54 at 54 Friday Update – Week 2 (again)

I’ve been keeping my Wellness Journal since my treadmill showed up and, in that, I just wrapped up week 2.  I’m getting old people – I can’t keep one week count on the blog and one in the journal so I’m on week 2 again.  Don’t judge.

It’s been a really good week.  I walked over 64,000 steps and watched whatever the equivalent of that is on Scandal.  On Wednesday evening I had a therapist hangover (that’s when I feel like I’ve been hit by a Mack truck because of the emotional work I have to do) and I REALLY did not want to work out.  I mean really, really.  In fact, all I wanted to do was go home and climb up into bed and sleep.


So I got on the treadmill and walked for an hour.  I felt amazing after of course and so damn proud of myself.  You might wonder why I didn’t just crawl up into bed with my iPad and watch.  I mean really…it’s available to watch anytime for god’s sake!

Because it’s against the rules!!!!  No watching Scandal unless I’m sweating on my treadmill.  Hey…whatever works right?

...unless you're watching Scandal.
…unless you’re watching Scandal.

I’m “running” a four miler on Sunday morning.  Fortunately my coworker (who is 29!!!) is running it with me.  She’s training for a half-marathon at Disney at the end of the month.  This is my first official race.  I have encouraged her to leave me in the dust…she definitely won’t hurt my feelings.  The only thing that has me nervous is that they say you have to complete it in under an hour.  I don’t mind NOT completing it in that time since this is my first and I will likely be walking a lot more than I’ll be running but I’m a little nervous about what happens after an hour.  Do they follow behind you in a car and shout that the race is over and by the way, you’re a loser?  Do they pack up the finish line and take it away at the end of that time?

Seasoned runners out there…please tell me what humiliation awaits me when I get my first DNF.  It won’t stop me from running.  I just want to be prepared.

women running

Diet.  Meh.  Healthy whole foods.  No fast food (I never eat that anyway).  Still having chips but a lot less sugar this week.  In fact, almost none.  That’s a biggie

Weight?  Down a pound which is the goal.  But I’m not getting on the scale again until I finish a month on the treadmill.  They say it takes 4 weeks for you to see changes in your body, 8 weeks for family and friends and 12 weeks for the rest of the world.  That sounds like great timing for weigh-ins as well.

You all have a beautiful, warm and safe weekend.  Oh…and wish me luck!


Sunshine and Lollipops

I’m in a very dark place right now in my head.  I’m not a dark person.  I’m a sunshine and lollipops, Pollyanna, unicorns and fairy dust kind of girl.  I’m an optimist.  A silver lining bringer.  I’m the one in the room who can always find the good in a situation…you know, the one you want to punch in the throat.

Having this darkness befall me is a little unsettling.  I don’t like it.  I need some glitter because, duh, you can never have too much sparkle.  As I always say, “don’t let anyone steal your happy.”

So buckle up…I’m about to unleash some happy on yo ass.

Kyla Hat

This is my granddaughter, the youngest of six (until April).  She turned two years old on Tuesday.  That’s the hat I sent her (along with a hobby-horse).  Her mommy says that’s her, “are you serious?” face.  I know that’s my son’s, “don’t fuck with me face” but I kept that little nugget to myself.

Tie tack

This is a picture of three of my men searching for a tie tack in my kitchen junk drawer.  Two questions.  How many grown ass men does it take to find a tie tack in a teeny little junk draw?  More importantly, what the hell is a tie tack doing in my junk drawer?


These two are the reason my blood pressure is normal.  If I’m ever upset the Brittany Spaniel mix (the red one) comes and lays his head on my lap and looks up at me with the kindest eyes I’ve ever seen on a dog.  If the beagle can even be bothered, she just wants to know if I’ll give her a treat.  We keep her cause she’s so freaking cute and just looking at her makes you smile.


These are the stairs from which I ripped the old, builder grade, disgusting, beige carpet and then painstakingly painted.  No one believed me when I said it would be beautiful in our home.  They called me crazy.  Every time I hear my heels hit hardwood I’m happy.  The quote is from Harry Potter – it describes our family perfectly.  The fact that we’ve built a home filled with that much love makes me deliriously happy.  Oh…and being right also makes me very happy.

And finally, my new mantra.


Namaste everyone and remember, don’t let anyone steal your happy.

