It was almost all over yesterday.
There were several times I just wanted to say FUCK BEING HEALTHY.
I started the day off by making poor choices for breakfast (a granola bar and a bowl of golden grahams--Delicious--but lacking any real nutritional value.) Then I went waaaaaay too long before eating again, got into the kids sugary snacks (had some sixlets and sour gummy worms), bought a bunch of unhealthy snacks for the house (ice cream, oreos, etc) and wanted to rip into the sugary chocolatey goodness on the way home because I was so hungry from skipping lunch. (We left the grocery store around 3:30pm and I hadn't eaten anything substantial since breakfast at 9am.
But I didn't.
I grabbed my box of pecan crackers which while nutritionally similar to the bag of oreos I was able to have 16 crackers in a serving where I only would have had 3 oreos, AND sugary goodness like oreos is a BAD BAD BAD trigger food for me and almost always leads to binges (and I probably would have eaten half the bag.)
No joke.
So I ate a serving of my crackers, had an orange when I got home to satisfy my sweet tooth, put the sugary goodness snacks safely away in the cabinets, and refused to get into anything else until dinner (since after rushing to put away the groceries I had to hurry and get started on that). For dinner I made chicken enchiladas and I made a big dish for the family loaded with cheese and using flour tortillas, and I made me a little side dish leaving out the cheese, and using whole wheat tortillas. I ate my intended serving (less actually, because I had told myself I could have 2 since I was so hungry and I had made them healthier ((I only ate 1.5)) and then we packed up the kids to go for a ride in the mountains and I grabbed me an apple and 90-calorie rice cake pack for my late-night snack.
On the way home from our ride we dropped D off at my moms because I had to work early today and it's usually easier to drop him off the night before when I work early. At my mom's she had delicious chocolate chip muffins covered in chocolate brownie frosting, saltwater taffy, frosted oatmeal cookies, hot cheesy pizza, and about a zillion other temptations. I picked off the cheese and pepperoni from the bottom of the pizza (you know those couple bites that collect where all the slices meat) and grabbed myself a bottle of water to chug down to keep myself out of everything else. And then I had us get the hell out of dodge before I couldn't contain myself any longer.
My day (food-wise) had been poorly planned and executed, and I knew it.
I casually suggested to my boyfriend on the way home that I was frustrated I hadn't been able to get my morning workout in (my stupid ex-husband had foiled my plans) and I had been hoping to go when we got back from our ride, but hadn't been expecting it to be so late when we got back (it was 10:15 pm by the time we left my mom's house). I then threw out the hypothesis that if I hurried and changed when we got home I could be to the gym by 10:30, out around 11, which wouldn't be too bad. In my head I was thinking of my calorie deficit for the day and telling myself I could totally skip working out since I had eaten so little.
We got home, I lollygagged around for a bit and my boyfriend asked if I was going to the gym. I just shrugged the suggestion off. A few minutes later he told me I should get moving if I was going. My lazy sugar craving self replied that I would rather just sit at home and eat oreos, I didn't feel like going to the gym after all. To which he replied that I didn't really want to do that, and I would be upset with myself the next day if I did. Which was right. And so I indignantly got my gym clothes on and went to the gym. Then entire time I got ready I was pissed.
Why do I have to work out? Why didn't I get blessed with a 5' something frame that was a size zero? Why did I have to give up oreos and sweat my life away on a treadmill just to avoid gaining weight?
And I stormed off the gym mad that I needed to go.
While I was running I stewed about the same things. It's not fair that I have to watch what I eat. It's not fair I can't lose weight easily. It's not fair I'm tall and have a lot more places for fat to cling to. It's not fair my metabolism slowed down because I'm getting older. It's not fair my body didn't bounce back from having a baby. It's not fair that the people around me get to eat delicious treats as much as they want and never workout and it makes me extremely jealous. It's not fair that some people never have to push themselves at the gym and yet look as amazing as if they had just stepped out of the pages of a magazine.
And that's when it hit me.
They don't have the control of their bodies that I do.
Really? After the buildup story and all the unfairness I was whining about, I decided it was OK because I have CONTROL over my body?
Yup.
I am not owned by oreos. I am not owned by laziness. I am not owned by those around me.
If I want my body to run, by god, my body is going to run.
If I want to eat healthy so that my body can operate at the full potential I was blessed with, and not be slugged down by over consumption of over processed artificial not anywhere near the way nature intended it to be foods, I can.
Indulgences? Yes. Treats? Yes.
But they will not own me. I do as I please, when I please, because I am in control. Not because a situation is presented to me and I "couldn't help myself."
