A Goal Deferred

So, friends, tomorrow is the day of reckoning:  Thanksgiving.  No, I'm not worried about the ridiculous amount of calories I will consume between tomorrow morning and Sunday evening in first-rounds, second-rounds, leftovers, turkey sandwiches, turkey pot pies, turkey open-face sandwiches for when you run low on bread and the grocery store shelves are bare until Monday...

Folks, I won't beat around the bush.  Last night, I packed my things for my very "over the river and through the woods" weekend road trips to celebrate this time of gratitude with the people I love.  I put clothes, shoes, jewelry, and jackets (more than I'd ever need for four days) into a suitcase and rolled it on out to my car.  Do you want to guess what was blatantly missing from my fashion repertoire for the weekend?  My Thanksgiving Goal Dresses.  (Hangs head in shame.)

I knew going into this week that I hadn't been as successful as I'd wanted to be.  I feel as though I've rollercoastered over the course of the last few weeks since my open proclamation of my goals and intentions to fit into these dresses by tomorrow.  I know I lost a few pounds and then think I gained them back.  Primary Reason/Excuse #1 has been a nerve issue I've been having with my leg.  Something is hating on me right now and it starts at the back of my leg, runs along the front, and all the way down to my ankle.  Like a constant, slow, burning, awfulness.  It is not the least bit inspiring me to go to the gym, which only relieves the pain momentarily and then makes it come back with a vengeance.  It has actually been exhausting me to the point of falling asleep on the couch like an old woman by 9:00 p.m. on a Saturday and has required me to live and die by the presence of Advil in my purse.

Yesterday, as fate would have it, I decided I'd had enough after almost a month of dealing with the pain.  I'd been to a chiropractor several times and he had suggested some stretches that were again only momentary relief.  I'm not a fan of prescription "band-aid" remedies, but with the holidays approaching and impending automobile travel, I couldn't stomach the thought of my left leg putting me out of commission.  I went to my doctor.  Of course, you're always welcomed into any doctor's office with a "Hello, Melanie, please step up on the scale here..." greeting that always starts the visit on a positive note (sarcasm).  As I looked down at the digital screen that I couldn't argue with, reality set in.  I had not lost a single pound.  Worse still, I hadn't even lost a single ounce.

Turns out I probably have a sciatica issue or a pinched nerve.  So, I'll survive.  And it still leaves the Primary Reason #2 that I haven't lost any weight... you know, the one about me being lazy and overeating.

So, I didn't bother even trying the dresses on last night.  They've hung beautifully on the back of my bedroom door for weeks now and I've almost gotten to the point where their presence there is overlooked (except at night when they eerily resemble a body standing in my doorway), so their inspiration is probably lost on me.  I need something else to inspire me to fit into them.  Because obviously looking stunningly cute in either of them on Thanksgiving Day with a pair of matching knee-high boots and contrasting jewelry wasn't enough.  And it's only going to get harder as Christmas approaches.  And I refuse to be a January 1st Resolutioner.  No band wagons for this chickadee.

So, in tribute to my beautiful dresses, I leave you with their image and ask for suggestions of how to jump-start some weight loss in the midst of the most glorious culinary season of the year.  I will be successful.  These dresses will get on my body in an appropriate, non-buttons-popping way.

P.S. I did have a fashion highlight this past weekend that I'd like to share... I was able to fit beautifully into my absolute favorite slinky red dress that I bought for a cruise back in April.  As it easily zipped up the back, I stopped holding my breath, exhaled, (let my stomach return to a natural position) and grinned confidently in the mirror.  This dress is four sizes smaller than what I wore this time a year and a half ago.  Although I may not have hit this Thanksgiving goal, I need reminders like this that I have come a long way, baby.

Halloween & Other Speedbumps

So, I had these grandiose visions of jumping right back into my old "Healthy foods are great!  I love eating vegetables!  Yucko to french fries and grease!  Bring on the fiber and protein!" habits.  After posting last week and being all gung-ho about it mentally, the real world reminded me that it is not as smooth of a transition as I am able to portray it to be.