Like Walking Into a Hurricane


Photo courtesy of Huffington Post
Photo courtesy of Huffington Post

I’m off to the therapist this afternoon.  I did some of my homework but had to stop after a while.  It was just getting to be a little too much.  The more I thought about it and wrote, the more confused I got about memories and what happened when and to whom.  I started feeling things about places and times that I can’t be sure are real.  I had to shake my head to clear the cobwebs and just walk away.

When I wrote my letters for my 4th step I felt cleansed after I finished.  It was cathartic.  I cried.  I raged.  I wrote.  But then, I was done and I truly, truly let it go.  I was hoping that this would be the same experience.

Not. Even. Close.

This is like walking through tar – all sticky and thick.  It feels much heavier and I want to give up about a hundred times an hour.  Shut that door and lock it for good.  Protect my heart.  It feels like I’m walking into a hurricane head on…and no matter how hard I push, something keeps pushing against me saying “Stay back!  Turn Around!  Danger!”.  I know it’s just my psyche trying to stuff shit down again but damn…I’m strong.

I know have to get through the hurricane in order to see the sun again and this feels like a big one.  One that levels shit and leave nothing but destruction in its path.  This motherfucker feels like Katrina.

For now the emotional part has been…well…meh.  Not intentionally.  I just haven’t had any really strong feelings about anything yet.  It’s like I’m muted.  Muffled.  Well except for anxiety and adrenaline.  Every time I “go there” my heart beats faster and I feel a little like I can’t breathe.  Like I’m in a crisis and I don’t have time to stop and deal with stupid emotions.  I have stuff to do and until it’s done I can’t stop to process feelings.  How on earth will anything get done if I do that?

Yeah…I know.

Part of the problem is that I have no idea what I’m doing here.  I’m a planner.  I’m a Project Manager for christ’s sake…it’s what I DO.  But there’s no plan for something like this.  No instruction manual.  No one to tell me if I’m doing it “right”…because there is no “right”.  It just IS and apparently I have to deal with it or I’ll just keep trading addictions out like they’re playing cards.


For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you to give you hope and a future.        ~Jeremiah 29:11

54 at 54 Friday Update – Week 3


So it’s week three which means I should be down 3 pounds.

I’m not – still only down 2.  No weight loss this week but it’s okay…I’m used to it.

This over 50 metabolism is really a challenge when you’re trying to lose weight.  It, like me, is quite stubborn in its refusal to shrink my fat cells.  They’ve created a bond and grown very close – it’s hard to make them say goodbye to each other.

But make no mistake, they will part company.

This quiet determination I have this time is really quite remarkable.  Normally in week three, if there was no progress, I would either 1) throw my hands in the air like I don’t care and eat a row or two of Oreos with a hearty “hi-ho fuck it all!” or 2) swear that on Monday I would give up all carbs (fat, sugar or whatever substance is the new black) that would guaranty I’d be a size six by June.  Forgetting of course that 1) all of that would screw up my metabolism even further and 2) I have NEVER, even on my BEST day been a size six.

Instead, this time I’m increasing, marginally, the intensity and time I walk on the treadmill, plotting a plan to add weight bearing exercise in order to gain muscle (I don’t want to do this too soon since this is ALWAYS where I injure myself), and examining my food choices in order to make better ones next week.

I’ve also decided upon my reward once I have reached my goal.  I am going to buy this…

Tiffany Ring

It’s a ring from Tiffany’s for my right hand.  I can’t buy it now and have it resized later because it can’t be resized.  So I have to wait until I’m at goal before I purchase it.  That little blue box is the perfect reward for a job well done.  And I want to purchase it myself…because I’m worth it.

I wish I had thought of that when I quit drinking…a little blue box would have been an excellent reward at one year sober.  Dang.

That’s okay…I’m a work in progress and there will be plenty of opportunities to reward myself for jobs well done.


Blowing Off Homework


When I was in school I always hated homework (let’s face it – I hated school too).  I thought the concept of learning all day long only to go home at night and do MORE learning was just over the top.  In my opinion, teachers were all a bunch of educational zealots taking out their own frustrations on their students.  I vowed that when I became a teacher, I would not give homework…EVER.

Well life got in the way and I never became a teacher in the traditional sense (I wanted to teach high school Literature) but I have been a corporate trainer for the last 15 years.  As such, I have to admit that I’ve given homework from time to time due to time and budget constraints.  Having helped all six kids with homework over the years, I know that’s the same reason our schools give it to our kids.