And being master of myself, I choose to eat healthy and exercise because of the proven benefits doing so provides TO ME. Everyone else has to decide for themselves, and their fitness/food/health in no way has anything to do with mine, and I shouldn't compare. And that's just how it is.
I choose to make healthy choices MOST of the time because I want to live a long and healthy life.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Thursday, June 9, 2011
en numeris sita sunt
"En numeris sita sunt"
My newest ink addition; as soon as I get my A.A. Math degree. Oh yea. There's this C++ class standing between me and graduation. I've enrolled in it twice but dropped out both times.
The first time I lingered after class in Fall 2009 (a class in which I, as a female, was clearly in the minority. I think 3-4 women were accounted for in a class of twenty-something students. The professor asked me what kind of processor I was running and I said I didn't know. (I didn't even know what a processor was at the time). So the professor questioned my credentials to be in the class.
Let me tell you how deeply this offended me.
I got an A in the prerequisite class, Math 160. I felt comfortable with the material I had been taught and I had taken math classes almost every semester since High School graduation.
I was extremely embarrassed not to know the information requested and I no longer felt entirely capable of passing the class. I did not let my enthusiasm wane, however; I assured myself I was indeed capable of tackling the task at hand. And so I went for a week, it was probably closer to two, and I hit a wall in the information and I felt overwhelmed.
At this same time, issues in the enrollment process at ISU left me in tears parading around a campus I was unfamiliar with, requesting signatures, seriously a snot nosed mess. My original intentions when I started college were to become a teacher and I had changed to seeking a Mass Communication degree and an associates of math instead. I spoke with an advisor and he said I needed to drop the CSI class and take a class in the mass communication department that was offered at the same time because it was a prerequisite to most of the mass communication classes. I hated to drop the CSI class because it made it seem as if I had dropped out because I didn't think I could do it, but I switched classes.
In order to receive my tuition money from the government, the tuition department informed me I had to have each professor and the head of my department, the College of Arts and Sciences (of which Mass Communication is a parasitical child) sign a paper by the end of that day. The head of the Mass Communications department, my advisor, and one of my new professors, signed the sheet and initialled that I was enrolled in all the classes to save me the task of travelling between two different campuses to collect three additional signatures and turn them into the office by the end of the day, and assuring that both he and I knew I was really taking them all. I took the form to the secretary (I would say "administrative assistant" because secretary is the new "politically correct word" since "secretary" has way too many indecent office affairs connotations now, but this lady was my nemesis at the moment and "secretary" was ok to say back then) in the College of Arts and Sciences to get her bosses signature. She looked the paper up and down she looked at me with disdain and said who's signature is this. I told her whose it was, and informed her of my professor's credentials. She said, he can't sign for everyone. I informed her of the difficulty and the unavailability of time for me to acquire all the signatures, and assured her I was attending all the classes. She looked at me without an ounce of compassion in her eyes and said sorry, you have to have everyone else sign if you want this lady (the head of the College of Arts and Sciences department, whose signature was required) to sign your paper. Ridicules. I tried to protest, broke out in tears, left the office in a fit of frustration and defeat and called my dad as I angrily stormed across the campus, bawling my eyes out. I explained the situation to my dad and offered a couple of solutions. Drop out of school because I felt the entire education system had failed me, just take the classes I needed to get my math degree, (I only needed three math classes and one general) or suck it up, figure it out, and get the signatures necessary. My father advised I should just get my Math degree. I think my recent change in degrees had left him unsure of my capability to graduate. And he had good reason, switching degrees had tacked on years of education. I composed myself, thanked him for discussing the matter with me and helping me stop crying and stood in the middle of the Pocatello campus and had to decide right then what I would do.
I tracked down my professors, got the signatures, and turned the paper in indignantly and tried to ignore the secretary's smug smirk I couldn't help but see through my smeared makeup. With the certified paper in hand I had learned an even deeper hatred for a system I had only weeks earlier hoped to become a part of.
I since have tried to take the CSI class but it's never adequately fit into my schedule. There was another semester I enrolled and attended one class but it was a different professor and a different book (changed the same day as the class began) and I had no interest in spending another 200 dollars on another C++ book when it wasn't critical I took the class that semester so I dropped it.
Well, this next semester if i don't pass any other class, if I never go to school again after, I need to pass this class. And while I understand I am perfectly capable of passing the class, I can't help but feel apprehensive.
When I pass this class and finally overcome the obstacle which was placed before me years ago, I plan on getting a tattoo which reads "En numeris sita sunt." Or roughly, everything lies veiled in numbers. I have wanted the tattoo for a long while and I assured myself long ago I would give myself the permenant reminder of how it feels to know you are capable of overcoming obstacles as soon as I obtained my associates, and I felt the number reference was only fitting for a math degree.
