To all of you who read my blog regularly, I cannot thank you enough for messaging, commenting, giving hugs and being so supportive during my 50 day juice fast. It's been 3 weeks since my "The Last Day", a post that saw more than 200 times the normal amount of readers, and time for an update . . .
Denial - Anger - Bargaining - Depression - Acceptance
That's the order in which you're supposed to handle grief .
Denial -- yup, I had that one in spades. Had plenty of denial; plenty of "I can fix this, and make it okay". But I was the only one thinking that sadly.
Anger - I don't think I had much of this one. Or maybe I think I should have been angrier. But in all honesty, I think I skipped right on ahead. (Some will argue that my last blog post was my anger phase. My blog post was not an attack. It was not my way of coloring things or trying to sway the masses. I was feeling completely humiliated, having panic attacks and feeling more of less worthless. I just didn't know any other way of owning that I had failed in my relationship -- failed to the point where I would be lied to so blatantly -- and I needed to get out from under it. I did not want to hurt anyone through my writing.)
Bargaining & Depression -- This is where I have been spending most of my time. I would like to say it's the name of a cool new bar, but alas, no. I think that bargaining and depression actually go together very nicely. But to say I have been making a hot mess of my life would be an understatement.. I used to be the type of person that when I got depressed would sleep 15 hours in a day -- not anymore. I sleep about 3 hours/night and then am up, maybe squeezing in one more hour before dawn. I don't sleep when I'm with him*, and I don't sleep when I'm away from him. But I fall asleep quite easily, and then wake up promptly 3 hours later to haunt the rest of the night like a Shakespearean ghost. But even Hamlet's father didn't spend that much time on stage -- he had plenty of time on the Equity cot backstage while Hamlet prattled on about something.
* See: Denial & Bargaining.
Acceptance: Yeah, I'll call you when I get here.
I have had a lot of family pass in the last year, and had just as many friends lose loved ones in that same short span of time. Buying Sympathy Cards in bulk wasn't a joke. It was a necessity, and I have to remember to post another one on Monday. It was just a bad year. But somehow, accepting death, while becoming no less painful, has become somehow easier. People die. You may postpone the day, but you will not avoid it. It will happen. Neither your loved one nor God are trying to hurt you through the act of dying. It is just an inevitability.
So, how do you find acceptance when a loved one betrays you? They do have a choice. The truth may be difficult to tell, but it's always a better choice than a lie. So, when someone you love decides to lie to you, betray you and hurt you, how do you find acceptance? I found denial, some anger, bargaining, and depression very easily. I even found forgiveness without much effort, but, acceptance eludes me. It doesn't appear on the map. I don't see it off the horizon. I don't want to accept it, if accepting it means saying "it's okay". It's not okay. It's absolutely not okay. There is no need to look someone you care for in the eye and lie unless it involves Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy or the Monster-That (used to) Live-Under-My-Bed who has had to relocate to Manhattan. Those are fine. But months of deception and lies are not acceptable. I will not rubber stamp that one and let it slide. No, I can't change it, and holding my breath until I turn blue will not turn back time. I acknowledge it. I recognized that it occurred. But I do not accept it.
But on the subject of juicing . . . (that's really why we were here, right?)
In three weeks, I have kept off all but 4.5 lbs of what I lost which is right in line with what I'd estimated. Processing solids effectively took more than a week to regulate. I have found that in addition to the high fiber diet I already have, (Vega - vegan protein supplement & soluble fiber added to other beverage), psyllium husk works amazingly well to clean out the system. I don't crave sweets at all. I have remained vegan at home, and restaurant vegetarian (and vegan when possible). My portions have remained smaller, and my desire for fresh vegetables has remained high. But nothing beats spicy food -- don't care what kind of spice, just anything not fruity!
I ran the BAA 5K, and improved my personal best time by 4 minutes I should be running and cycling more, and hope to when I start sleeping more. I am taking riding lessons, and finally started painting the bedroom with the help of a very dear friend who knew I needed a little push. I have the BAA 10k in June and the half-marathon in October. I need to finish painting the kitchen and bedroom, then touch-up the dinning room. Once that's complete, I hope to crank out the living room paint before the contractors come to rip out my bathroom. Oh, and I've gotten through 1.5 books of Game of Thrones.
Do I still have juice? Not every day, but quite often. When I'm lazy, I'll just make a serving of Vega -- 5 minutes and a lot less clean-up. Pure laziness, nothing more.
And Johnny . . . the little kitty lounging at the top of my blog.
The drug that Johnny is on to treat his squamous cell carcinoma comes in a container marked as a bio-hazard. I have to give him a Pepcid tablet everyday to prevent nausea. I've also been warned that I should not handle the pill, and that I should wear gloves. I have always taken precautions when preparing Johnny's food with the medication, but I also know that if he's resistant to take it on a particular day, I must get it in him. So, one day I handled his food after the moisture had started to breakdown the medication. I just didn't see how something that wasn't making a 10 lb cat sick, could make me all that sick. I was wrong, very wrong, home from work sleep on the bathroom floor wrong. Lesson learned.
