The Happy Train

My blog title is dedicated to Casey. My partner in crime in the back corner helped me develop this concept and is always reminding me when I am having a bad day to conduct my own train. It’s a choice. This seems to be a theme in my life at the moment. I have had random conversations with a variety of people regarding attitudes and choices. There was a quote I read once and I think it said something like, “Life is 10% of what happens to you and 90% how you respond to it.”

I believe in choices. I believe that we allow ourselves to be influenced by things around us. I have a friend who hates her job. I mean HATES her job. I would think that it’s this particular one but given her history, it’s not about the job but about work in general. She allows this to permeate all areas of her life. Usually by Sunday she has worked herself into a fit because Monday is right around the corner. What a miserable way to spend one’s life. She chooses that path and while I use to feel bad for her, I now just feel sad. She has allowed that job to have way more power than it should.

A job is just that. A job. A means by which we create the resources we need to do the things we love. Some people get lucky and love their job and I’m glad for them. But either way, it is only one component of our lives.

Ok.. got off on a rant there but that is the exact thing that I am referring to. Whether it is a job, a bad relationship, poor weather, lack of funds, a broken car or leaky faucet, it is our reaction to these things that determines our happiness. Now I am not Pollyanna but I don’t like to be miserable and when I am, typically I conducted my own train down that path. I made that choice to let something get to me.

I guess what I am trying to say is that we need to take responsibility for ourselves. I hear people making excuses for themselves and others based on people’s reaction to a situation. “She’s having a bad time of it because her husband is out of work. That’s why she’s so mean” Ok… I admit that sucks. But her husband being out of work is no excuse for her meanness. She’s responsible for the meanness. It was her reaction to the situation.

I make excuses all the time. When I’m hungry, I get mean. When I’m sleepy, I get whiny. But I am conducting my own train. Most days I strive for a happy train. Life’s too short to be unhappy and most things that make me unhappy are not worth the effort of being unhappy.

In the words of my buddy Stephen Covey- “Proactive people carry their own weather.” Today’s forecast is sunny with a cool breeze.

Appetite for Destruction

Ok… I had to do it. For all you GNR fans, I hope you appreciate the title. When I got home last night from a very good time with Casey, I started a blog post. But upon waking this morning, I realized that wasn’t the topic I really needed to address from the evening. Instead I am going to write about something that I struggle with talking about and even more I struggle with accepting and changing the behavior. I’m good at lying to myself and I woke up this morning and knew I had to write about it. I need to talk about it because to keep hiding it is like holding onto a dirty little secret.

Ok… deep breath, here it goes… I am an emotional eater. I know what you’re thinking, who isn’t? But I am an emotional “binge eating” eater. Food is like a warm blanket to me. I use it to hide, cope, enjoy, wallow or celebrate my emotions. I grew up like this. Food was a main focus in my childhood and life. Like most people, it’s was used in a multitude of ways. When we did well in school or had a big event, there was a nice dinner or big party where mom would spend hours preparing food. When I was sad or depressed, my buddy Jacqui and I would hit our favorite Chinese restaurant and converse over fried rice and fortune cookies. When I was sick, mom would comfort us with soup and ice cream.

In the summer when I would stay with grandma there was always a candy basket. A skinned knee or a fight with my brother would be made better with a snickers bar. As I got older and struggled through high school with my weight, I would turn to food to provide companionship, comfort. It’s kind of backwards to think that way. Most people would think that struggling to fit in as the fat girl would motivate you to lose the weight but in my case it only made it worse. My coping mechanism was the food.

When I hit adulthood and eventually moved out on my own, my eating really became a problem. It was easier to eat in secret. To stand at the refrigerator at 2am and consume ice cream from the carton. Peanut butter from the jar. There was no one there to watch me self destruct as a means to deal with whatever emotional situation was headed my way.

When I joined WW and started losing this weight, I told myself that I got better at this. I refused birthday cake from others for the first two years. I was selective on which events and celebrations I attended and in many cases; I would bring my own food. I was determined. But (I hate the buts) I never dealt with my emotional eating. I avoided it. It was always there and at times would rear its ugly head. I would lie about it to everyone and more importantly to myself.

Since I started the plateau last year, my emotional eating has been completely out of control. I have become the little girl in high school who masked a variety of emotions in food. Middle of the night binges that would leave me feeling even worse the next morning. Last night, I had one of those moments. As I headed home from my evening with Casey, I was struggling with my emotions. What set those feelings off isn’t as important as what my response was to them. Instead of dealing with the loneliness, anger, and “fatness” I felt, I stopped at my local Harris Teeter. My drug of choice for the evening was a bag of marshmallows, a jar of peanut butter (it was reduced fat) and a package of cookies (shortbread variety- not bad nutritional information- I compared). Before I left the parking lot, the peanut butter was opened and the cookie was hitting the jar.

