLY experience I have had with that song before this week was on t.v.
I eat when I am happy. I eat when I am sad. I eat to celebrate. I eat to mourn (you know, after a funeral). I am an emotional eater. The more stress that I am under the more I eat. Do you ever do that? I know many of us do. So now what? How do I stop this cycle? Easy. Step by step, bit by bit, little by little. I have to make healthier choices.
The first one was to get up and get active. This was difficult for me. The second was to increase the amount of water I drink. I have had to decrease the amount of sweet tea I drink (my students don't know what to think). I am not sure what the next thing will be, but I will do it. One choice at a time!
Be blessed.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Getting Control?
This will no doubt be an emotional journey. I have cried more in the last week than I did in all of 2013. I do want you to know that I appreciate all of the support and well wishes!
What is it about being in control of what goes on around us that makes us act like crazy people. I know that if I feel like I have lost control of something I get mad. Yet, my weight is out of control. How did it happen?
I think it started for me when I was a little girl. I remember trying to starve myself to try to drop some weight when I was as young as 6th grade. I developed early. My breasts grew quickly and my friends started making fun of me and calling me Dolly Parton. I also remember talking to one of the neighborhood boys about me and my friend Josephine having him and his friend as "boyfriends" and he told me that they would take Josephine, but I would have to go on a diet. So, this bad relationship I have with food and exercise started a long time ago.
Control...why do I think I can control anything? I struggle to allow God full control in my life. I guess I think I know what is best for me. My control, or lack thereof, allowed me to become 350 pounds (before my lapband). I was reminded that it is in my weakness that I become strong. What does that really mean to me and how will I use it to give up my need to control things?
Now, I want you to know that this blog is going to be used as a way for me to get my feelings out. I am not trying to push what I believe on you and you are not obligated to read my posts. I am going to be as honest as I can be and share what I believe to be truth about my life and my relationships. I ask that you encourage me and support me, but don't try to make me feel like my feelings are not real. They are very real. I will talk about things that will make people uncomfortable and may challenge you to see things from the other perspective...my perspective and the perspective of people all over the world that struggle with their weight. Now, back to my thoughts.
I have been a large woman for a long time. Those of you that work with kids or have kids know that they say what is on their mind. They don't mean to hurt your feelings, they just really want to know. I appreciate that about them. I have had more than one child call me fat...usually when the were mad at me and sometimes the word fat was followed by another word. I remember clearly a particular incident early in my teaching career where a student called me a fat b...they said the word in class. I decided that day that I was going to have to have tough skin to be a teacher. I would not let them know that they hurt my feelings when they called me fat and I would use my weight to make fun of myself. I would say things like, "Boy, if you don't quit I am going to knock you down and sit on you until you have an hour glass shape." How's that for control?
This year, I had a student say to me, "Mrs. Stuart, no offense, but why are all fat people funny?" He was trying to tell me I was funny and was comparing me to someone else he knew that was overweight and funny. I thought about it and answered him as honestly as I could, because he wanted to know. I explained to him that my sense of humor developed as a way to keep people from laughing at me. If I can make them laugh, then maybe they won't notice how big I am. Fact is, I am big and I am funny. Being funny was taking control...you know, by distracting others.
Even my child has asked questions. "Momma, why are you so big?" Those words cut right to the heart. He didn't know he hurt my feelings and I used it as a teachable moment. I answered with these words, "Well, baby, I really like food. I eat way more than I should and I eat the wrong kinds of food." We talked about how I got to be as big as I was and then I gently told him that he should choose his words carefully because people could get their feelings hurt. My boy is a sweet kid and he loves people...all people.
You know, I lost control the other day on the football field. I was mad. I was mad because I was last and everyone was leaving. I was MAD! And then I was broken. Right there on the ten yard line, I was broken. I realized that I was believing the lie that I was not worth the effort, that everyone thought I was fat, and that no one cared. I wanted to quit. I wanted to fall on my face and have a pity party...right there in that grass. For 43 years I have bought into what the world says beautiful is...and I believed the lies that satan was telling me. He would have me believe that I have to be in control, when in fact I need to give up control and be broken so that I can be built back up. Control...it is overrated!