John-John had his trip to the oncologist a week after my cleanse finished. Thus far his medication has had a positive effect. He has lost some weight, which I'm trying to get back on him. But we are continuing the treatment in hope of ridding him of the tumor completely. He has turned 13, and it appears to be a much luckier number for him than most. Considering his initial diagnosis would have had me burying him next month, John-John looks like he'll be drooling on me for many moons to come. (Fingers crossed.)
Thank you for coming on this journey with me. Please reach out with any questions you may have on juicing -- I'm not an expert, but I do have experience. :)
Best of luck on your journeys!
Nicole
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Friday, April 6, 2012
The Last Day
Today has been the last day of my juice fast. In the beginning, I was very open about why I had embarked on this, and how cancer had been affecting my life, my family and my friends. It is with tremendous sadness that I announce that one of my dear friends has lost her mum to cancer this week. Diagnosed only about a month ago with uterine cancer, her illness was too far along and too aggressive to fight. My love and prayers go to the Woodyard Family as they celebrate Teddy's wonderful life.
For those of you who have read regularly, you know I have had some dark times during this fast. I have been too embarrassed to elaborate. I have been hoping to fix things; to tie everything up neatly with a bow; to go back and make everything pretty again. And then no one would ever need to know. When someone you've been in a relationship with for a long time cheats on you, you are not only hurt but you feel humiliated. I felt like I had failed at the one thing that really mattered in my life. Every relationship has two points of view, and I fully admit that I am not perfect. No one is. We're human. So when I found out, I got angry at first, and then I got paranoid, but I made it to forgiveness. For the 6+ years we'd been together, I can say that we've had our fair share of drama, but we have always loved each other dearly. Or so I thought.
I have been determined to fight for my relationship. Not out of pride, but love. I have always believed deeply that our love was something special, something of storybooks. And that is not something you turnaway from lightly. My BF said he needed space, so at first I stayed with friends. Then he rented an apartment, and I moved 'home'. He was having a self-proclaimed midlife crisis and needed to find himself and his true path. After an amourous morning we were supposed to be discussing our bathroom remodeling, we took the subway to work together making small talk about a concert that night and work projects. He suddenly got a pained expression on his face, and broke up with me on the 6th train. I stood outside his office on Park Avenue South in a complete daze. I had no idea how that happened. I was in such shock I couldn't cry. I wasn't even sure I was breathing. It was like standing very close to an enormous explosion when you realize that you cannot hear anything at all. Manhttan was silent.
We went to the concert that night. We went home together. And maybe we thought it was the last night on earth, but no one who saw us that night would have thought we were anything but deeply in love. You would have never guessed that one of us was about to move out. And as the days leading up to the official move ticked by, we missed each other. We spent time talking to one another -- and not about bills or chores, but about what was truly important in our lives. In a little less than a month, we found the reasons we'd loved one another. Then just three days before his move, he professed that he did indeed love me and that we would find a way to make it all work.
We started calling his apartment, the Summer Home. Our building super was told that things were being moved to storage and our summer home. (No, people, we cannot afford a summer home, but it sounded good.) I had moved out of and back into our storage unit in the course of a week. When friends asked, I said we were working on it. It was seriously the best moving out on a relationship a couple ever spent together. We were together everyday. We were out with friends. We went to a hockey game. Before the movers came, we were cuddled up on the couch together.
This was Monday.
I went to work. The movers came and went. He went to work. We went home from work to his apartment and unpacked. And I stayed. We were both a bit nervous, and being there felt a little like a hotel only you care a little more what the room next to you hears. Tuesday morning came, and I was filled with dread. Just the morning before, he had said "I never expected us to get back here this quickly," so why was I suddenly scared to death? He needed to get ready for work and I needed to do the walk of shame from my Summer Home, so when I burst into tears, he told me I was being silly. And I was, right? I mean, we had a GREAT weekend. We spent the first night he'd officially moved into his apartment together. Why should I feel any concern?
Something was eating at me that whole day. I went home, and went to futon (as he retained custody of the bed) and had horrid nightmares that had me up all night. I emailed him in the morning about my nightmares thinking it was odd that he hadn't texted me the night before. I had a nightmare about the contractors for the bathroom. I had one about not being invited to Easter dinner. I had one where there was two of him -- they were identical -- but not the same, and they didn't know me. And in the midst of those dreams, I had one that brought me back to the morning. I was leaving the summer home again, but this time I could see what happened when I left. He showered, packed a bag and got on a plane and left me.
But that would only happen in a dream, right?
I texted. No response.
