tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14075536539847667112024-03-12T23:50:35.605-05:00A Weight-y LifeWords of reflection, encouragement, punishment, catharsis, narcissism, humor & accountability from a wife & mother on a journey to reclaim her body & keep her sanity. Sometimes heavy, sometimes light, always real life.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.comBlogger228125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-88702605360099774522014-06-05T17:18:00.001-05:002014-06-05T17:24:13.832-05:00BAM!Why do I insist on wearing/packing my rattiest, dingiest, holeiest undies for the gym? It's like feeling like I don't fit in isn't punishment enough & my subconscious says, "Let's kick it up a notch--BAM--holes in the crotch of the underwear that you are trying to put on while balancing on wet flip flops, holding a towel under your chin & praying for death next to Work-Out Barbie & her friend Never-Had-Kids Skipper." My sub-conscious is mean...& wordy...& thinks she's Emeril Lagasse. But it's okay--BAM--I went anyway. And I rocked my holey undies & my used-to-be-beige-but-now-it's-blue-because-I-wash-it-with-denim nursing bra. Eat your heart out, Skipper.<br />
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Also, I'm really digging this reminder that I wrote for myself <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2012/01/and-we-will-call-her.html" target="_blank">January 2012</a>:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">Dear Sara at 6:30 AM on Saturday January 7,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">You will likely be frustrated when you get on the scale. You will be mad because you've done your carefully planned regular workouts & you didn't magically lose 5 lbs. In fact, in all likelihood you will have a meager loss or *gasp* a gain. This is your pattern whenever you kick up your workout intensity. Also part of the pattern is your amazing ability to forget this fact when you step on the scale. Please remember that your body is a complicated machine & takes some time to respond properly to the shock you're giving it. Please also remember that you wouldn't have to be remembering this if you hadn't been such a slacker recently. You don't have to ramp it up if you don't let it peter down. Just sayin'...</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">Hugs & Kisses,</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">Sara at 9:13 on Tuesday January 3</span><br />
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<br />Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-79195938513451552382014-06-02T16:35:00.000-05:002014-06-02T16:35:28.005-05:00Globo Gym"Dodgeball" is a spectacular piece of cinema--but my favorite movie is "Encino Man," so you can take that recommendation with as much salt as you like. <br />
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We joined the new gym in town & for the life of me I cannot walk through the doors without thinking about the "Dodgeball" scene where Ben Stiller is hyping his mega-gym in an ad with the tag-line, "Here at Globo Gym, we're better than you...& we know it." Not that ANYONE has made me feel bad, to the contrary everyone that works there is so nice that I feel certain that they must be robots or high or robots that ARE high. And then I wonder what substances make robots high & I'm standing at the front desk with my card in my hand snickering while people in line behind me are just wanting to get their "burn" on but they have to wait for the maniac in front of them to stop nose laughing about robot pot. <br />
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Any-who...in trying to break free from the pressure of "doing it like before" I quit Weight Watchers. I have NOTHING bad to say about Weight Watchers. Ever. But, my past was hanging on me & I couldn't drag myself to meetings because I felt like such a failure & I couldn't not go to meetings because it seemed like such a waste. On the bulletin board in the meeting room they had a clipping of me from the local paper from "last time" & I would sit & stare at that damned picture from all the way across the room & I would hate the picture & hate myself & hate whoever actually still gets newspapers & hate the scissors that clipped the picture out. It was a lot of hate. And then they canceled my meeting time. It was a sign. Dave & I had been mulling over the new mega-gym & trying to figure out how to put it into the budget. So I found $43 per month to contribute to the cause.<br />