What is it about being in control of what goes on around us that makes us act like crazy people. I know that if I feel like I have lost control of something I get mad. Yet, my weight is out of control. How did it happen?
I think it started for me when I was a little girl. I remember trying to starve myself to try to drop some weight when I was as young as 6th grade. I developed early. My breasts grew quickly and my friends started making fun of me and calling me Dolly Parton. I also remember talking to one of the neighborhood boys about me and my friend Josephine having him and his friend as "boyfriends" and he told me that they would take Josephine, but I would have to go on a diet. So, this bad relationship I have with food and exercise started a long time ago.
Control...why do I think I can control anything? I struggle to allow God full control in my life. I guess I think I know what is best for me. My control, or lack thereof, allowed me to become 350 pounds (before my lapband). I was reminded that it is in my weakness that I become strong. What does that really mean to me and how will I use it to give up my need to control things?
Now, I want you to know that this blog is going to be used as a way for me to get my feelings out. I am not trying to push what I believe on you and you are not obligated to read my posts. I am going to be as honest as I can be and share what I believe to be truth about my life and my relationships. I ask that you encourage me and support me, but don't try to make me feel like my feelings are not real. They are very real. I will talk about things that will make people uncomfortable and may challenge you to see things from the other perspective...my perspective and the perspective of people all over the world that struggle with their weight. Now, back to my thoughts.
I have been a large woman for a long time. Those of you that work with kids or have kids know that they say what is on their mind. They don't mean to hurt your feelings, they just really want to know. I appreciate that about them. I have had more than one child call me fat...usually when the were mad at me and sometimes the word fat was followed by another word. I remember clearly a particular incident early in my teaching career where a student called me a fat b...they said the word in class. I decided that day that I was going to have to have tough skin to be a teacher. I would not let them know that they hurt my feelings when they called me fat and I would use my weight to make fun of myself. I would say things like, "Boy, if you don't quit I am going to knock you down and sit on you until you have an hour glass shape." How's that for control?
This year, I had a student say to me, "Mrs. Stuart, no offense, but why are all fat people funny?" He was trying to tell me I was funny and was comparing me to someone else he knew that was overweight and funny. I thought about it and answered him as honestly as I could, because he wanted to know. I explained to him that my sense of humor developed as a way to keep people from laughing at me. If I can make them laugh, then maybe they won't notice how big I am. Fact is, I am big and I am funny. Being funny was taking control...you know, by distracting others.
Even my child has asked questions. "Momma, why are you so big?" Those words cut right to the heart. He didn't know he hurt my feelings and I used it as a teachable moment. I answered with these words, "Well, baby, I really like food. I eat way more than I should and I eat the wrong kinds of food." We talked about how I got to be as big as I was and then I gently told him that he should choose his words carefully because people could get their feelings hurt. My boy is a sweet kid and he loves people...all people.
You know, I lost control the other day on the football field. I was mad. I was mad because I was last and everyone was leaving. I was MAD! And then I was broken. Right there on the ten yard line, I was broken. I realized that I was believing the lie that I was not worth the effort, that everyone thought I was fat, and that no one cared. I wanted to quit. I wanted to fall on my face and have a pity party...right there in that grass. For 43 years I have bought into what the world says beautiful is...and I believed the lies that satan was telling me. He would have me believe that I have to be in control, when in fact I need to give up control and be broken so that I can be built back up. Control...it is overrated!
Sunday, January 19, 2014
In the beginning...
Exercise has never been one of my favorite things. I have just never stuck with it. I think that the last time I really participated in any kind of real workout would have been when I was in high school PE. I graduated in 1989...after that, I walked a few months in college and took the required PE classes to graduate.
I had lapband surgery several years ago. At that time, I weighed 350 pounds. I am not proud of that number. I lost weight. At one point, I weighed 223 pounds and then I ran out of money for the fills ($150 for each fill). Lapband was a quick fix and it worked for a while, but mentally I was not ready. I still wanted to eat and was often miserable because I would over eat. Slowly, I put the pounds back on. Just a few at a time, but they all add up. I had to buy some stretchy pants and some bigger shirts. Now, at [300] pounds*, something has happened (Yes, that is what I weigh, again, not proud of that number...just want to put it out there so that you will understand how difficult the next step was.)