I waited patiently until 9 AM, and then I called. Do you know the difference between the sound of a ringtone for a domestic call and an international call? I do. I sat in my bedroom which no longer has a bed, and I stared that the floor. I couldn't get up. The affair he'd had months ago happened at an infant's funeral in Europe. I knew he was gone. But I couldn't understand why he'd had the change of heart and sucked me back into a sense of false security only hours before.
And then he texted. He was just getting to work -- it was now 10 AM -- and had had a rough start to the day. Hadn't seen my email yet, but would be online. I went to work, and he got caught up on his reading. "Honey, you're not sleeping well, it's making you think crazy things." "So, you're only a few blocks away?" "Of course." Maybe I really was crazy! Maybe the lack of food and all of the stress has really gotten to me to the point where I'm dreaming up crazy scenarios and believing them. I felt like an idiot.
"Honey, I have back to back meetings today, so I'll be on and offline, but will be in touch." "Oh, and my phone says SIM card error, so I'm going to have to sort that out." Note to readers -- if you're the guy in this scenario, quit while you're ahead. Once you've got me convinced that I'm crazy, you don't need to give me the Perfect Storm. The lottery numbers that came to me in a dream didn't win 640 million dollars. Sometimes a dream is just a dream.
I went to the theatre with a friend that night, and told her my crazy notion. "You could just go to his office" "What, and prove that I'm insane? No. I want to be wrong. I want it to be a stupid, paranoid dream." When I turned my phone on after the show, he'd sent a few messages before leaving the office. His phone still wasn't working apparently. C'est la vie.
First thing the next morning, I got emails from him. The phone still needed to be fixed, but would see me online shortly. Loved me, missed me, xxx. I replied in-kind. And then I noticed something. The time stamp on the email said he's received my email from 9:30 PM the night before at 3:30 AM. 6 hours ahead. I'd almost missed it. But all of his replies to my emails were the same. 6 hours off. Spain is 6 hours ahead. I couldn't turn away from it no matter how badly I wanted to. And you have no idea how badly I wanted to. "Honey, you're a bad liar. I've always told you that."
Yes. My dream was more or less dead on. He kissed me good-bye, told me he loved, got on a plane and thought he could pretend to be in midtown Manhattan when he was actually in Barcelona with another woman and her children, for a week over a holiday. If I was sitting next to you in a bar, and you told me this story, I would never believe you. I find aligators in the New York City subway system more plausible then the tale I have just told you. But that has been my reality this week. I love this man with my heart and soul and have been so completely gobsmacked by this that I don't know which way is up. Who does that!?! And when he did call because the jig was more than up, and apologized, and said he loved me, and said he never has been able to leave me, and said he hadn't been able to sleep with her, and admited that he never told her the whole truth about us, but he just couldn't come back right now; he made sure to throw in, "but DO NOT contact 'her' or 'ex-baby-mama who I am still negotiating custody with'.
But he never said I couldn't tell all of you.
I have hung my head in shame, cried until I was sick, been completely and utterly useless at work, not returned calls to my parents and shut out my friends. I made it incredibly easy for him to hurt me because I was making apologies for him. I have taken all of the blame and shame on myself. I blamed myself for him cheating. And I put him, and his needs first. I let him accuse me of hacking his accounts, or maybe it was his 'ex-baby-mama who I am still negotiating custody with', because he swore people seemed to know things they shouldn't know. I blocked friends on Facebook because he said they were reading my page and funneling information back to ex-BM. And I was forbidden to ever tell certain people we were really together -- though it's been years.
When you have more than one truth, life is very complicated and stressful. I sadly believe he has a different truth for everyone in his life. We all get to see him the way he wants us to see him. But when, like me, you see through the veneer, you just become a liability. Do you want to see your lies reflected in your lover's eyes? After I'd found out he'd cheated, I said I would accept him for who he is. We're all human, and we all make mistakes. Own your mistakes, make amends, and move on. And that's how we were able to get back together in the first place. But you'll notice that I said "Move On" and not "Repeat".
Matthew 18:21-22
The Peter came to Jesus, and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."
I can forgive him. I will forgive him. I have forgiven him. His burden is much heavier than mine. He has to accept forgiveness, and find one truth to live by. He will not find the fresh start he so desperately wants when it is built on lies and deception. The cycle will just continue. When you fear someone speaking the truth, you need to change your ways.
Thank you all for letting me get this out. I am by no means a matyr in this situation. While I should not take on all of the blame, a relationship takes two people, and some of the blame is unquestionablly mine. It could be Karma -- but in any case the cycle needs to stop.
The last 50 days have been incredibly hard. Juicing was easy in comparison. As of today, I'd lost over 30 lbs. Normally, that last sentence would make me incredibly happy. I'm just not there. I have a lot of healing to do. And hopefully, happiness will follow.
