When life gives you lemons, grab a Diet Coke

     This last week just wasn't my week. My inbox had turned into  a ticking timebomb while I was waiting to hear word back from my instructor on the book. Somehow I had managed to pinch a nerve in my shoulder, and my fingertips wwouldn't stop tingling. The hamstring I injured before the marathon was starting to ache on my 5 mile runs. My kidlet's motors were running on high and their screams were still only slightly softer than the monologue of defeat I was reciting in my head.

    Then my four year old flushed about half a roll of toilet paper. As I was mopping up the Niagra Falls of kommodes I gave some serious thought to the old phrase "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade."  The intention of the proverb is to do the best with what you have and normally I would be all about that. However, ankle deep in toilet water, there was no way I could make anything good out of this --pardon the pun-- crap. 

     When I ran downstairs to throw the wet towels in the wash I heard a drip drip coming from the room directly beneath the bathroom.  Apparently I wasn't fast enough and water from upstairs had leaked through the floor, into the ceiling, and out through the light fixture. I was so mad that I knew if I saw either of my little ones right then, somebody was gonna start crying --probably me.  So what did I do? Stewing over my rotten luck wasn't doing a darned bit of good. My brain was just turning all my worries and concerns over and over. I needed to make a break to disrupt the negative thoughts and feelings. So I took my lemons and tossed em in the fridge for awhile, leaving only a little wedge to put in my Diet Coke. Then I put myself in TIME OUT.

    I made sure the kids were safe and happy watching a DVD and locked myself in my room for 15 minutes with my Diet Coke-- literally. And for those 15 minutes I did nothing but breathe and enjoy my tasty  beverage. And then, when I was done, I walked back out and the lemons didn't seem quite as tart as they were a little while ago. We give our kids time outs to correct naughty behavior. It gives them a chance to seperate themselves from the behavior that led them there. Well guess what? Sometimes adults need them too. When you are being destructive and abusive to yourself then go to time out. Take a break and put your problems in the fridge --they'll keep.  When you're ready you can go get them and figure out the best way to make lemonade.

   For me, that Diet Coke time out provided a much needed opportunity to gain some perspective. By taking myself out of the situation for a moment I was able to halt the ramping up of emotions. That more than anything is what was making me miserable. Not the events, but the dispair and upset I felt about them. Without the emotions I could look at each "lemon" logically. In the case of my manuscript, I would take whatever critique was given, fix it, and then send it back. But what was the point of worrying about it when I hadn't even heard anything yet? Maybe he would love it and all my worrying would be for naught. I was squeezing the lemon before it hatched.. or something like that.

   The shoulder and hamstring just needed some rest and ice to let the swelling go down. My fitness would not suffer too much from one missed weight session or a slower run. But if I injured them further because I didn't rest it then the 2 months recovery time would put a definite cramp in my training.

   As far as the toilet soggy drywall situation goes, I am handing that one off to my husband.

  The Diet Coke Time Out is a technique I learned during this last year when my inner voice was yelling itself hoarse telling me I was going to gain weight back or never make it to the marathon. If I was up a half a pound one day my heart would start fluttering and I immediately went into panic mode. If I didn't stop the freak out in it's tracks then the rest of the day would be spent worrying and weighing. Then when my weight went up with anything I ate or drank (as it should) then I would escalate my spazzing and get even more upset. So I had to consciously choose to stop and interrupt the flow of negativity. Give myself that 15 minutes to empty my thoughts and emotions and start anew. If Diet Coke isn't your thing, that's alright. Make it work for you, just leave the cupcakes on the counter ok?

Are you a Pinto or a Jeep?

