A Pedometer

It is a good start.  I can do 6,000 on a busy day with my toddler.  10,000 is the goal.  Trying not to feel guilty when I don't hit it.  Time to take a walk.

Working Out

So. Very. Sweaty.
Trying to squeeze workouts in when I can. I belong to a gym and it is about 20 min away. I find that when I go, I can't help but run other errands nearby so it turns into an event where I'm gone for hours and I feel guilty and rushed for being gone so long.
Ripped in 30 is my go-to home workout. 30 min, sweating my literal ass off. It's a great, multi-muscle/cardio workout. I'm finding I really don't put the DVD at the very end of my day, while a load of laundry is in the dryer. Getting started too late means I've been passing out on the couch and waking up when C leaves for work.
Just yesterday I picked up a fitbit pedometer. I've known 10,000 steps a day is the goal and now that N is 2 I've been wondering how many steps I do chasing him, never mind exercising...the answer to that is 12,000. At least it was today. Going to keep that going to make sure I always get 10,000 steps in minimum. Workouts will be extra.
Keeping it short tonight. Too tired to get into the emotional side tonight.

Starting with memories

Its because I have to.  Leading up to now there have been many false starts.  My mom struggled with weight and body issues from the time I was born (before?) through right this second.  She didn't know to or know how to teach me about a healthy diet and exercise.  Portion sizes didn't exist in my house.  The ice cream bowl was as big as you made it.  It was OK to have 2 bagels with cream cheese for breakfast and pasta plates were piled high and waiting in the fridge.  She was a good cook, but she was overwhelmed with a busy life, a big house, a part time job and three kids all going in different directions.  She made what was fast and easy and reached for food for comfort.

I remember being in high school.  I didn't want to eat breakfast (too early) and had an early lunchtime at school.  By the time I got home I was hungry and sat with my mom (who had also just come home from work) to watch soap operas and eat canned ravioli.  I'm not trying to paint a sad picture here.  It was a time I used to remember fondly.  I loved that canned ravioli and it was hot and delicious and we sat and enjoyed the show and talked about our day during the commercials.  After eating I remember having an ice cream sandwich and then I remember having 2 and sometimes 3.  When I stood up she asked me to bring her another one.  The thought never crossed my mind that she might have been emotionally eating.  Maybe bored or lonely or just stuck in a rut she didn't even know she was in.  I could have suggested a walk after work instead.  I wonder know if she would have wanted to come.  Would that have changed everything?  Something as simple as a walk.  Some fresh air and exercise.  Instead we sat.  We ate and snacked and within a few hours of that were sitting down to dinner.  Maybe an ice pop after that.  A bowl of popcorn before bed.

I was athletic for most of high school and the extra food wasn't showing up until college, were we sat back down in our familiar spots in the living room to catch up and watch our show. She pointed out that she thought my arms were getting big.  Maybe she was projecting her worries onto me.  She didn't offer a solution or hope, just pointed it out and from that moment on, in my mind, I was the girl with the big arms.  Up until that moment she only said one other thing to me regarding weight and that was how to keep skinny she would only eat one yogurt for lunch every day (long before marriage and kids).  I have no memory of her telling me what she ate for breakfast and dinner.  I have no recollection of any kind of exercise routines, only that her mother used to work out to Jack LaLane.
I'm not blaming my mom for my own struggles. I can pinpoint specific times where I was in full control of my food decisions and choose poorly.  I also know that IVF and assorted stress and drugs that go along with that contributed greatly.

I am acknowledging however that parents lead by example and she was not a model of health and strength.  And by that extension neither was my Dad.  He was happy if she was happy and she was happy if she was eating.  Eating distracted her from her worries.  She carried her worries deep and right on the surface.  It was her job to feed her family.  Too cook and keep the fridge stocked.

I remember eating.

Last night I started writing

And it wasn't about infertility or parenting or what I am afraid of, which surprised me since I've been writing about that stuff since 2010.  This time it was about my health.  This year has been interesting in what has come up for me health-wise and I believe a lot of it stems from what my body has been through in the last couple of years.
I think some of these things are normal 37 year old stuff.  Probably some are normal for a 37 year old who is about 50 pounds overweight.  Some are normal for someone who had a pregnancy and some are normal for someone who went though years of infertility treatments.  I've been through a lot and while a lot of the emotional parts have been worked through/are still being worked through, some of the physical aspects were pushed aside.  Until this year.
I scroll through recent pictures and find myself surprised by what I look like.  Somehow larger than how I see myself in the mirror, and tired and old.  Older than my years.  Older than my 2 year old seems to think I am when he wants to be chased around the living room again and again.
I HATE to write "Its time for a change."  Its been time and I've written that before.
So I'm going to use this space, not to motivate, but to free myself.  I'm going to write about my workouts, a bit about food and some of the emotions past and present that got me here today.