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I'm still gym-phobic. I get clammy & sweaty every time I walk in the door (probably why I defensively play Ben Stiller movies in my head). I "know" I look ridiculous & fat & awkward & out of shape & "people" are thinking that I don't belong. But I'm going because it could not be any more different than anything I have ever tried. And, my kids straight up mad love that place so they ask me every. single. day. if we're going to the gym. And I have to say yes because above all else I'm trying to break the cycle. So we go & a little part of me wants to splash water on my face & then sit sipping smoothies in the cafe for an acceptable amount of time before I just go get them, but somewhere along the line I got this idea that lying to kids is generally bad. So instead, I've done Zumba, Pilates, LifeBarre (which is a nice way of saying MeanBallet) & I'm trying to psyche myself up to talk to a personal trainer so that I can get some sort of meager idea what to do with all of the sparkly machines in the middle. <br />
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It's nice that I can look my kids in the eye again when we're talking about being healthy & taking care of our bodies. It's nice that my daughter told me that my belly looks less plump. It's nice that I can hide my fear of the gym behind the chaos of a new facility where everyone is still learning the ropes. It's nice that I can take a shower while my kids are doing a karate class & not have anyone barge in on me. It's nice to be making a change. And it's nice that I can go to my mental happy place & hear Ben Stiller saying, "Do you smell that fitness? I do."<br />
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<br />Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-71306283910779667142014-05-29T18:13:00.002-05:002014-05-29T18:13:59.413-05:00Boobs. Because...Boobs!My boobs are a travesty. <br />
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It took me a good long while to figure out what my first sentence back at the keyboard should be. A whimsical lamentation about something frivolous seemed like the perfect way to show myself that I'm still me. I still have a voice. I still have my meager wit. I still like to poke fun. I just don't have a killer rack anymore. And the Earth, it keeps a-spinning.<br />
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A lot has changed over the past couple of years. My tiny, blobby baby is a busy toddler & my "big" kids are going to be in First Grade & pre-K in the Fall. I may or may not have a latent health condition that will rear its ugly head when I let my guard down. I started watching "Game of Thrones." I don't want to use artificial or highly processed foods to fuel my body. My hubby took a new job that is more demanding of his time but so worth it in his job satisfaction. My hair turned really dark brown. I quit Weight Watchers. I joined a shiny new gym. I became obsessed with reducing my family's waste. I stopped caring about reducing the size of my waist. I thought about learning to knit--but then I remembered that I don't like crafts.<br />
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Somewhere in all of these changes I realized that I'm not the same person that I was two, three or four years ago--so I need to stop expecting myself to act like I am. I spent a lot of time comparing myself to my prior post-baby timeline. I spent a lot of time wishing that magical thinking would make everything the same (or better). I lost 100 lbs in one year a couple of years ago. That's neat, but I don't have to do it again to be successful & I don't owe anyone an apology for things not being the same. I'm not the same, even though I'm still me. And that is an empowering revelation. <br />
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I can still make with the funny about gravity's ever-increasing pull on my ta-tas. I can still have highs & lows. But they WILL be different. The weight isn't coming off as smoothly as it did the last time. I'm not as singularly focused on making it so. It's not rocket science, it's just life & I need to get to a head space where I stop putting my past self on a pedestal & start putting my current self back in the game. The new game. With a better bra because National Geographic is for real life, folks. Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-79555926976977905712013-10-19T12:26:00.000-05:002013-10-19T12:26:51.041-05:00Just AngryI'm a big believer in the idea that you get what you give. You put out grouchy, you get grouchy back. You put out shenanigans, you get shenanigans. You put out rainbow unicorns, you get rainbow unicorns--and probably a cover on the "National Enquirer." All of that is to say, I've had a whole lot of anger...& I didn't really want to put that out there because that's not the life I want to build for myself or my family. The problem with anger is that even if you don't give it voice, it manages to seep through the cracks. It's on your face. It's in your body language. It's in your voice, if not your words. <br />
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I've been absent from blogging because I thought I could choke down my anger & get myself level-set without letting out the beast. But in the past six months I've alienated myself & picked away at my relationships & hidden from my feelings & avoided everyone that wasn't in my innermost circle (which, being a hardcore introvert consists of approximately 5 people--4 of whom I live with). I've been jealous & whiny & spiteful & mean. <br />