      Today during a five mile run, I found myself thinking about responsibilty. More specifically that I needed to take more of it.  Let me back up a little bit.
       Last year, before my discovery of the Philosophy of Finishing, I was victim of life's circumstances. I was a passanger in a busted up POS Pinto on the road of life. When a road hazard came up and popped a tire, I would bemoan my fate and say "It's not fair. Why does this always happen to me?" I hated the fact that I had to buy all my clothes in the Big girl's store, but hey what could I do? After all I was just born to be fat, look at my big oak of a family tree. Can't argue with genetics. Did I take any responsibility for my plus sizedness? Hell no. I'm just big boned. Or my joints hurt too much to exercise. The list of excuses went on and on. Anything and everything I could use to overlook the fact that I was making poor choices.
       So one of the things I learned last year was that I was the driver of my own life. Since I am not the kind of girl to be a little cute convertible, I decided I would be an armored Jeep. Stuff might pop up and try to get in my way, but I was just going to barrel over it. Because just like on the real road, sometime accidents happen that I have no control over. They truly aren't my fault, but what I choose afterwards is. Case in point: the whole Genetics issue. It is true, that nature has conspired against me with two type 2 diabetic parents, and a frame that my husband likes to call statuesque. But instead of whining endlessly like I had before that I would never be a Victoria's Secret model, I needed to do the best I could with what I had. So that means more running and less treats, because if I want to stay out of the plus sized stores, that's what I have to do. I also had to own up to the empty candy wrappers and pizza boxes instead of blaming it all on the kids and hubby.
 
      This was one of my big lightbulb moments from last year, but on this morning's run I think the bulb must've burned out. About a mile and a half into my run, I found myself cursing all my firends that had given me holiday treats over the last two months. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't be running in the sub freezing tempertures, trying to burn off those holiday five pounds my scale informed me of. Stupid people. Didn't they know I was a recovering chocoholic? Would you bring a recovering alcoholic a bottle of wine for Christmas? No, of course not. Then why oh why did my best friend have to bring me a giant plate of fudge? Did she want me to get fat? My husband is diabetic and my kids are picky eaters, so that left the whole plate up to me to disperse of.  It's a tough job, but somebody had to do it. And I did - for not only that, but the tub of carmelized popcorn my neighbor brought. And the cookies, and my mother in laws caramel candied sweet potatoes.
      It took another two miles before my brain thawed out enough to realize that I had just jumped back into the Pinto.  I was taking the approach that my holiday setback was everyone else's fault for tempting me, instead of taking responsibility for bending into tempation. It's not Misty's fault she makes great rocky road fudge, I chose to eat it...and eat it some more.  It was time to climb back into my Jeep and face the problem head on. I had made bad choices, yes, but it wasn't the end of the world. Five pounds is a whole lot easier to lose than seventy five. So I ran the next mile and a half with renewed purpose and silently apologized for writing all my friends out of my will.

      For me, taking responsibilty is not a matter of blame, but control. As a passanger, I had no control over my life. Living in constant worry, waiting for the other shoe to drop was not healthy for my mind or my indigestion. Bad things happened, and there was nothing I could do about it. But as a driver, I decide which way I am going to go. Sure it means that I have to take ownership for my "accidents" but it also means that I do not have to sit idly by waiting for a Mac Truck to sideswipe me. I don't have to sit at at home and fear endlessly that I will get big again. I'm the boss of my body and I say that I won't. I make the decisions everyday that ensure that I will continue down the road that I have chosen. Sometimes I might take holiday detours, but that's okay. My internal GPS still knows where it's going, and as long as I don't stop and get back in the passanger's seat, I know I'll get there.

       

A New Year, A New Goal

            It's been a few weeks huh? Well, I have been feverishly working on finishing the manuscript for "Philosophy of Finishing". I am pleased to report that I am finished with the initial draft. 48000 words.  I didn't realize I knew that many. I had the idea to write it on October 12th. And now, two and a half months later, I have a whole book. Without the things I learned this year, I never would have had the courage to try it, let alone push through and finish it.
            When my workshop instructor demanded that I had in my manuscript by the end of the year, I think I may have cried a little bit. How was I supposed to come up with 150 pages or more magically? Perhaps there are little elves that come in the night to write for me, and make fabulous shoes. But that experiment of leaving the laptop on for them was a bust, it was up to me. So I had to plan a way to get it done, that meant making sure I devoted the time required to finish my goal. For the last three weeks, other than walking endlessly around Disneyland on a family vacation, I haven't exercised a lick. And the scale knows it too. But I'm not too worried. Four pounds are alot easier to take off than seventy-five.

   But seriously, as the year draws to a close, I can't help but look back on the all the great times I had in 2011.

I met my goal weight and went slightly under. After all everyone needs those few cushion pounds right? After this Christmas, I am sure glad I had them. LOL

I ran my butt off and finished two half marathons and one full marathon.

I wrote a book! (Still a little shocked at this one)

I climbed Lone Peak without dying or shredding my pants on the way down.

Probably most importantly, I changed my attitude from that of a life long quitter to that of a finisher. And in doing so gained a positive outlook on my myself and in my life.