At home, I wallowed in my emotions and in that damn jar. I eventually fell asleep and when I woke up at 2am on the patio, the guilt started. My head was computing the caloric damage that this particular binged had cost me. My heart weighed heavy with the emotions that I never did deal with. I felt anger at myself for not being able to exhibit self-control. As I crawled into bed, I cried. I mourned for the little girl who is so emotional stunted that one of her closest friends is a jar of Jiffy.

I woke up at 4am to hit the gym and before I headed out for a healthier emotional release, I threw away the remaining contraband and promised myself that I would write about this. As I worked out, I thought about last night. I examined my feelings, the triggers that set me off and the guilt that crawled into bed with me. I need to deal with this. I need to learn how to deal with my emotions in a healthy way. Because until I do, I will never meet my goals, this vicious cycle will continue and I will forever be the “fat” girl.

Child's Play

I had a good weekend. It was a hot one but a good one. My mom came into town Thursday night to visit and be here for the Greensboro Lacrosse Tournament that my nephews were playing in. We played a lot of cards (thanks Kathryn!) and enjoyed each other’s company. I even got her into the Rush for a workout! She got to play with the big boys. On Friday night we met Alex for a birthday meal at CiCi’s Pizza. We stuffed ourselves. Lots of fun.

On Saturday, mom and I loaded up the cooler, packed our snacks and headed to the fields to watch hours of lacrosse. I have never really understood the sport and this lack of knowledge has lead to me being disinterested in watching my nephews play. But this weekend, I was determined to enjoy the time with the family and be the good Aunt that I am. In the end though, I think I got more out of the weekend then the boys did by having me there. I learned not only about the sport of lacrosse but about determination and effort.

So my nephews play on a traveling lacrosse team out of Cary. The oldest at 12, Kyle, plays on a U13 team. Zach who is 8, plays on the U11 team. My brother Gene coaches Zach’s team, the Boll Weevils. Zach is the youngest player on the team and really is too young to be playing but somewhere along the line he took to goalkeeping and the team needed a goalie. A tough position for anyone at any age. The pressure alone is nerve wrecking without mentioning the fact that the only thing protecting a goalie from that hard ball flying at a ridiculous speed toward them, is a chest guard, a helmet, and a cup. Zach shows no fear. His biggest concern is letting the team down.

The first game of the day on Saturday that we watched was the Boll Weevils. I sat down in my chair in the blazing noon day sun determined to enjoy myself. From the first face-off I was hooked. My eyes never left the field and my heart was beating at a mile a minute. I was shouting and shifting in my chair and watching as a team of boys poured their hearts out onto the lacrosse field. They pushed through the heat, the defense and destroyed the other team’s offense. Passes were near perfect and plays were carefully executed.

The sheer grit and determination that those boys displayed, tugged at your very being. You wanted them to win. As a spectator, you felt every block, mourned every opponent’s goal and celebrated every score. It was amazing. When the game was over and the Boll Weevils were victorious, the sidelines erupted in cheers and chants! Whoohoo!

A few hours later I had the chance to watch a different type of game. Kyle’s team the Dirt Dawgs played after an hour rain delay for the first time. Kyle plays offense (attack) and had several great scores during the tournament. What I’m about to write is not a reflection on him but on the team in general. The Dirt Dawgs lost their first game before they even took the field. There was no heart on that field. No determination. No fight. There were a few on the field that seem to want to win but one player can’t support the entire team.

Watching the Dirt Dawgs play that first game was almost painful for me. The sidelines were filled with disgruntled parents who watched as their children half-assed their way down the field. My heart never raced but only broke for my nephew who would not only lose that game but also the game later that day. They didn’t want it bad enough. They had earned those losses.

As the weekend progressed and I would watch these two totally different teams play, I thought about the lesson that can be learned. I forget sometimes what it’s like to want something that much; to believe that all is not crap; and that hard work is worth it. More often than not, I march onto the field of life like the Dirt Dawgs, already destined to lose. The Boll Weevils believed in themselves and in each other. They poured their hearts into the game. Even when a play seemed hopeless, they would fight til the whistle.