For those of you who have read regularly, you know I have had some dark times during this fast. I have been too embarrassed to elaborate. I have been hoping to fix things; to tie everything up neatly with a bow; to go back and make everything pretty again. And then no one would ever need to know. When someone you've been in a relationship with for a long time cheats on you, you are not only hurt but you feel humiliated. I felt like I had failed at the one thing that really mattered in my life. Every relationship has two points of view, and I fully admit that I am not perfect. No one is. We're human. So when I found out, I got angry at first, and then I got paranoid, but I made it to forgiveness. For the 6+ years we'd been together, I can say that we've had our fair share of drama, but we have always loved each other dearly. Or so I thought.
I have been determined to fight for my relationship. Not out of pride, but love. I have always believed deeply that our love was something special, something of storybooks. And that is not something you turnaway from lightly. My BF said he needed space, so at first I stayed with friends. Then he rented an apartment, and I moved 'home'. He was having a self-proclaimed midlife crisis and needed to find himself and his true path. After an amourous morning we were supposed to be discussing our bathroom remodeling, we took the subway to work together making small talk about a concert that night and work projects. He suddenly got a pained expression on his face, and broke up with me on the 6th train. I stood outside his office on Park Avenue South in a complete daze. I had no idea how that happened. I was in such shock I couldn't cry. I wasn't even sure I was breathing. It was like standing very close to an enormous explosion when you realize that you cannot hear anything at all. Manhttan was silent.
We went to the concert that night. We went home together. And maybe we thought it was the last night on earth, but no one who saw us that night would have thought we were anything but deeply in love. You would have never guessed that one of us was about to move out. And as the days leading up to the official move ticked by, we missed each other. We spent time talking to one another -- and not about bills or chores, but about what was truly important in our lives. In a little less than a month, we found the reasons we'd loved one another. Then just three days before his move, he professed that he did indeed love me and that we would find a way to make it all work.
We started calling his apartment, the Summer Home. Our building super was told that things were being moved to storage and our summer home. (No, people, we cannot afford a summer home, but it sounded good.) I had moved out of and back into our storage unit in the course of a week. When friends asked, I said we were working on it. It was seriously the best moving out on a relationship a couple ever spent together. We were together everyday. We were out with friends. We went to a hockey game. Before the movers came, we were cuddled up on the couch together.
This was Monday.
I went to work. The movers came and went. He went to work. We went home from work to his apartment and unpacked. And I stayed. We were both a bit nervous, and being there felt a little like a hotel only you care a little more what the room next to you hears. Tuesday morning came, and I was filled with dread. Just the morning before, he had said "I never expected us to get back here this quickly," so why was I suddenly scared to death? He needed to get ready for work and I needed to do the walk of shame from my Summer Home, so when I burst into tears, he told me I was being silly. And I was, right? I mean, we had a GREAT weekend. We spent the first night he'd officially moved into his apartment together. Why should I feel any concern?
Something was eating at me that whole day. I went home, and went to futon (as he retained custody of the bed) and had horrid nightmares that had me up all night. I emailed him in the morning about my nightmares thinking it was odd that he hadn't texted me the night before. I had a nightmare about the contractors for the bathroom. I had one about not being invited to Easter dinner. I had one where there was two of him -- they were identical -- but not the same, and they didn't know me. And in the midst of those dreams, I had one that brought me back to the morning. I was leaving the summer home again, but this time I could see what happened when I left. He showered, packed a bag and got on a plane and left me.
But that would only happen in a dream, right?
I texted. No response.
I waited patiently until 9 AM, and then I called. Do you know the difference between the sound of a ringtone for a domestic call and an international call? I do. I sat in my bedroom which no longer has a bed, and I stared that the floor. I couldn't get up. The affair he'd had months ago happened at an infant's funeral in Europe. I knew he was gone. But I couldn't understand why he'd had the change of heart and sucked me back into a sense of false security only hours before.
And then he texted. He was just getting to work -- it was now 10 AM -- and had had a rough start to the day. Hadn't seen my email yet, but would be online. I went to work, and he got caught up on his reading. "Honey, you're not sleeping well, it's making you think crazy things." "So, you're only a few blocks away?" "Of course." Maybe I really was crazy! Maybe the lack of food and all of the stress has really gotten to me to the point where I'm dreaming up crazy scenarios and believing them. I felt like an idiot.
"Honey, I have back to back meetings today, so I'll be on and offline, but will be in touch." "Oh, and my phone says SIM card error, so I'm going to have to sort that out." Note to readers -- if you're the guy in this scenario, quit while you're ahead. Once you've got me convinced that I'm crazy, you don't need to give me the Perfect Storm. The lottery numbers that came to me in a dream didn't win 640 million dollars. Sometimes a dream is just a dream.
I went to the theatre with a friend that night, and told her my crazy notion. "You could just go to his office" "What, and prove that I'm insane? No. I want to be wrong. I want it to be a stupid, paranoid dream." When I turned my phone on after the show, he'd sent a few messages before leaving the office. His phone still wasn't working apparently. C'est la vie.