No matter, I still hate homework.

When I first began seeing my therapist, I told him that it was good to give me assignments because, once provided a task, I would most certainly see it through to completion.

Then I looked around to see who in the hell just said that.

I was so anxious to get to the root of my issues and finally deal with them that I’d do anything, including homework, if it meant that I would come out on the other side better for the experience.  After all, that’s the approach I took in college and it worked just fine.  It worked just fine in this case also…in the beginning anyway.  He gave me assignments – I did them – we discussed them – I felt better.  Simple stupid right?

That was then.  This is now.

Now I’m supposed to do homework that will, essentially, pick a fight with a demon I didn’t even realize was a demon until fairly recently.  My sexual abuse has been tossed aside in my brain for 40+ years as I continually told myself that it was “no big deal – quit whining and get over it already”.   Now I’m supposed to poke a big ugly “thing” that has the very real potential to break down the door to my psyche and I’m on the other side of that door with my fingers in my ears singing, “la la la la I can’t hear you”.


Well now…that’s helpful.

I haven’t even attempted it.  I’ve been too “busy”.  It’s just not the right time.  I need to tread lightly.  Blah, blah, blah, blah…

Avoid much?

I’m supposed to find a quiet place and think about that time in my life and that little girl who was violated.  Then I’m supposed to DO something – write a letter to my mom (who did nothing) or my grandmother (who may have betrayed me) or my abuser; sketch some pictures of my feelings; let my little girl write to me about the experience.  Anything.  Anything that will get this party started.

But have I done anything beyond think about doing something?  Nope.  Nada.  Zilch.

Maybe it’s because every time I think about getting started my heart starts beating faster and I get all jittery.  My thoughts start coming at me 100 miles an hour and my mouth gets dry and my palms sweat.  Maybe it’s because every time I look at my journal my brain says, “Run away!  NOW!”  Or maybe I’m just chickenshit and need to put my big girl panties on and DEAL.

Maybe I need to just do something.

Well…I did write this post.  That’s something.  Right?



Making the Best of a (Really) Bad Movie

Movie Theatre

We’re not big movie goers in my house.  The hubs thinks it’s too expensive (which it is) and when I was drinking there was no way I was going to waste two hours of drinking time sitting in a theatre.  Pul-lease.

We did make exceptions.  Harry Potter was one.  No matter what, we saw each movie as a family on the day it was released.  When the kids were little that meant taking them out of school which I was okay with 1) because it was literary and 2) because it was a family thing.  Those are some of the most precious memories I have and when the series ended (books and movies) I cried because not only was I going to miss Harry, Hermione and Ron, but I was going to miss that experience with my boys as well.

Of course we saw every Disney and/or Pixar movie that came out because…well duh…and I took the boys to see all the Pokémon and Yu-Gi-Oh movies because that’s how we roll.

And naturally I saw all of the Twilight movies (some multiple times…don’t judge).

But by and large we just don’t do a lot of movies.  We never rented a lot when Blockbuster was around and seldom frequent Red Box now.  Netflix gets some attention but it’s mostly because one or more of us is binge watching a series.  I still can’t figure out how to get my DirecTV movie rental thingy to work and on the off-chance I CAN get it to work, it’s too expensive to justify watching it ($14.99???  Really???).

So I was excited when my oldest asked if I would take him to see a movie this weekend.  He’s my computer genius so he’s been dying to see Blackhat which is about computer hackers.  I said “Of course” because far be it for me to deny my child (who doesn’t drive) an opportunity to indulge in his chosen career.

And…um…let’s be honest, Chris Hemsworth is a hottie.


Oh. My. Fucking. God.   This was the worst movie I’ve seen in a VERY long time.  The computer hacking in it was a joke (even I could tell that – my son was about to have a stroke), the cinematography was horrible (think really bad 1970’s movies), the audio was a joke (bad music, too loud), a really forced “romance” between too lead characters,  no plot, stupid dialog and on and on…

and on.

In fact, the only tolerable scenes in the movie were when people were getting killed.  THAT they did okay.  Poor Viola Davis – what in the name of all that is holy was this Tony Award winning Oscar nominated actor doing in this movie.  Her agent should be shot.


When we walked out of the theatre I turned to the boys and said, “Somebody owes me $44.00.”