As adults, we need to remember that childlike lesson. Zach’s team hadn’t had the chance to get jaded and disgruntle yet. They believed in the magic of the game and played for the fun. Kyle’s team was older and had been beaten down and discouraged. They had lost their magic. Somewhere along the line, I too have lost the magic. But on this great weekend in the bright sunshine, a group of boys taught me to rediscover the magic, enjoy the game and leave everything on the field.

I Want Cheese with My Whine!

Ok. So I typically don’t think of myself as a complainer but after this week and revisiting my blog, I just might be. But in my defense, I am having a hell of a week. So if we recall a few days ago I received the news about my “new found truth”. I have still not dealt with it and at this point, I’m not ready to. I’m appreciating my amazing ability to keep my head in the sand. I just don’t talk about it. I make a joke here and there but I’m refusing to begin the inevitable analysis and changes that are required. I’m just not ready.

So that was Tuesday. On Wednesday night I went to the gym to run. I figured after my amazing swim that morning, a run would round out my day. I was meeting Alex for a follow-up swim too! So my knee has been bothering me since White Lake. It comes and goes and more recently it’s been bad. I’ve gone through a tube of biofreeze and have moved on to another. I was determined not to let it stop me. Once I got moving it was easy to forget about it.

But (there always is one) my normal everyday life was being affected. The simple act of driving could bring tears to my eyes and I would go down a flight of stairs like an old woman. I could still interval it out on a StairMaster but don’t ask me to go back down them. Anyway, I regress, so I got on the treadmill and began my warm-up. After a few minutes I hit the speed button to bring me to my normal pace and off I went. For the first 30 seconds I struggled to find my rhythm because I had been favoring my left leg so much and my running was way off. So I found my normal cadence and managed another 20 seconds at most before I had to reduce the machine before I fell off.

I couldn't do it. Heaven help me, it hurt so much. Each step about killed me. So I hopped on another non-impact cardio machine for 30 minutes but the pain never really went away. I swam with Alex and then headed home where I put ice on my knee and hoped for the best. By time I went to bed that night, I couldn’t sleep with the pain. I tried more ice, heat, and medicine but nothing worked. I was so scared and upset.

Thursday found me calling around to find an Sports Medicine/Orthopedic doctor who could see me sooner rather than later. I managed to get an appointment for the afternoon. In the meantime, while I was eating lunch I felt something funny in my mouth. I first thought I cracked my crown so I called the dentist. It turns out that it’s not the crown but a filling which will now probably become a crown on Tuesday when I go to visit my friendly dentist. No pain but it is annoying.

So by time I got to the doctor’s I was in a mood. Long story short (might be too late), I have the knees of an old woman due to all the years of carrying around all my excess weight. There are already signs of arthritis and in the doctor’s words-“he hates to see knees like mine in someone so young.” Nice. He gave me a shot of cortisone and for a moment I thought it worked which would mean it was a minor tear. But within 10 minutes I had to sit back down. It made the pain more bearable, but there is still pain. I am scheduled for an MRI on Tuesday and revisit the doctor on Friday. He is trying to rule out a lateral meniscus tear.

This morning I woke up and got somewhat excited because I thought maybe my knee was better and the cortisone shot worked but after squatting and walking up and down the stairs, I realized I would be swimming today and probably quite a bit in the near future. The doctor told me that I could swim, ride an indoor bike and that’s about it. I’m trying not to think about the repercussions of this. I’m trying not to imagine the several years of hard work I put it in to have such strong legs being destroyed in the next few weeks, maybe months as I deal with this.

Working out is my lifeline. It’s like the air I breathe. My best friend. It’s always there to make me feel better and get me going and more importantly, help me attempt to control my weight. So for today, I am asking that you let me whine and perhaps give me a little cheese with it. Thanks.

Knowledge is Power

Reality bites. So I’m not talking about the movie, even though it was a good one, I’m talking about my reality. I want to emphasize the word “my” because it is my reality and usually that is way different then someone else’s. My insecurities, experiences, beliefs, feelings, and knowledge color my reality. Sometimes I see the world through rose-colored glasses and other days the world is a dark dreary place but either way, it’s my reality.

The truth. The truth is a funny thing within my reality. I’m always seeking the truth from others and think I give a good effort in telling others the truth as I see it but the ultimate “truth” is- I hate “the truth”. The truth typically spins my reality into total chaos and leaves me sitting on my patio in my Mickey Mouse Pjs wishing to be somewhere else. The truth never really sets me free; it doesn’t bring us closer together; and never provides me with any comfort and understanding. The truth is cold and uncaring. Rarely does it provide forgiveness.