First thing the next morning, I got emails from him. The phone still needed to be fixed, but would see me online shortly. Loved me, missed me, xxx. I replied in-kind. And then I noticed something. The time stamp on the email said he's received my email from 9:30 PM the night before at 3:30 AM. 6 hours ahead. I'd almost missed it. But all of his replies to my emails were the same. 6 hours off. Spain is 6 hours ahead. I couldn't turn away from it no matter how badly I wanted to. And you have no idea how badly I wanted to. "Honey, you're a bad liar. I've always told you that."
Yes. My dream was more or less dead on. He kissed me good-bye, told me he loved, got on a plane and thought he could pretend to be in midtown Manhattan when he was actually in Barcelona with another woman and her children, for a week over a holiday. If I was sitting next to you in a bar, and you told me this story, I would never believe you. I find aligators in the New York City subway system more plausible then the tale I have just told you. But that has been my reality this week. I love this man with my heart and soul and have been so completely gobsmacked by this that I don't know which way is up. Who does that!?! And when he did call because the jig was more than up, and apologized, and said he loved me, and said he never has been able to leave me, and said he hadn't been able to sleep with her, and admited that he never told her the whole truth about us, but he just couldn't come back right now; he made sure to throw in, "but DO NOT contact 'her' or 'ex-baby-mama who I am still negotiating custody with'.
But he never said I couldn't tell all of you.
I have hung my head in shame, cried until I was sick, been completely and utterly useless at work, not returned calls to my parents and shut out my friends. I made it incredibly easy for him to hurt me because I was making apologies for him. I have taken all of the blame and shame on myself. I blamed myself for him cheating. And I put him, and his needs first. I let him accuse me of hacking his accounts, or maybe it was his 'ex-baby-mama who I am still negotiating custody with', because he swore people seemed to know things they shouldn't know. I blocked friends on Facebook because he said they were reading my page and funneling information back to ex-BM. And I was forbidden to ever tell certain people we were really together -- though it's been years.
When you have more than one truth, life is very complicated and stressful. I sadly believe he has a different truth for everyone in his life. We all get to see him the way he wants us to see him. But when, like me, you see through the veneer, you just become a liability. Do you want to see your lies reflected in your lover's eyes? After I'd found out he'd cheated, I said I would accept him for who he is. We're all human, and we all make mistakes. Own your mistakes, make amends, and move on. And that's how we were able to get back together in the first place. But you'll notice that I said "Move On" and not "Repeat".
Matthew 18:21-22
The Peter came to Jesus, and asked, "Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?
Jesus answered, "I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times."
I can forgive him. I will forgive him. I have forgiven him. His burden is much heavier than mine. He has to accept forgiveness, and find one truth to live by. He will not find the fresh start he so desperately wants when it is built on lies and deception. The cycle will just continue. When you fear someone speaking the truth, you need to change your ways.
Thank you all for letting me get this out. I am by no means a matyr in this situation. While I should not take on all of the blame, a relationship takes two people, and some of the blame is unquestionablly mine. It could be Karma -- but in any case the cycle needs to stop.
The last 50 days have been incredibly hard. Juicing was easy in comparison. As of today, I'd lost over 30 lbs. Normally, that last sentence would make me incredibly happy. I'm just not there. I have a lot of healing to do. And hopefully, happiness will follow.
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Humpty Dumpty
When I ran the Boston Half Marathon last October, the temperature was in the 80s. In the last 400 meters, I thought I was going to vomit. I wanted to stop there and then and give up. But the end was quite literally in sight, so I sucked it up and kept going.
If I was Humpty Dumpty, this is Wall Day. We all do dumb things sometimes, like an egg choosing to sit on a high wall. Maybe he was suffering long term shame and embarassment like Kal-El Cage, Pilot Inspektor Lee or Sage Moonblood Stallone. Maybe he jumped. Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And maybe he was pushed. All I know is he wasn't hard-boiled, and he did not survive.
I cannot tell you how long these 49 days have been. We all have ups and downs, but the downs have been really low. This one I saw coming. I stood there like a deer and headlights from the moment I heard the car start. I waited for the car to warm-up, I waited for it to get up to speed, I adjusted myself to be center on my mark -- for the Love of God, I think I may have paid for the gas -- and then I stood there and let it hit me, staring the driver squarely in the eye.
But I didn't feel it. I'm just numb. You can only be hit so many times (figuratively or literally) before you just don't feel it anymore. There are no tears left to cry. You just pack up your toys and go home. Exhausted.
Am I defeated? Was it the driver's fault or mine? I don't think there was a winner. Just survivors. Surviving is not the new winning. Charlie Sheen has left the building.