But here’s the thing.  We laughed our asses off talking about the film.  We laughed in the car while we took it apart piece by piece.  We laughed when we got home while telling the hubs about the movie.  The rest of the evening at different times, someone would spontaneously just start laughing and have to say, “And OMG!  Did you see the part when…” and we’d all start laughing yet again.  By the end of the evening my stomach hurt and my cheeks were sore from laughing so much.

That, my friends is well worth $44.00.  In fact, that kind of experience is priceless.  I’m not saying I’d pay to see another movie quite that bad, but I’m sure glad I did this time.


I Have A Dream


“I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation.

Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.

But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.

In a sense we have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked “insufficient funds.” But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children.

It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.

But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, “When will you be satisfied?” We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating “For Whites Only”. We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.

Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.

I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.”

I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.

I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.

I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

~August 28, 1963

Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. (January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968)


Interesting Phenomenon


So I’m reading yet another book about a young man who got up to over 450 lbs before he took his life back.  I’m still in the introductory phase so I’ll post more about it when I’m finished.  As usual, I’m hyperventilating during the sexual abuse parts and feeling rage and sadness during the alcoholic dad parts and crying during the parts where he’s teased and ridiculed.  I can’t wait until the part when I get to rejoice in his victory…if I make it that far.

See, I’m noticing an interesting phenomenon as I’m reading these books.  One that has me freaked out, confused and intrigued all at the same time.

It seems that every time I get to a tough part, I get something to eat.  Sometimes it’s something healthy but most times…not so much.  I’ve been simply observing the last few days (which is code for eating it anyway) but now I’m trying to be more present and figure out what the fuck is going on in my head.

The authors of these books describe, in vivid detail sometimes, the food that gave them comfort and how it made them feel.  They remember very specifically what they ate and how much.  They remember feeling of fear or comfort or sadness and those descriptions are, apparently, triggers for me.

But here’s the thing, when I think back to my own troubled childhood I can’t remember eating.  I remember cooking, shopping, standing in line at fast food restaurants, arguing with my mother about how much I ate, my mother and father arguing about how much I ate, etc., but I can not remember putting food into my mouth.  I can’t tell you what, even my most favorite foods tasted like nor can I remember getting any comfort, love, companionship or thrill from eating.  Anything.

I guess it’s safe to say that when you look up “unconscious eating” in the dictionary, there’s a picture of me as a child.  Further, since I’ve been battling my weight since the 3rd grade, and I was fairly active as a child (walked everywhere, pom-pom girl, cheerleader) it stands to reason that there was a whole lotta eatin’ goin’ on.  Why can’t I remember it?

My next therapy appointment is going to be a doozie.


It’s also interesting to note that when I began to “control” my weight with exercise and food choices, that’s exactly when I began smoking (age 16).  Then, when I quit smoking is precisely when my drinking began to increase and spiral out of control.  THEN when I quit drinking the food was back – specifically sugar.

Clearly this needs much more investigation with someone with whom I feel safe and I that I know that is trained to help me through this (therapist..duh) but I need to put a band-aid on this hemorrhage now before I “bleed” to death.  As such, I’m going to do a few things to stem the flow:

  1. I’m going to go upstairs, away from the kitchen, after dinner and try not to eat after 7:00 pm and before 7:00 am.  Now that the twins are living at school and my oldest stays in his room when he’s home, I can use the bonus room to watch TV.  Staying away from the food and eating all my meals within a 12 hour window may just give me the sense of control I crave in these situations.
  2. I’m going to try to be more present as I eat.  I want to slow down and pay attention to the textures and flavors of my food in addition to paying attention to my feelings as I’m eating.  Yeah…that feelings thing is going to be the hardest.
  3. Of course I’ll keep walking, walking, walking – Scandal may just get me skinny.  I have to admit – the show is really good.

Guess I’d better buckle my seat belt, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.


Phrase of the Year


The Word of the Year has become very popular of late.  I love the idea of it but struggle with the follow through (hmmmm…now WHY does that sound familiar?).  I tried but I can’t find what my word was last year (did I pick one last year…maybe it was 2013).

See what I mean?

But since this particular set of words keep coming up in books, in conversation, in my head and, more importantly in my heart, I’ve decided to recognize the sign that God is obviously trying to send me.  Since it’s not a single word however, I’m calling it my phrase of the year.

Quiet determination.