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I'm just so angry. Angry enough for a list...<br />
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I'm angry that I ate my fears when I was so sick while pregnant. After all I tried to teach myself, when the chips were down, I ate.<br />
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I'm angry that I let myself wallow in being sick rather than doing what I could to be as well as possible. <br />
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I'm angry that my body betrayed me after I worked so hard to take care of it. I'm angry that I may be harboring an illness after I worked so hard to take control of my body. <br />
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I'm angry that I know what "better" feels like. Last time, every month was better than the last--now I know that this isn't better it's just slightly less awful.<br />
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I'm angry that I have to think so hard about food & work so hard to choose not to poison myself with junk. <br />
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I'm angry that I hit "One-derland" today & with the exception of a brief happy dance, I'm still not pleased. <br />
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I'm angry that I can't go work out or go to a Weight Watchers meeting without feeling like I have to make excuses for how I gained the weight back.<br />
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I'm angry that I snap at people who are just trying to be kind.<br />
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I'm angry that I default to making the joke...the classic defense.<br />
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I'm angry that Etta isn't enough. Why was <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/sweet-coraline-whoa-whoa-whoa.html" target="_blank">Coraline</a> a motivation but Etta isn't?<br />
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I'm angry at pictures of myself, both old & new.<br />
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I'm angry at how nasty I am to myself.<br />
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I'm angry at how I can't seem to ever look in the mirror with accurate eyes.<br />
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I'm angry that I need a second chance.<br />
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I'm angry that I'm not there yet & at the same time I'm angry that I'm not patient. <br />
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I'm angry that my knees are cotton-headed-ninny-muggins & won't hold up to running right now. I'm angry that maybe I'm using that as an excuse.<br />
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I'm angry that I assume EVERYTHING is about my weight. Seeing old friends, meeting new people, pitching in to help someone in need...it all comes down to my weight & how it impacts my interactions with people. I seek out ways to self sabotage to avoid a legitimate failure or rejection. <br />
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I'm angry that I'm so narcissistic. I'm almost 34 & the mom of three. When is it time to get over myself already?<br />
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I'm angry that my kids don't really remember thinner mom & ask me why I still have a baby belly.<br />
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I'm angry that I'm back to looking for outs, living in a world of "no."<br />
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I'm angry that I can't stop comparing myself to myself & feeling like a failure. I "should" be 30 lbs down from where I am if I was keeping the same pace. <br />
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I'm angry that I've been wishing in one hand & defecating in the other...and now I'm sitting in a pile of poo. <br />
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So that's where I'm at. I don't have any pithy answers or fresh ah-ha moments or deep thoughts or golden ideas or anything useful...just anger. Mountains of it. And 95% of it is self loathing, so if I've been sullen or crappy to you, I'm sorry. It's not you, it's me. Oooh, I guess that's a little pithy...maybe there's hope yet.<br />
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Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-20754740692278476262013-03-20T08:21:00.001-05:002013-03-20T14:22:01.886-05:00Waiting for It vs Working for ItHoly Breakthrough, Batman!<br />
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Epiphany time: I'm done with goals I have to wait for, I will only focus & put my energy into goals I can work for.<br />