If I was Humpty Dumpty, this is Wall Day. We all do dumb things sometimes, like an egg choosing to sit on a high wall. Maybe he was suffering long term shame and embarassment like Kal-El Cage, Pilot Inspektor Lee or Sage Moonblood Stallone. Maybe he jumped. Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And maybe he was pushed. All I know is he wasn't hard-boiled, and he did not survive.
I cannot tell you how long these 49 days have been. We all have ups and downs, but the downs have been really low. This one I saw coming. I stood there like a deer and headlights from the moment I heard the car start. I waited for the car to warm-up, I waited for it to get up to speed, I adjusted myself to be center on my mark -- for the Love of God, I think I may have paid for the gas -- and then I stood there and let it hit me, staring the driver squarely in the eye.
But I didn't feel it. I'm just numb. You can only be hit so many times (figuratively or literally) before you just don't feel it anymore. There are no tears left to cry. You just pack up your toys and go home. Exhausted.
Am I defeated? Was it the driver's fault or mine? I don't think there was a winner. Just survivors. Surviving is not the new winning. Charlie Sheen has left the building.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
48 down, 2 to Go!
Yes, people, after today, I have 2 days left on my juice fast!
You heard me, "2"!!!
And, I road my bike to work today. So there!
How do you like them, apples!?!
The truth of the matter is, I'm not sure why I'm stopping now. I've gotten so used to juicing, that I actually want to stay this way. I'm not saying I'm never going to eat again. But food has always been my biggest addiction, and now it seems utterly unimportant. Food, and/or juice, now just feels like fuel. Do I want to pass-up my mother's eggplant? No, but how often do I have that anyway? A special occasion can still be special, but I don't need to eat big, starchy meals every day.
Controling hunger will be an interesting challenge. I know once I'm eating solids, I'm going to get hungry. I haven't been truly hungry in weeks! Food smells good, and once in a while when I'm sitting with someone who is eating, I have a craving. But cravings and hunger are two different things. Cravings will probably be a lot stronger, and more over-powering than hunger. Now, that's a scary notion!
Whatever happens this time around, I don't want to go backwards. What I've done takes too much control and willpower -- two things I now know I have in abundance -- so I'll need rely on those when the going gets tough. I need to keep my good habits like going to the gym instead of going for coffee. And when I go on vacation, I need to go back to normal when I get home, and not continue to eat like I'm on vacation. Oh! And just because it's vegan, doesn't mean it's not full of 'sugar' of one sort or another -- let's face it, French Fries are vegan.
Next week, I have a doctor's appointment, where I'm sure I'll do a whole battery of tests like cholesterol and such. I will do a posting with those results when they're in. I'll also let you know about eating, and how my body reacts in the first few days.
Thank you all for being so supportive, and so gracious!
You heard me, "2"!!!
And, I road my bike to work today. So there!
How do you like them, apples!?!
The truth of the matter is, I'm not sure why I'm stopping now. I've gotten so used to juicing, that I actually want to stay this way. I'm not saying I'm never going to eat again. But food has always been my biggest addiction, and now it seems utterly unimportant. Food, and/or juice, now just feels like fuel. Do I want to pass-up my mother's eggplant? No, but how often do I have that anyway? A special occasion can still be special, but I don't need to eat big, starchy meals every day.
Controling hunger will be an interesting challenge. I know once I'm eating solids, I'm going to get hungry. I haven't been truly hungry in weeks! Food smells good, and once in a while when I'm sitting with someone who is eating, I have a craving. But cravings and hunger are two different things. Cravings will probably be a lot stronger, and more over-powering than hunger. Now, that's a scary notion!
Whatever happens this time around, I don't want to go backwards. What I've done takes too much control and willpower -- two things I now know I have in abundance -- so I'll need rely on those when the going gets tough. I need to keep my good habits like going to the gym instead of going for coffee. And when I go on vacation, I need to go back to normal when I get home, and not continue to eat like I'm on vacation. Oh! And just because it's vegan, doesn't mean it's not full of 'sugar' of one sort or another -- let's face it, French Fries are vegan.
Next week, I have a doctor's appointment, where I'm sure I'll do a whole battery of tests like cholesterol and such. I will do a posting with those results when they're in. I'll also let you know about eating, and how my body reacts in the first few days.
Thank you all for being so supportive, and so gracious!
Monday, April 2, 2012
A Belt
A belt is a relatively simple device. It holds your pants up. It can sometimes just be a fashion accessory, but for the most part it holds your pants up.
I've never needed one as there has never been any chance my pants would fall down. There was enough of me for my pants to hold on to, and sometimes, there was more than enough. So, I can say with certainty, that it's been years since I've worn a belt. Until today . . .
I am wearing a belt with my smallest jeans. I am 4 days from my goal, and I have lost 29 lbs. The one thing I can say with certainty is that while I would not like to see any of those 29 lbs again, I will. Just putting solids in my system will put some weight on. I can live with that. But I would like to continue the downward trend. My hope is that I have reset my system enough that I can continue to mainain the way I have been feeling, continue the weighloss and stay in my smaller jeans. In the past, I have done well coming off my juice fasts. I'd put about 5 lbs back on. But when I went back on dairy, I lost all control. The weight came flying back on, and there was no stopping it. Nothing felt good, and I was depressed. Or at the very least, stuck in a rut. I don't want to go back there.