So what does the future hold? Pretty much anything I choose. If a couch potato like me, (who's only skill was creating perfect butt indents in the recliner), can go from that to the list up above in a year, then all the doors are open.  I only have to choose which ones to walk through. Here's a few things on my to-do list

Get my book published
Don't care who or how. It might be a non-profit outfit like Amreican Fork Arts Council, or maybe Shadow Mountain of Cedar Fort publishers. As long as it gets out there, I don't really care.

Run Utah Valley Marathon
Already registered. I'm convinced marathons are kinds like child birth. After some time had passed you forget the pain of labor and training.

Finish Fat quilt
Making a quilt out of squares cut from my old fat clothes.  It get cold now without all the extra insulation

Clean my house top to bottom.
It's been hit by two tornadoes-- my kids, Lily and Autumn. I'm pretty sure my kitchen is under there somewhere. Okay, so maybe I helped make the mess to.

For longer term I want to finish a four year degree in English, climb  the tallest peaks in every county in Utah, and perhaps most ambitiously -- learn to cook.

So what's on your agenda this year? Pick a goal- any goal, make a plan and get it done. As long as you keep moving forward you'll get there eventually. Weight loss starts with one pound, a marathon starts with one mile, and a book starts with a single page.

Here's to becoming anything we want.
Happy New Year!

Philosophy of Finishing Book Sample

Here's a little sample from the book I'm working on called the Philosphy of Finishing.
Enjoy!

Chapter 1 – You'll know you've hit the bottom when you hear the THUD

           

              Daily routine: Wake up, feed kids, entertain kids, keep kids from killing each other, put the kids to bed, put the kids back to bed 30 minutes later, and then collapse into my own bed and fade into unconsciousness. Repeat.

My life was a lot like running on a treadmill, a whole lot of effort to get absolutely nowhere.  Not that I had much experience with treadmills mind you, but you get my drift. One morning I woke up depressed and berated myself for all the things that I wasn’t. Wasn’t skinny, wasn’t accomplished, wasn’t happy. In a fit of masochism I decided it would be a good time to take on my mortal enemy, the digital scale.

 The scale and I have always had a hate/ more hate relationship. I've tried sweet talking it, I've tried yelling at it, I've even tried approaching it with cautious optimism. Power of positive thinking and all.  For the last month I had given it the silent treatment and refused to acknowledge its existence. But apparently I felt the need to punish myself, because there I was again, at 7:00 in the morning before the children were awake, naked and oh so carefully avoiding the adjacent mirror (because lets be honest, who wants to see themselves naked first thing in the morning) and ever so lightly (because it might make a difference) stepping on the scale.  While I waited for the scale to stop blinking 0.00 and pronounce judgment, I began to pray.

            “Please God. Just let it be the same as last month. I'm not asking for it be lower, just... please, let it be the same.” God was apparently out of miracles.. The scale read 216.4.  10 lbs more than last month.  I looked around just to be sure my 14 month old hadn't sneaked up behind me adding her 16 lbs to the total. Nope I was alone. So I hopped off and tried again, just in case. Maybe the scale had changed its mind, had a technical error, or something. But no, the evil scale seemed to take joy in my misery and now said 216.6.  AHHHH! I had gained 1/5 of a pound in less than a minute.

            Scenes from my future played out in my mind.  I would gain a pound every hour. Within a week none of my clothes would fit.  By the end of the month I would have to order everything from an online specialty store. In a year my husband would need to physically roll me out of the bed and onto a Jazzy scooter because I had gotten so big that my legs wouldn’t support my girth. I was going to be like that woman from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. When I died they would have to cut a hole in my house just to get me out. Then I’d have to be buried in a packing crate because surely no one would make a coffin large enough to fit me.

I back pedaled off the scale so fast that I tripped.  That’s when I heard the THUD of my life hitting rock bottom. It was so loud it even woke my husband. Well it was either that or the crash from the scale reverberating off the travertine. I imagine he ran into the bathroom expecting to find that I had slipped in the shower.  He probably did not expect to see his naked, overweight wife sprawled on the floor, trying to beat the scale into submission.

            “Betsy, what the heck are you doing?”

            “I’m fat!” I wailed

            My husband, always a man of few words, wisely said nothing and offered me a hand up. For a few minutes we stood there, him patting my back and me sobbing onto his shoulder. After I had quieted down some, Jarom grabbed a pack of tissues and herded me back into the bedroom. He sat me down on the bed and wiped the tears and snot off my face, then did the same for his shoulder.