I seem to have set myself up for the ultimate weight-loss challenge:  cold weather, which always equals an insatiable desire for comfort foods like chicken pot pie, apple cobbler, and hearty chili; Halloween, also known as "The holiday that gives child-less adults a valid reason for stocking their pantries full of candy" (and by candy, I mean chocolate, of course); followed by Thanksgiving (no explanation or clarification necessary); and Christmas.  Christmas... in all of its sugar-cookied, frosted, candied, hot chocolated, goodness.  There isn't a whole lot of wiggle room there for creative points-counting or turning perfectly amazing recipes into something more Weight-Watchers-friendly and still delicious.  And who I am trying to kid?  Sugar cookies made from Splenda are edible, yes.  Crave-worthy with a glass of ice, cold milk?  No.  No, they are not.  Plus, Splenda doesn't quite have that crystal-like consistency that makes decorating them half the fun.

But, don't get me wrong.  I'm not the kind of girl who will suffer through the holidays munching on celery sticks and carrots all reindeer-style while those around me are bringing the figgy pudding and roasting chestnuts on an open fire, simply to avoid gaining an ounce (or pound... or ton) or two.  But, last year, I had clearly established a trend of healthy eating long before the weather changed.  I'd set myself up well for the potential of putting on a few pounds.  This year, however, I not only need to lose the six pounds that I've re-gained (I need to name these six pounds... something ugly.), but start a trend of losing the pounds that I had already ear-marked for eviction before my relapse.

I'm talking a big game too.  To listen to me, you'd think I've been a professional trainer myself for years.  "Weight training, when paired with cardio exercise, will help you burn calories long after you've finished exercising and will make you stronger for future routines," I spouted off yesterday, like I was some kind of bodybuilding authoritarian.  Feel free to go back and read that quote in your snarkiest inner-monologue.  I deserve it. I need someone to stand next to me in these self-righteous moments and remind me that I'm the kid who failed the President's Challenge in third grade.  And by failed it, I mean it took me like three times as long as anyone else in the third grade to run the mile.  Clarification:  walk the mile.  No certificate for this chickadee.  Only looks of shock and disgust from your stereotypical, mid-1980's, elementary school PE teachers.  I'm sure the President was not amused either.  Anyway.  If I can't walk the walk (literally and figuratively), I shouldn't be talking the talk.

I'm scheduled to go to the gym tonight and meet my trainer for the first time in two weeks.  This will happen.  Beyond a shadow of a doubt.  And I intend to tell him to kick my butt up one side of that gym and down the other.  I've been slacking because I've been sick and trying desperately to rest and recover.  But, it seems that the only resting I've been doing is not attending my sessions at the gym.  Life has rolled on at its usual chaotic pace in all other aspects with me right there, sniffling and coughing the whole time, going gangbusters without missing a beat.  So, why, why can't I get back in the groove?  It takes two weeks to establish a habit, or so I've been told.  What can I do over the course of the next two weeks to motivate myself to get off my behind and go spend an hour in the gym instead of in front of the television?

I've got my Goal Dresses hanging in plain view in my bedroom to remind me of that reward come November 22, but I've lost that inner-determination and honest desire to go to the gym.  I used to look forward to it, crave it, want to go, even miss it on days that I didn't get there.  Now, it's like "Eh..."  Maybe if I'm able to get the train moving in the right direction again, I'll feel inspired by success and find that inner-gym-rat who, not so long ago, was disgusting people with my incessant Facebook check-ins at LA Fitness.

What have you done to get over the plateau, friends?  What methods have you used to trick yourself into motivation?

Out with the Old and Into the New... Almost

The actual pile of my clothes...
impressive, huh?

About six months ago, I decided that it was high time I stopped wearing clothes that no longer fit me.  Perusing my closet each day before work, I noticed that I was sorting through dozens of tops and pants that were no longer in daily consideration because they looked like I was wearing my big sister's clothes.  Why was I keeping them?  I never wanted to wear them again based on their sizes, so why were they taking up valuable closet  room?  I read an article about weight loss that said keeping old, too big clothing is a mental thing.  It's a safety net.  It's me not totally trusting  my ability to lose the weight and keep it off.  It's me allowing myself room to fail.  Ain't happening.  So, I decided it was high time that I got rid of the physical embodiment of the old Melanie.

It took about two hours to go through my entire closet.  I tried on every single item of clothing in it.  If it didn't fit me, it was gone.  I stood there, pulling pants and shirts off hangers, trying them on, checking out the mirror in front of me, and then hurling them into a pile on my bedroom floor.  And the pile got bigger and bigger and bigger.  If I had thought about how much I'd spent on all those shirts, skirts, pants, suits, sweaters, dresses, I'd probably have cried.  I tried diligently to sever the emotional ties to things I loved or items that were particularly nice and to remember that I could buy all new, beautiful, smaller things now.  Goodwill was about to hit the plus-sized mother lode.