It would be a lie to say that I'm not looking forward to eating again. I am. I really am. Food will be new and exciting all over again. This time, I hope that I listen to my body, and give it what it needs to stay healthy. Your body does its very best to communicate what makes it happy and healthy. We all just need to listen more closely.
PS
Johnny is still in his first 6 weeks of chemo. He's been taking his medicine like a champ, and has only gotten sick to his stomach once. (A known side-effect.) We go back to Boston on Friday the 13th to see if it's starting to have an effect on him. Fingers crossed!!!
I've never needed one as there has never been any chance my pants would fall down. There was enough of me for my pants to hold on to, and sometimes, there was more than enough. So, I can say with certainty, that it's been years since I've worn a belt. Until today . . .
I am wearing a belt with my smallest jeans. I am 4 days from my goal, and I have lost 29 lbs. The one thing I can say with certainty is that while I would not like to see any of those 29 lbs again, I will. Just putting solids in my system will put some weight on. I can live with that. But I would like to continue the downward trend. My hope is that I have reset my system enough that I can continue to mainain the way I have been feeling, continue the weighloss and stay in my smaller jeans. In the past, I have done well coming off my juice fasts. I'd put about 5 lbs back on. But when I went back on dairy, I lost all control. The weight came flying back on, and there was no stopping it. Nothing felt good, and I was depressed. Or at the very least, stuck in a rut. I don't want to go back there.
It would be a lie to say that I'm not looking forward to eating again. I am. I really am. Food will be new and exciting all over again. This time, I hope that I listen to my body, and give it what it needs to stay healthy. Your body does its very best to communicate what makes it happy and healthy. We all just need to listen more closely.
PS
Johnny is still in his first 6 weeks of chemo. He's been taking his medicine like a champ, and has only gotten sick to his stomach once. (A known side-effect.) We go back to Boston on Friday the 13th to see if it's starting to have an effect on him. Fingers crossed!!!
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
The Center Seat
For anyone who has traveled on the NYC subway system, you will know that the least coveted seat is the center seat. Wedged between two strangers, your experience can vary from being a pillow for a sleepy traveler, being elbowed between the Times and the Post, having your olfactory senses assaulted or just a ride on the subway. The possibilities are truly endless. And it sure beats standing. But the center seats go last, and if your train is crowded, it may be the only option you have of sitting down . . . if you can fit.
There comes a point when you're gaining weight that you don't even see center seats anymore. It's not really a seat at least. It's just some sliver of orange between two seated people. It couldn't possibly have been meant for a whole person!?! I remember someone telling me that our train cars were purchased in Japan, and they were designed for smaller people. (Yeah, and there are alligators in the sewers too.) One day, as a traveler tried to take that leftover sliver of orange, he fell onto my friends lap, and began to public berate her for being too fat. Though she was sitting there minding her own business, it was suddenly her fault he had no balance. Whatever happened to "Excuse me!"?
I think that story has always stuck in my mind because it frightens me. As a kid, I was teased all the time for my weight. As an adult, even in my thinner phases, I've received comments from strangers that were more than unkind and unnecessary. So, the idea of the center seat -- horrifying. Until now.
I fit, comfortably in the center seat again. It's not spacious. But it's not spacious unless you're under 9 years old. Once your feet can touch the floor, it's over. I can sit without feeling like the person next to me is going to pout and get all bent out of shape about it. It may be a silly thing to get excited over, but who cares!?! It's mine and I will have it! Next week, I start riding my bike to work again, so let me enjoy this while it lasts!
41 days. 26.5 lbs. 9 days to go. It has been an epic journey. My friends have been so supportive, and I love you all dearly. Thank you for letting me be melodramatic, and thank you for always being there.
No man is a failure who has friends.
There comes a point when you're gaining weight that you don't even see center seats anymore. It's not really a seat at least. It's just some sliver of orange between two seated people. It couldn't possibly have been meant for a whole person!?! I remember someone telling me that our train cars were purchased in Japan, and they were designed for smaller people. (Yeah, and there are alligators in the sewers too.) One day, as a traveler tried to take that leftover sliver of orange, he fell onto my friends lap, and began to public berate her for being too fat. Though she was sitting there minding her own business, it was suddenly her fault he had no balance. Whatever happened to "Excuse me!"?
I think that story has always stuck in my mind because it frightens me. As a kid, I was teased all the time for my weight. As an adult, even in my thinner phases, I've received comments from strangers that were more than unkind and unnecessary. So, the idea of the center seat -- horrifying. Until now.