“Now start over and tell me what’s wrong.”

  There weren’t enough hours in the day or words in the English language to describe what was wrong. At that moment, I felt like the most worthless human being on the planet. Every disappointment, every failure echoed in stereo through my head. It was too overwhelming to think about, so I tried to focus on the immediate problem of my weight.

“Somehow I gained 10 pounds this month.” I sniffled.

Jarom stared pointedly at my nightstand and the ever growing collection of pop cans, wrappers, and pizza crusts.

“To be fair, half of those are probably the kids’.” I said sheepishly. Throwing myself down onto the pillow I exclaimed, “Ugh! What is wrong with me? I was doing really well this summer. But now…” I blew a raspberry and gave the thumbs down sign.

Jarom lay down beside me. “I know what you mean.  It’s been a year and a half and we still don’t have closet doors or baseboards.”, he said referring to our recent house remodel.

“Guess we’re both great at starting…not so good at finishing.”

“True.”

My husband listened patiently while I bemoaned my fat rolls for at least another half hour. I was too focused on my startling weight gain to let the truth of what I had just said sink in. A fire burned in my belly as I started thinking about the quickest way to drop 50 pounds. Upset made way for excitement. I was going to shed all these unwanted pounds…again. So what if I had done this same exact dance 20 times before, I was lost to the “starter’s high”. Like falling in love, starting a new project flooded my body with endorphins and gave me a single minded focus on the task ahead, for at least a few weeks.

Finishing Friends

This is a little mini post to recognize a couple of friends and family that are living the Philosophy of Finishing.

My workout buddy, Lori, started running a little while ago. She's now gone from running in place to finishing 5 miles. Congratulations!  She's working towards doing a half marathon with me this spring.

My mom is a craftohilic. She regularly volunteers to do big craft projects for all 4 of her children's family. She usually gets about a 1/4 of the way done on each, then  it gets boxed up for another year.  This time, she decided to make really neat advent calendars for all of us. And she delivered this them just in thime to start the month long countdown to Christmas. Overcoming paper-eating printers missing supplies, and a neurotic dog that eats everything, she perservered to complete the task she promised to do.  Way to go.

  Everything is worth finishing, from household chores, to projects, to life long dreams. What is left unfinished unravels and leaves bit and pieces all over, disrupting my peace of mind because I can't let it go.  Today I finished moving my girls into one bedroom together. What did you finish today?

Turkey

This post may be a little late for you to do something about it this year, but give this a thought for next time you know you're going to be eating a big meal.

EARN SOME EXTRA CALORIE SPENDING

Right now I just finished a 10 mile turkey trot. I really didn't want to, but I knew I was going to be eating yummy rolls with cinnamon honey butter, sweet potatoes and caramel sauce, and spoonbread (for those of you not from the south think creamed corn with cream cheese and cornbread stuffing baked in a big pot). A gigillion calories. so my choices were as follows:

1. Stare at yummy food longingly and be super grumpy that I didn't eat any

2. Eat lots of yummy food and then whine about how fat I was going to get (the usual choice)

3. Eat lots of yummy food and promise to run it off later. (yeah right)

4. Burn a bunch of calories first, then while my metabolism is roaring, eat lots of yummy food and not worry about the impact because I've already earned my calorie intake.

If you said #4 you've just won an evening of guilt free fun and food. Though you may still feel a little bloated, you can be confidant that it's only temporary.

FUN FACT

After a tough workout is the best time for a treat or carb because your body is burning more efficiently and able to use the carbohydrates immediately instead of storing them

So enjoy your food, choose wisely, and if you don't - then go easy on yourself.. there's always tomorrow

A look in the mirror

          My phone's alarm buzzed. 5:45 am. What nutjob set the alarm for the ungodly....oh yeah, that would be me.  This morning I am going to force myself to get out of bed and go to the 6:00 class Step and Pump at Newport Sports Club.  "A combination of barbells, free weights and aerobic step form a complete body workout". It sounded a lot better last night when I had set the alarm, this morning it just sounds...bleh.  How easy would it be to turn off the alarm and stay under the warm covers? No one would know, no one would care and I would get an extra hour's sleep that I really think I deserved. But alas, I would know. I had committed to go and by golly I was strong enough to drag my butt out of this cozy bed... in 5 more minutes.
           