Flash forward to a few weeks ago. I'd had a fight with my closet that morning and couldn't find a single thing to wear.  I literally stood in front of my still-pretty-well-stocked walk-in closet for several minutes, completely stumped by what to put on my body that day.  I'd try things on, look at myself, and reject them in disgust for some various reason that probably only I could see.  My sweet boyfriend was very patient with me and kindly suggested that we use that afternoon to do a little retail therapy/closet replenishment.  And who I am to argue with that?

I pride myself on my ability to not only look cute (most of the time) and make good fashion choices, but to do so in the most inexpensive way possible.  Call it frugal, call it cheap, I call it being smart, call it whatever you want.  But, I'm a girl who loves a bargain.  So, when we were in Kohl's immediately following my battle royale with my closet, and I spotted two super cute dresses for an amazing price, I couldn't resist.

I had a coupon and both dresses together ended up costing $30, when each was originally marked for $40.  They're exactly the same except the color and will look amazingly good with my pair of knee-high, light brown boots.  And maybe some leggings.  Or even a scarf.  And colorful earrings.  And bangle bracelets. I digress.  When I spotted them, I grabbed the size that I thought I could wear, eye-balled the very crowded fitting room and decided that I wanted nothing to do with it.  We were in a bit of a rush, meeting a friend and her husband for lunch, so I scooted up to the cashier, checked out, and we headed to the car.  Later that afternoon, I was giddy to try them on and show them off.

Cute, right?

Much to my dismay and slight surprise based on the size, they didn't fit.  I mean, they fit on my body.  I could button them.  If I inhaled and held my breath the entire time I was wearing them.  And sucked in every body part possible.  And didn't move my arms so that the buttons didn't pop open.  So, you know, they get on my body.  I was bummed, but saw an opportunity.

I decided that these two dresses would become Goal Dresses.  I'm probably 5-10 pounds away from looking freaking awesome in both of them.  So, I'm setting a public goal here and now.  A good weight loss goal is based on about two pounds a week.  If I start now, I should be able to fit comfortably into both of them by Thanksgiving.  So, hear ye, hear ye.  I will wear one of these dresses with my cute boots (and maybe some leggings, and definitely some trendy jewelry) on Thanksgiving Day.  And post the picture on this blog.

Goal #1:  Wear one of my Goal Dresses on Thanksgiving Day, Thursday, November 22.
Total Weight Loss Necessary to Meet Goal:  10 pounds
Days to Complete:  28
Weight Loss Per Day: 0.3 pounds

Total doable.  Watch me.

Overdue Weigh-In

So, I had lunch with a relatively new friend yesterday (let me clarify... we've been friends on Facebook for years because I know her parents, and she was a beloved follower of my other blog, "Lost in Singledom" before we ever met in person), and she commented on how much she loved "Breaking Up With the Couch."  I had to think about it for a second.  What is she talking about?  OH yeah... my other blog!

I apologize to the two of you who are probably even still the slightest bit interested in anything I have to say on this blog and if you happen to stumble across this in a random Google search one day and remember having read a few posts years ago, please know that I have pretty valid excuses for my absence.

First and foremost, my life is very different than it was the last time I posted on this blog.  All in good ways, thankfully, well, mostly.  I'll get to that.  Since my last weight-loss-inspired post, I have gotten a new job (with a much longer, much more awful commute) and started a new relationship with an amazing guy.  The combination of a longer commute, shorter at-home time for meal preparation and gym festivities, eating out on dates, and generally laying around and enjoying life have contributed to an addition of a few "happy pounds."  (I'm not sure how I feel about the term "happy pounds," to be honest.  I know they are acquired because you are happy, but I'm not happy to have them around.  I'm quite the opposite, actually.)  To stay true to the ethos of this blog, I will be honest and say that I have gained back six of the almost forty pounds I lost previously.

I know, I know.  Six pounds?!, you say.  That's no big deal.  That's not even a clothing size.  But, it is a big deal.  The train is moving in the wrong direction.  I worked very hard to lose those six pounds, sweating endlessly on stairclimbers, running on treadmills until my knees ached, lifting weights until my muscles shook.  They have no right to be back, especially this soon after having been evicted.