I really can’t get over how this year is different from the last 3 January’s when I vowed, resolved and promise to either lose weight, get fit, achieve peace of mind or all of the above.  First of all, I’m not nearly as excited as I usually am.  I’m not over the moon or breaking down the gate to get started.  I’m just moving forward slowly and deliberately.


I’m also not doing anything over the top in terms of food.  I’m just eating.  As I said in yesterday’s post, I need to make peace with food.  I can’t do that by eliminating any particular food group, restricting my diet severely or paying for someone else to give me prepackaged chemically laden food.  I’ve tried ALL of that and it just doesn’t work.  I’m committed to discovering what will work for me for the rest of my life.


I’m approaching working out differently as well.  Moderate exercise every single day.  30+ minutes, 10,000+ steps.  As you know I’m also committed to training for the triathlon but it’s not an over the top insane triathlon.  If necessary, I can doggie paddle the swim, walk my bike and walk the 5k.  That is not my intention but if my bum knee doesn’t cooperate or I just don’t have the chops, I can still compete.  I won’t fail as long as I try.  Gee…what a concept! (facepalm)

And speaking of working out, my treadmill arrived yesterday (yay) and my men put it together for me.  IT’S FREAKING HUGE!!!!!!!  It took all four grown ass met to get it upstairs.  It takes up my whole nook in my bedroom.  Don’t believe me…here’s a (really bad) picture.

Treadmill in nook 2

It’s a monster!  And before you chastise me for violating every concept of feng shui ever devised, you should know that’s the nook where most of my end stage drinking took place.  I never use it anymore because of that.  It’s time to take back my power.

Plus…the damn thing is too big to go anywhere else.

Quiet determination.  I like the sound of that.


“Better than a thousand hollow words is one word that brings peace.”


54 at 54 Friday Update – Week 2

Down 1 pound…right on target.  If I can maintain a one pound per week loss then I will reach my goal (or just 2 lbs shy – big whup) by the end of the year.  To me, that not only feels doable, it feels peaceful.  Still a quiet determination.

I’m reading another book, It Was Me All Along by Andie Mitchell.  Here’s the Amazon description:

“A heartbreakingly honest, endearing memoir of incredible weight loss by a young food blogger who battles body image issues and overcomes food addiction to find self-acceptance.

All her life, Andie Mitchell had eaten lustily and mindlessly. Food was her babysitter, her best friend, her confidant, and it provided a refuge from her fractured family. But when she stepped on the scale on her twentieth birthday and it registered a shocking 268 pounds, she knew she had to change the way she thought about food and herself; that her life was at stake.

It Was Me All Along takes Andie from working class Boston to the romantic streets of Rome, from morbidly obese to half her size, from seeking comfort in anything that came cream-filled and two-to-a-pack to finding balance in exquisite (but modest) bowls of handmade pasta. This story is about much more than a woman who loves food and abhors her body. It is about someone who made changes when her situation seemed too far gone and how she discovered balance in an off-kilter world. More than anything, though, it is the story of her finding beauty in acceptance and learning to love all parts of herself.”

While Ted Spiker’s book Down Size showed me a way to reach my goals by uncovering my own truths and facing my sexual abuse head on (that’s an entirely different post that I will address…sometime), Andie’s book has opened my eyes to the fact that I need to make peace with food and the role it has in my life.

Like her, I have never had a normal relationship with food.  Food has never been just sustenance for me.  While I don’t emotionally feel I’m using (and have used) food for comfort and to numb my feelings, intellectually I know that this is the case and her book helped to confirm it for me.  All I can say is thank God I found a great therapist because working through all of this may take a while.

From her alcoholic father (that hit so close to home I had to put down the book from time to time and catch my breath) to her obsessive calorie counting and exercise to her battle with undiagnosed depression, her journey is my journey.  I hope mine turns out as well as hers.  Thank you Andie.

And, TA-DA, my treadmill arrived this morning!!!!  My husband and son are going to put it together for me today and I’ll walk/run on it for the first time tonight.  I am SO EXCITED!!!  I’ll post a pic of my baby as soon as I can.  😉

Finally, I ordered a wellness journal from Amazon which, coincidentally (?) is due to arrive today as well.  I’m going to use it to set small, attainable goals (as well as the big one at the end of the year) and also record my workouts and food and moods to see if any patterns emerge.  I’ll let you know if I uncover anything.

Happy Friday!


PS – If you’re interested in following Andie, she blogs at Can You Stay for Dinner.