I work with kids. Teaching is what I am called to do. This year, I am blessed to work at a little home school co-op. The director decided that the kids would have a PE class. My 10 year old son (he attends the co-op) LOVES PE and his PE teacher, her name is Bethany. She has a smile that fills up the room and she loves the kids.
My boy would come home and practice his push-ups so that he could do better...wow! I watched and wondered what it was about PE that inspired him to want to be better. Now, mind you, Bethany never said anything about my weight or how out of shape I was. She just smiled and carried on conversations with me like we have been friends forever.
Last week, she was leaning against the wall waiting for her students. We started talking...I explained how I felt guilty when I saw her because I didn't exercise. She smiled her big smile and invited me to come to work out with her group. I didn't go on Tuesday night. On Wednesday, I asked for the schedule and location.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014...something in my spirit changed. I put on my sweats, a t-shirt, and my tennis shoes and got in the car. I remember thinking I was crazy...I think Scott might have thought the same thing. I drove up to the workout location, took a deep breath, and got out of the car. I was in tears by the time I was standing in front of my friend. I was there and it was too late to back out.
I did what I could. I wanted to quit. It hurt and I couldn't do a jumping jack (it hurt to have all of me moving like that). I cried when I got in the car and I cried most of the way home. Thursday came and I could still move and I decided to go again. I went. I ran (running for me is like a quick walk for some of you). I did sit ups. I owned the fire hose...and I hurt my knee. I cried. I came home, took a hot bath, took some Advil, and put ice on my knee.
Friday, I hurt. My knee was better. I walked with my boy and did a few push up and sit ups. He thought that was great. There was not a planned workout Friday night, so I took it easy.
Saturday morning was the extra workout for the week. I went (and took a friend). We were told we would be doing a 20 minute workout. Twenty minutes...that doesn't sound too bad, right? Well, it was brutal. It took me 1 hour, 4 minutes, and 45 seconds to finish. We were working out on a high school football field. I am not sure how many times I walked around the track, I don't know how many push ups I did, I am not sure how long it took me to walk backwards across the football field, but I know I finished. I finished dead last!
Here is where I need to be honest. I HATE being last and satan uses that against me. I was trying to finish three trips across the football field doing lunges. People were leaving. They had been finished for 15 or more minutes at this point. I was about even with the goal post on my first trip across the field and I started to cry. I was mad. I felt like it was just not worth it and my legs were on fire. That's when it happened. It was like a switch was flipped in my head. I kept pushing forward. The friend that I invited was now standing next to me and she was praying for me. I made it to the sideline and turned around. I started back across, tears in my eyes, still being encouraged by my friend. All of the other people had gone when I started across the field for the final time. Bethany switched the music to a worship mix and joined me on the sideline. Off we went, me, my friend (who rode with me), and Bethany. I remember very little about the conversation that was going on beside me, but I do remember hearing, "I am going to finish this with you." and I remember hearing Bethany singing along to the music. I didn't think we would ever make it to the other sideline and when we did I didn't think my legs would hold out long enough to make it all the way around the track to where I started.
I walked most of the way...and then I ran. It wasn't a long way, just the length of the bleachers. Bethany was there until I got to the edge of the bleachers and then she ran ahead...cheering me on and telling me I could do it. I crossed the finish line...not in the 20 minutes, not even in an hour, but I crossed the finish line. All [300] pounds* of me. I finished.
If you would have told me a few months ago that I would be working out, I would have laughed. God does amazing things and getting me off of my behind is a miracle. He has surrounded me with some amazing women and I look forward to becoming healthier and in shape...I am now a Gladiator...and I am cgBOLD!