I'm in no way blaming anyone other than myself.  I could have gotten my behind out of bed on any of the dozens of Saturdays since you last heard from me and dragged it to the gym.  I could have ordered steamed vegetables instead of loaded baked potatoes or french fries at any of the countless restaurants at which I've spent time and money over the course of the last nine months.  I could have tracked my points in Weight Watchers instead of just paying for the monthly service and hoping that some kind of online osmosis process would log them from my brain (which apparently is not a reliable calculator for such things) to the plan manager.  But, I didn't.  Contrary to popular belief, I am not infallible.  And I am overweight.

So, Monday was the line in the sand.  After celebrating my niece's fifth birthday this weekend with about twenty of our closest relatives and friends and a ten-layer "Yo Gabba Gabba"-themed birthday cake covered in delicious fondant, I decided that it was high time I got my nose back to the grindstone.  I miss the feeling of losing weight.  I miss looking at myself in the mirror and doing a double-take, almost not recognizing the body standing in front of me.  I miss my clothes getting bigger with each passing week and the constant decision of whether or not I could just buy a belt and make these pants go a few more weeks until I'm a size smaller.  I dread the thought of not fitting into the new sizes hanging in my closet now and refuse, absolutely, unequivocally, vehemently refuse to purchase anything bigger at any point.  For the rest of my life.

And besides the clothing and fashion aspect of losing and then maintaining weight, I'm no spring chicken anymore.  I recently got sick and there was a lot of use of terms like "...at your age..." and "...you should start to consider..." at the doctor's office.  How the hell did that happen so fast?!  But, my amnesia of the first portion of my adult life is no excuse.  I need to take better care of myself now so I can be around and healthy and active as long as possible.

So, expect to see regular, real-world updates as I work to maintain the success that I had before and strive to turn the train around back towards Weight-Loss-ville.  I'll rely on you for motivation, encouragement, and challenges.  Keep me in check, friends.  Don't let me go longer than a week without updating you, regardless of whether or not the news is good.  Hold me accountable.

Lying Scales & Mental Roadblocks

So, with the holidays now firmly planted in the 'Ghosts of Christmas Past' category, I decided that it was high time that I jumped back into my regular workout and dieting routine.  Don't get me wrong, I didn't stray too far from the course, but did allow myself to stop counting Weight Watchers points from about Thanksgiving to New Year's, while still watching what I ate.  And by watching, I mean, looking at my hand as I put it in my mouth.  I didn't go too crazy and amazingly didn't gain any weight (technically... we'll get to that) but I splurged on a Reese's Christmas Tree or gingerbread man ocassionally.  And by ocassionally, I mean...

Through Christmas (and the last time I blogged... I'm such a slacker), I kept at my regular training sessions and continued my cardio routine, but surprisingly noticed a serious difference in my weight loss attempts.  It could very well be all to do with the fact that I wasn't counting points, but I think my training for the 5K wasn't working the miracles that the stairclimber was previously.  I started paying more attention to the scale to see if that could possibly be true.  I even got frustrated enough to consider a pretty strict body-building diet on recommendation from my trainer who is entering an online contest to win $100,000 for body transformation in twelve weeks.  I'd happily judge him and give him $100,000.  I digress.

In my pursuits of determining the reason behind my sudden plateau, I started using various scales (partly to find one that gave me the results I was looking for).  While working out with my brother-in-law in my hometown, I got on one of those old fashioned ones that you have to slide the weights across until it balances  (you know... the one that you stand there praying to sweet, baby Jesus you don't have to push that second giant weight over and that if you do, you can somehow manage to use your monumental size to block it from the view of others.  Yeah... I've never done that.  Ever.).  I stood there is shock and awe.  "Can these things be wrong?," I asked my brother-in-law.  "Yeah," he replied, "but they're more accurate than most."  Dear God.  I've been duped.  Conned into believing the inaccuracies and downright lies of the gym scale. 

Friends... this is a hard pill to swallow. After comparing the various scales in multiple locations, I have come to the conclusion that I have been misquoting my actual weight loss.  By ten freaking pounds.  (Hangs head.  Wipes away a tear.)  And it's weird... although I haven't actually gained weigh. I'm the same weight I was with a correct scale or an incorrect scale, but it feels like I've lost ground.  Kind of like I've back-tracked.