I fit, comfortably in the center seat again. It's not spacious. But it's not spacious unless you're under 9 years old. Once your feet can touch the floor, it's over. I can sit without feeling like the person next to me is going to pout and get all bent out of shape about it. It may be a silly thing to get excited over, but who cares!?! It's mine and I will have it! Next week, I start riding my bike to work again, so let me enjoy this while it lasts!
41 days. 26.5 lbs. 9 days to go. It has been an epic journey. My friends have been so supportive, and I love you all dearly. Thank you for letting me be melodramatic, and thank you for always being there.
No man is a failure who has friends.
Monday, March 26, 2012
Dehydration . . .
This may sound ridiculous . . . but I actually got dehydrated. I didn't think it was possible either, but I managed it.
I know . . . I've been in a funk as of late. Apparently melodrama is overrated. What can I say? It's been the worst couple of months. Worse than I could ever imagine -- and the juice cleanse had nothing to do with. In all honesty, I think if it weren't for the juice cleanse I would not have gotten out of bed for a few weeks.
But I am on the home stretch -- the point where you start thinking about food again. I wanted fried clams yesterday. I haven't had fried clams in 25 years. But Kelley's fried clams, and fries, AND onion rings sounded really good to me. No, I would not eat them even if you put them in front of me even when I get off the fast -- well, maybe the fries, but definitely not the clams. Peanut butter on whole wheat toast may be all I need. Followed by a nap so my body can process it. Or Indian food . . . mmm . . . Indian food.
Okay -- that was enough of that. This is only day 38, and while the end is nigh, it ain't that nigh.
So far, I have lost 25.5 lbs. My BMI has gone from 28.9, or 1.1 away from obesity, to 24.9 which is the top end of normal weight for my height. Who knew that when I woke up this morning, I would be normal? I am in the 38th percentile, meaning that 52 % of people have a higher BMI than I. I started running again this morning in preparation for a 5k in three weeks -- I've procrastinated worse than that before. I did a little over a 5k this morning with no issues other than being very slow. Attending yoga a few times a week, and hitting Zumba, Hip Hop (by accident -- so not graceful), Beach Body (class almost killed me -- it was like going to boot camp for lunch), I hope will have me in shape to start riding my bike to work next week. Manhattan Bridge, here I come!
I would like to say that I am happy with my body now, but I can't. I do feel much, much better, and feel much better about how I look in clothes. But I can't be the only one who always wants to be thinner, can I? You get to a certain point, and feel like if only I could lose 20 more or 10 more lbs, then I would be "happy". I weighed 149 in grad school, but always wanted to be 135. I have never weighed 135 in my life, except on the way up during adolescence. I have no idea what it would be like to weigh that much or what I would even look like -- but that number has been stuck in my head for a decade. Would 135 make me "happy"? No, but accepting myself where I am might.
I know . . . I've been in a funk as of late. Apparently melodrama is overrated. What can I say? It's been the worst couple of months. Worse than I could ever imagine -- and the juice cleanse had nothing to do with. In all honesty, I think if it weren't for the juice cleanse I would not have gotten out of bed for a few weeks.
But I am on the home stretch -- the point where you start thinking about food again. I wanted fried clams yesterday. I haven't had fried clams in 25 years. But Kelley's fried clams, and fries, AND onion rings sounded really good to me. No, I would not eat them even if you put them in front of me even when I get off the fast -- well, maybe the fries, but definitely not the clams. Peanut butter on whole wheat toast may be all I need. Followed by a nap so my body can process it. Or Indian food . . . mmm . . . Indian food.
Okay -- that was enough of that. This is only day 38, and while the end is nigh, it ain't that nigh.
So far, I have lost 25.5 lbs. My BMI has gone from 28.9, or 1.1 away from obesity, to 24.9 which is the top end of normal weight for my height. Who knew that when I woke up this morning, I would be normal? I am in the 38th percentile, meaning that 52 % of people have a higher BMI than I. I started running again this morning in preparation for a 5k in three weeks -- I've procrastinated worse than that before. I did a little over a 5k this morning with no issues other than being very slow. Attending yoga a few times a week, and hitting Zumba, Hip Hop (by accident -- so not graceful), Beach Body (class almost killed me -- it was like going to boot camp for lunch), I hope will have me in shape to start riding my bike to work next week. Manhattan Bridge, here I come!
I would like to say that I am happy with my body now, but I can't. I do feel much, much better, and feel much better about how I look in clothes. But I can't be the only one who always wants to be thinner, can I? You get to a certain point, and feel like if only I could lose 20 more or 10 more lbs, then I would be "happy". I weighed 149 in grad school, but always wanted to be 135. I have never weighed 135 in my life, except on the way up during adolescence. I have no idea what it would be like to weigh that much or what I would even look like -- but that number has been stuck in my head for a decade. Would 135 make me "happy"? No, but accepting myself where I am might.
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