I recently sought what I thought I needed to hear from someone in my life with whom I was spending a lot of my time. With the preface of, “I didn’t want either of us to get hurt and I was waiting for the right moment”, I got the truth. Thinking you know something and then having it validated is not a satisfying moment because until that moment, I had only thought, not knew. The problem is, I now don’t know what to do with it.

So last night armed with my new found knowledge, I did what I do best- I went to bed. I didn’t yell or cry; I didn’t text or call all of my friends and confidants to share the news; and more importantly, I didn’t deal with it. I simply said that I needed some time to think and very calmly and rationally, I hung up the phone and went to find a hiding place in dreamland.

So I woke up this morning (not quite feeling like P diddy) and swam. I swam like the Dory that I am. I was eager to not think or feel. I sought the relief the cold water could bring and the release a good workout provides. I might have had one of my best swims to date. The only problem is, I still haven’t dealt with my reality and my new found truth.

But as I said from the beginning, it’s my reality and at this point, I am choosing to ignore the truth as long as I can. I have a feeling that like most things, this too will come back soon enough to bite me.

That Song in my Head

I love music. I can’t sing a note and I don’t play a musical instrument other then banging my steering wheel but I appreciate and relate to music. I grew up in a family of musicians. My Pop-Pop always called himself a “professional". He could play it all- classical, jazz, and I remember his Dixieland Band. He wrote music for the Miss America Pageant, performed on the Steel Pier and my father would tell me the story of Pop-Pop clearing the living room for band practice. My father is also a musician. He'd tell you that he was on the field for every football game in high school- granted he was in the band but that was his claim to fame. I grew up learning the different church hymns from my father and listening to the classics. I love music.

It’s not just the beat for me. While I do like to rock it out with a “jamming tune”, I am a lyrical poet at heart. I’m all about the words. I relate music to my life. I have a song for everything. I was the kid in school that made all those compilation tapes that were labeled people or dates. I still make those lists but now via iTunes. A good song has the ability to make me happy or make me sad. I can hear a certain song and remember where I was or what I was doing at a specific time. I am a constant movie soundtrack.

I’m sharing this information with you because I seem to share a lot of song lyrics on my blog and I wanted you-the reader- to understand why. Music, most of the time, puts my thoughts and feelings into words eloquently. Typically when something happens, a good party, a fight, a broken heart, the loss of a friend, the first thing I think of is the soundtrack that should be playing in the background. Music allows me to either enjoy or wallow in those feelings.

This past weekend I had the joy of celebrating with Alex her awesome 5K swim- she took first place in the Masters Women category for the state. I also got to spend some time with Pam after her successful surgery and praise God for the wonder of modern medicine. I read in church for all the old women to hear and I met some new people at the young adults’ cookout. I had the hottest date on Friday night, Jordyn (Casey’s son) and I saw Shrek 4 and enjoyed laughter and Mario later.

I also watched a friendship between two people I care about hit a rough patch. I didn’t pick a side but have begun questioning my own role in this play. While I understand that arguments can lead to insecurities and doubts, I’m not sure that my role is to provide comfort or assurance right now. This is not my fight. This fight has raised some interesting questions and has forced me to think about what I want but I am refusing to “write that love song”.

Ok…. Here’s where I share the soundtrack to my life. Ever since the weekend, this song has been stuck in my head and speaks to me in a way that makes me happy. It reminds me that I don’t need to be backed into a corner. Those are someone else’s doubt and insecurities. God knows I have enough of my own to deal with. So for today, I am not writing you a love song.

“Head under water
And you tell me
To breathe easy for awhile
The breathing gets harder
Even I know that
Made room for me
It's too soon to see
If I'm happy in your hands
I'm unusually hard to hold on to

Blank stares at blank pages
No easy way to say this
You mean well but you make this hard on me

I'm not gonna write you a love song
'Cause you ask for it
'Cause you need one
You see, I'm not gonna write you a love song
'Cause you tell me it's make or breakin' this
If you're on your way
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If all you have is leavin'
I'm gonna need a better reason
To write you a love song
Today
Today

I learned the hard way
That they all say
Things you wanna hear
My heavy heart sinks deep down under
You and your twisted words
Your help just hurts
You are not what I thought you were
Hello to high and dry

Convinced me to please you
Made me think that I need this too
I'm trying to let you hear me as I am

(Chorus)

Promise me
You'll leave the light on
To help me see
With daylight my guide gone
'Cause I believe
There's a way
You can love me
Because I say

(Chorus)
I'm not gonna write you to stay
If your heart is nowhere in it
I don't want it for a minute
Babe, I'll walk the seven seas
When I believe that there's a reason to write you a love song
Today"

Sara Bareilles