But, it just proves how much of a mental game this weight loss thing really is.  Even though I wasn't actually losing as much weight as I thought I was, it kicked my butt into high gear when I thought the pounds were melting off of me.  Once I started feeling the plateau, I got discouraged, stopped paying attention and stopped losing weight.  I recently learned this lesson in the gym too.

Yup... I'm going to look like her.  Just wait...

While my brother-in-law and I were working out over my Christmas vacation, we were doing shoulder presses at an insanely high weight.  I kept backing off the weight and eventually got down to the lightest amount.  Still pushing beyond belief, I just took the pin out and cranked out the last ten reps like a pro.  He stood by watching and as soon as I finished, he said "You know you just psyched yourself into finishing those, right?"  He explained that taking the pin out made absolutely no difference in the weight; I just thought it was lighter because I didn't know any better.  Silly, girl.  Same thing happened with my trainer last night (before I almost killed him... note to gym-goers.  If your trainer or gym buddy sets a dumbbell on its end on one of those rubber floors and then bends down to fix his shoe, be prepared to grab it before it hits him in the head.  I resisted the urge to tell him I'd happily provide mouth-to-mouth services if he felt like he was going to stop breathing after this incident.).  We were doing some pretty aggressive pulls to increase my strength with some obscure shoulder blade muscle and he had to help me pull it a few times.  At one point, he took his hand off mine (sad face) halfway through the rep and there was no difference.  I was able to manage the weight because my brain had been convinced that he was helping me, when in reality, he just had his hand on mine.  In his infinite fitness wisdom, he shared that so much of success in training is mental.  You have to believe that you can do something, even if a part of you thinks it isn't physically possible.  You are your biggest champion.  If you think you're going to fail, then of course you will.  Think about the rep that you are on, don't anticipate the tenth or twelfth or fifteenth rep when you're finished.  Focus on each one and get the most out of the moment.  Pretty wise, not just for fitness, but life in general.

So, instead of the usual New Year's Resolutions (by the way, my gym is packed.  I hate to root against anyone, but I'm looking forward to February when all of these resolution-ers have gotten back to their old ways.)  that include things like losing weight or adding exercise or dieting, I'm resolving to work on my mental cheering squad.  I have to believe and visualize that I'm going to reach  my goals, whatever they are.  I have to envision myself wearing that tank top this summer with super toned arms or how awesome my calves are going to look in heels in another month or so of using the stairclimber or running across the finish line at that 5K.  I have to be my own pep squad every single day.  Lying scales or not, I'm kicking ass and taking names.  And thus begins my 2012 resolution.

Good Things

So, bear with  me.  This post has almost nothing to do with weight  loss, weight training, cardio, diet or fitness.  But, stand by.  My trainer has promised me a great diet plan to help me jump start my weight loss again (I'm slimming down, but the scale isn't moving) and I promise to share it with you if you promise to read this post that is a bit more touchy-feely than my usual.  Pinky promise.

Sometimes I think that personal trainers must feel a lot like bartenders.  Although they're paid for their expertise and the services that they can provide, they're probably often called upon to serve as mini therapists.  Or maybe I'm the only one who creates ridiculously close relationships with people at the drop of a hat and probably shares entirely too much about my personal and professional lives within an abnormally short period of time.  But, really, are you surprised?  Surely not.

Over the last three months, I've gotten to know my trainer and he's gotten to know me (except he didn't know how much older I am than he is until just last night, but that's another long and sad story... I digress.) and we've talked about a lot of various facets of our lives.  He knows my current relationship status (somehow I'd like to convince him to personally change that...), he knows what I do for a living, he knows where I work, where I live, where I grew up, what I drive...  We're pretty much kindred spirits.

So, when things at work starting going not-so-fun over the last few weeks, obviously, my trainer was aware, even so much as to say moderately informed.  I kept the boring and office-specific details to a minimum, but he got the gist.  Usually, he'd start the conversation with "How are you?, how's work?," to which I'd respond with "Eh, it's okay."  Last night, I lead with "Today was stupid."  We've definitely gotten to the place where he can recognize variances in my responses (for example, when I lift weights, I keep my swearing to a minimum if it's just basically uncomfortable.  If I use a particular, rather heavy duty swear word, he knows that I'm in actual pain).  He recognized this variance.  I'm usually a very positive person, but every now and then, I need some time to dump out all the garbage, and poor Michael got the brunt of that dump.