           Braving the freezing temperatures, I got in my car and drove the 1 1/2 miles to the gym. Aside from the instructor, Becky, I was the first one to arrive.  Apparently everyone else has trouble getting up this early too.  The other ladies straggled in a few minutes after the class had started. Some of them I recognized from other fitness classes and some of them professed to be new at this whole exercise thing. Been there, done that.

        We started with a brief warmup to get blood flowing and muscles loose. Ok, I could do this, nothing too hard. Then Becky decided that we must not need our legs today, because she went into a never ending torturous squat and lunge set on the right side. I hate squats  The only thing I hate more than squats are lunges.  3 hours passed, ok so maybe not.  But it honestly felt like it.  My right leg was cooking from inside.  They aren't joking when they say "Feel the burn".  I really REALLY did not want to do the rest of this set, let alone the left side.  What were my options? Like all fitness classes there are modifications you can do if a move is too difficult.  I could lower the weight. I saw one or two ladies switching from 20 lbs down to 15. I could take a rest and march in place. Or I could go home. But did I really need to?  I had to take an honest look at my body and how I was feeling. Was I injured? No, just sore. Was I having trouble breathing? No more than anyone else during exercise. So why did I want to quit? Because it was hard, that's why. It felt uncomfortable and I just didn't want to do it.  I wanted to leave early and go back to bed.  That wasn't a good enough reason to quit anymore.  If I left I would be saying that not only do I hate squats, but that I didn't believe I could finish the hour long class. That I wasn't strong enough. No way. I had hiked for 11 hours on Lone Peak, so I knew I could do 1 measly little hour.

          With the decision to finish made, I felt a weight lift off my shoulders.  And not just because  we had put the barbell down. I knew with a certainty that I would find a way to fight through and finish this class, even if I had to go a little slower than everyone else. I was feeling pretty darned proud of myself as I picked up the weights for the next set when in the mirror I caught a flash of movement.  It was one of the newbies, packing up her step and putting away her weights. I don't know if it was exhaustion or pure emotion, but she looked utterly dejected.  I'm sure she had planned on slipping out of class without calling attention to herself. The instructor had other plans.
            "Hey where are you going? It's too early to have someplace else to be" Becky joked into the sound system headset mic.
            "This is just way too hard for me."
            "That's okay, just go a little slower, take a break and then try again." Becky encouraged.
            "No, I think I just need to work up to this on my own for awhile before I come back."
       
           I think everyone in the room knew she would not be back. Becky protested again but the woman just raised a hand and walked out of the classroom, out of the gym, got in her car, and drove away.  I wanted to run after her and shake her. To tell her all about how important it was to finish what you start. To tell her what I'd learned, what I tell myself everyday, You don't have to be perfect, you don't even have to do it well at first, just finish. Because when you quit something you are saying "I'm not good enough". But when you finish you build a sense of accomplishment and trust in yourself that you can hold on to when things get hard.

          But I didn't say any of those things. I finished my workout and went home and wrote this post because I could not get that woman out of my head. She probably went home and beat herself up about how she wasn't good enough. Then she probably started beating herself up about all the things that she isn't good enough, smart enough, or thin enough for.

        How arrogant of me to suppose what she is thinking, right? Maybe. I only venture a guess because I was her.  For years and years I would get stuck in that cycle of quitting and shame spirals and ice cream binge eating.  That's why I write this blog, why I have a goal to write a book. Why I face the wrath of Caleb Warnock at American Fork Art Council Writing Workshop every week. Because I know what it's like to pray that God has an exchange policy. To wish you could send yourself in for warranty work and come back better, thinner, smarter, stronger. To look in the mirror and hate what you see, not only on the outside, but everything about you.
       
         But I don't anymore, well most of the time. And so I'm trying to figure out a way to help others find their way back to the mirror without cringing. Hopefully I can find a way to do that without sounding like Tony  Robbins or a new Church member on a mission to convert the world, lost in their zealousy. So I write one blog, one page, one story at a time. It's hard, and sometimes I want to quit. I tell myself that nobody gives a hoot about what I've done, that nobody would want to read anything I write. Then I say, shhhh. It doesn't matter. I can only control what I put out into the world and make it my best. Makes no difference whether it's New York Times bestseller material, or something only my family will ever read. Only thing that matters is that I finish.