I had lapband surgery several years ago. At that time, I weighed 350 pounds. I am not proud of that number. I lost weight. At one point, I weighed 223 pounds and then I ran out of money for the fills ($150 for each fill). Lapband was a quick fix and it worked for a while, but mentally I was not ready. I still wanted to eat and was often miserable because I would over eat. Slowly, I put the pounds back on. Just a few at a time, but they all add up. I had to buy some stretchy pants and some bigger shirts. Now, at [300] pounds*, something has happened (Yes, that is what I weigh, again, not proud of that number...just want to put it out there so that you will understand how difficult the next step was.)
I work with kids. Teaching is what I am called to do. This year, I am blessed to work at a little home school co-op. The director decided that the kids would have a PE class. My 10 year old son (he attends the co-op) LOVES PE and his PE teacher, her name is Bethany. She has a smile that fills up the room and she loves the kids.
My boy would come home and practice his push-ups so that he could do better...wow! I watched and wondered what it was about PE that inspired him to want to be better. Now, mind you, Bethany never said anything about my weight or how out of shape I was. She just smiled and carried on conversations with me like we have been friends forever.
Last week, she was leaning against the wall waiting for her students. We started talking...I explained how I felt guilty when I saw her because I didn't exercise. She smiled her big smile and invited me to come to work out with her group. I didn't go on Tuesday night. On Wednesday, I asked for the schedule and location.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014...something in my spirit changed. I put on my sweats, a t-shirt, and my tennis shoes and got in the car. I remember thinking I was crazy...I think Scott might have thought the same thing. I drove up to the workout location, took a deep breath, and got out of the car. I was in tears by the time I was standing in front of my friend. I was there and it was too late to back out.
I did what I could. I wanted to quit. It hurt and I couldn't do a jumping jack (it hurt to have all of me moving like that). I cried when I got in the car and I cried most of the way home. Thursday came and I could still move and I decided to go again. I went. I ran (running for me is like a quick walk for some of you). I did sit ups. I owned the fire hose...and I hurt my knee. I cried. I came home, took a hot bath, took some Advil, and put ice on my knee.
Friday, I hurt. My knee was better. I walked with my boy and did a few push up and sit ups. He thought that was great. There was not a planned workout Friday night, so I took it easy.
Saturday morning was the extra workout for the week. I went (and took a friend). We were told we would be doing a 20 minute workout. Twenty minutes...that doesn't sound too bad, right? Well, it was brutal. It took me 1 hour, 4 minutes, and 45 seconds to finish. We were working out on a high school football field. I am not sure how many times I walked around the track, I don't know how many push ups I did, I am not sure how long it took me to walk backwards across the football field, but I know I finished. I finished dead last!
Here is where I need to be honest. I HATE being last and satan uses that against me. I was trying to finish three trips across the football field doing lunges. People were leaving. They had been finished for 15 or more minutes at this point. I was about even with the goal post on my first trip across the field and I started to cry. I was mad. I felt like it was just not worth it and my legs were on fire. That's when it happened. It was like a switch was flipped in my head. I kept pushing forward. The friend that I invited was now standing next to me and she was praying for me. I made it to the sideline and turned around. I started back across, tears in my eyes, still being encouraged by my friend. All of the other people had gone when I started across the field for the final time. Bethany switched the music to a worship mix and joined me on the sideline. Off we went, me, my friend (who rode with me), and Bethany. I remember very little about the conversation that was going on beside me, but I do remember hearing, "I am going to finish this with you." and I remember hearing Bethany singing along to the music. I didn't think we would ever make it to the other sideline and when we did I didn't think my legs would hold out long enough to make it all the way around the track to where I started.
I walked most of the way...and then I ran. It wasn't a long way, just the length of the bleachers. Bethany was there until I got to the edge of the bleachers and then she ran ahead...cheering me on and telling me I could do it. I crossed the finish line...not in the 20 minutes, not even in an hour, but I crossed the finish line. All [300] pounds* of me. I finished.
If you would have told me a few months ago that I would be working out, I would have laughed. God does amazing things and getting me off of my behind is a miracle. He has surrounded me with some amazing women and I look forward to becoming healthier and in shape...I am now a Gladiator...and I am cgBOLD!
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