I will have that tattoo in December of 2011. That is my biggest goal for 2011. Over everything else. And now, I'm off to work on a subgoal; fitness. Thanks for listening.
My newest ink addition; as soon as I get my A.A. Math degree. Oh yea. There's this C++ class standing between me and graduation. I've enrolled in it twice but dropped out both times.
The first time I lingered after class in Fall 2009 (a class in which I, as a female, was clearly in the minority. I think 3-4 women were accounted for in a class of twenty-something students. The professor asked me what kind of processor I was running and I said I didn't know. (I didn't even know what a processor was at the time). So the professor questioned my credentials to be in the class.
Let me tell you how deeply this offended me.
I got an A in the prerequisite class, Math 160. I felt comfortable with the material I had been taught and I had taken math classes almost every semester since High School graduation.
I was extremely embarrassed not to know the information requested and I no longer felt entirely capable of passing the class. I did not let my enthusiasm wane, however; I assured myself I was indeed capable of tackling the task at hand. And so I went for a week, it was probably closer to two, and I hit a wall in the information and I felt overwhelmed.
At this same time, issues in the enrollment process at ISU left me in tears parading around a campus I was unfamiliar with, requesting signatures, seriously a snot nosed mess. My original intentions when I started college were to become a teacher and I had changed to seeking a Mass Communication degree and an associates of math instead. I spoke with an advisor and he said I needed to drop the CSI class and take a class in the mass communication department that was offered at the same time because it was a prerequisite to most of the mass communication classes. I hated to drop the CSI class because it made it seem as if I had dropped out because I didn't think I could do it, but I switched classes.
In order to receive my tuition money from the government, the tuition department informed me I had to have each professor and the head of my department, the College of Arts and Sciences (of which Mass Communication is a parasitical child) sign a paper by the end of that day. The head of the Mass Communications department, my advisor, and one of my new professors, signed the sheet and initialled that I was enrolled in all the classes to save me the task of travelling between two different campuses to collect three additional signatures and turn them into the office by the end of the day, and assuring that both he and I knew I was really taking them all. I took the form to the secretary (I would say "administrative assistant" because secretary is the new "politically correct word" since "secretary" has way too many indecent office affairs connotations now, but this lady was my nemesis at the moment and "secretary" was ok to say back then) in the College of Arts and Sciences to get her bosses signature. She looked the paper up and down she looked at me with disdain and said who's signature is this. I told her whose it was, and informed her of my professor's credentials. She said, he can't sign for everyone. I informed her of the difficulty and the unavailability of time for me to acquire all the signatures, and assured her I was attending all the classes. She looked at me without an ounce of compassion in her eyes and said sorry, you have to have everyone else sign if you want this lady (the head of the College of Arts and Sciences department, whose signature was required) to sign your paper. Ridicules. I tried to protest, broke out in tears, left the office in a fit of frustration and defeat and called my dad as I angrily stormed across the campus, bawling my eyes out. I explained the situation to my dad and offered a couple of solutions. Drop out of school because I felt the entire education system had failed me, just take the classes I needed to get my math degree, (I only needed three math classes and one general) or suck it up, figure it out, and get the signatures necessary. My father advised I should just get my Math degree. I think my recent change in degrees had left him unsure of my capability to graduate. And he had good reason, switching degrees had tacked on years of education. I composed myself, thanked him for discussing the matter with me and helping me stop crying and stood in the middle of the Pocatello campus and had to decide right then what I would do.
I tracked down my professors, got the signatures, and turned the paper in indignantly and tried to ignore the secretary's smug smirk I couldn't help but see through my smeared makeup. With the certified paper in hand I had learned an even deeper hatred for a system I had only weeks earlier hoped to become a part of.
I since have tried to take the CSI class but it's never adequately fit into my schedule. There was another semester I enrolled and attended one class but it was a different professor and a different book (changed the same day as the class began) and I had no interest in spending another 200 dollars on another C++ book when it wasn't critical I took the class that semester so I dropped it.
Well, this next semester if i don't pass any other class, if I never go to school again after, I need to pass this class. And while I understand I am perfectly capable of passing the class, I can't help but feel apprehensive.
When I pass this class and finally overcome the obstacle which was placed before me years ago, I plan on getting a tattoo which reads "En numeris sita sunt." Or roughly, everything lies veiled in numbers. I have wanted the tattoo for a long while and I assured myself long ago I would give myself the permenant reminder of how it feels to know you are capable of overcoming obstacles as soon as I obtained my associates, and I felt the number reference was only fitting for a math degree.
I will have that tattoo in December of 2011. That is my biggest goal for 2011. Over everything else. And now, I'm off to work on a subgoal; fitness. Thanks for listening.
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