We talked for a while while I was working on my back muscles (in a total G-rated way), which is much harder than you'd think.  He listened, encouraged me to express my opinions to those within positions of authority and go to bat for myself.  He told me that he could tell I was gaining confidence and should use that to my advantage.  I appreciated that and we kind of moved on to another conversation.  But, a few minutes later, he interrupted my generalized professional complaint by telling me that he knew that good things were going to happen to me out of this; that so many people in his life had had good things happen to them lately and he knew the same thing was going to happen for me.  He had no doubt, he shared, that I would come out on top, because I'm a good person and the future is bright for me.

I almost cried.  And I almost hugged him.  Again, in a completely G-rated way.  He was so genuine that I almost asked him if he knew something that I didn't.

I'm so thankful for one "good thing" in having made the decision to get a personal trainer and that I got one that is concerned about my entire well being.  And is hot.  You knew I was going to say it.  I couldn't let you down.

P.S. Earlier today, my office moved from one floor to another.  During the shuffle, my coworker spotted a a wayward fortune from a cookie.  I usually save those if they're good, but keep them in my wallet.  Knowing it must have been mine from my desk or somewhere I'd stowed it before putting it in my wallet, I asked him what it said.  He started with explaining that it was a new fortune now since I didn't remember what it said and then read, "You will be in receipt of good things in the future."  I know...crazy.

Keeping Kleenex in Business

So, I spent the day in three places:  the doctor's office, the pharmacy waiting area and the couch.  There's no denying it and no way around it.  I'm officially sick.  Doctor verified.  Surrounded by Kleenex, random bottles of over-the-counter decongestants, glasses tinted pink from remnants of wild berry flavored Emergen-C, wrapped in blankets, dressed in pajamas and two pairs of socks kind of sick.  After two hours in the Urgent Care clinic (which I think is completely false advertising), my doctor-on-the-spot determined that my malady dujour is a sinus infection.  She actually led with "How many sinus infections have you had in your life?"  To which I responded, "I lost count."  I was immediately prescribed a significant dosage of amoxicillin, told to take it easy, relax, get lots of fluids and "don't push yourself too hard or you'll set yourself back a few days."

Wait... what?  I stopped her before she gave me a lollipop, patted me on the head and sent me on my way.  "So... I'm supposed to run in a 5K on Saturday (here comes the childlike pleading) and I've been training now for a while and super pumped about it (all this time she had this look on her face like 'Silly girl') and if I can just get rid of all of this congestion and breathe, I can do it, right?  Right?" Uh, no.  No, I can't run a 5K in twenty degree weather forty-eight hours after starting antibiotics to nip an extreme sinus infection that makes just the vibration of talking send waves of pain through my face.  Silly girl.

So, despite the super cute matching running outfit, grown up underoos, and armband for my phone I purchased that are all anxiously awaiting their first usage, I'm grounded.  No running, no training, no nothing until I feel better.  And after two doses of the amoxicillan, there is no light at the end of the tunnel.  I canceled my appointment with my trainer tonight and am tentatively scheduled to see him this weekend, but he agreed that rest and fluids were going to be much better than sweating and working out.  Urgh.

Never in my life have I set a goal that revolved around anything physical, so this feeling of disappointment based on something completely out of my control and hinged on my health is totally new to me.  I've been disappointed by not being able to do things in my life, sure, but not something that I've trained for, mentally prepared myself for and intentionally told the world I was going to accomplish in an effort to hold myself accountable.  Part of me is afraid that people will think I'm wimping out or just didn't want to do it, so had my doctor been wishy-washy about it, I might have forced myself through it just to counteract that probably ridiculous fear.  But, as I sit here waiting for the antibiotics to kick in and do something, while wiping my nose incessantly and guzzling water and green tea, I know that physically it would have wiped me out.  And, at the end of the day, I want to finish.  If I went through it and ended up crashing and burning because I didn't know my own physical limits, I'd probably be more upset than I am now to just miss the whole thing.  Urgh... trying hard to stay positive.

A dear friend of mine told me tonight (while I was complaining about this very thing on Facebook) that I inspire her with my determination and drive to change my life and make it what I want.  But, that God puts obstacles like sickness in our lives to tell us to slow down a bit and rest.  The silver lining is that another friend sent me a link to another 5K in late January for an equally wonderful local cause, giving me another month and a half to train.  Maybe... just maybe... I'll be able to run the whole thing with another month and a half to train.

Of course, I'll keep you posted.

P.S. Have you tried the yoga ball ab workout yet?