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And here's how I came to this. It started with a fight with <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/standing-by-my-man.html" target="_blank">my husband</a> (for clarity, my weight had NOTHING to do with our fight & Dave has seen & approved all of this...lest tongues start wagging about the state of our marriage). It was a stupid fight about me not starting the dishwasher & neither of us putting the defrosted meat in the fridge & him not putting away the baby's bathtub. See, stupid. As all of such stupid fights go, in order to justify how irate we were getting with each other, we escalated dishes & meat & baby tub into a global relationship argument with words like "always" & "never," which prove utterly useless in 95% of fights because always & never are, in reality, mostly impossible. The crux of Dave's argument was "give us some slack, we just had a baby." The crux of my argument was "it's time to be done with slack, she's 6 weeks old." Both (moderately) reasonable in context, but the context is unimportant for what I realized while doing the inevitable argument post-mortem in the the shower. <br />
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Like many who are overweight/obese/body conscious, I knew that *gasp* my weight kept me from doing things that I wanted to do out of fear of failure or ridicule. The kicker for me is that most of those things that I stopped myself from doing were completely unrelated to my weight (like venturing out of my corner to meet other moms at kid activities or growing a garden or re-purposing bedraggled furniture). And while I was busy longing for all of those things, a voice inside my head would chime, "You'll do that when..." The "when" was always some nebulous time when I would lose the weight, something that sounded just plausible, but gave me enough wiggle room to back out & not have any skin in the game. You'll do that when, you'll do that when, you'll do that when. But at some point during my prior process of shedding pounds, the voice just started saying, "You'll do that." Period. So I did.<br />
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It wasn't a conscious choice at the time, but this morning as I was lashing out at Dave over the idea of allowing time to readjust & find a new normal, I realized that the idea of "give it time" has become absolutely abhorrent to me. I spent 30 years giving it time, waiting on the sidelines...I've used up most of my sideline time. It turns out that in a relationship that's a pretty unacceptable & unrealistic stance to take. But for the purposes of my process of getting back to fighting weight, it's a really good thing to know about myself & a pretty useful idea to leverage in setting goals & making plans. Plans that are based on the passage of time are just not useful to me. I need to have goals that are based on actionable steps with finish lines defined by accomplishments, not deadlines. I want every reason & motivation to work for my success, not wait for it. <br />
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In the past I've set a couple of mini-goals based on time, most recently my vow to be <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2013/03/fresh-start.html" target="_blank">out of maternity undies</a> in two weeks (which I did), but most of them left me frustrated, whether I succeeded or not. Now I know why. Simply letting time go by isn't something to be proud of. Time passes regardless of what I'm doing. I want my time to pass intentionally & purposefully because I previously let time & my life pass me by out of fear.<br />
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So, I'm glad that I started my morning sitting on the floor by the refrigerator boo-hoo-ing over dishes & meat & the baby's tub because it got me here. And here is good. I'm just thankful I was crying over spoiled meat--not spilled milk--because <i>then </i>I would look ridiculous.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-56418387784922084272013-03-16T19:22:00.000-05:002013-03-16T21:47:00.149-05:00There & Back Again: An Obese Girl's TaleIf a picture is worth 1000 words, then two pictures must be worth 2000....in this case, almost all 2000 of mine are unsuitable for civilized company.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiui9rgKMK0o7ZRgn-8G58MjgryruurqHXXvyIuAWyCde-kq7mSS314jRgJyEEgczYo2Uq5rZrPeVZetR_vcp3npKcz_ZNT7Rx05MvG2Fy1-o-b_S_D8YQdR-JDARI2wpY839fDpJ3a-DB9/s1600/l+puzzle+%2526+w1d1+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiui9rgKMK0o7ZRgn-8G58MjgryruurqHXXvyIuAWyCde-kq7mSS314jRgJyEEgczYo2Uq5rZrPeVZetR_vcp3npKcz_ZNT7Rx05MvG2Fy1-o-b_S_D8YQdR-JDARI2wpY839fDpJ3a-DB9/s320/l+puzzle+%2526+w1d1+002.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtRY_8kumaUEHPT9qhK0hmNcTjlhfe7cN5pPBgXp-RaBfftPf5OEBvfWYvBHmMxG6Yf9AKuFSYKQPiTgWimBlU7E7zgqP00FUR1Tc5MrB5wa85QLKmFAgnUdO4Ddyo4XM2lqh3bs7MZ-6/s1600/march+2012+in+workout+clothes.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrtRY_8kumaUEHPT9qhK0hmNcTjlhfe7cN5pPBgXp-RaBfftPf5OEBvfWYvBHmMxG6Yf9AKuFSYKQPiTgWimBlU7E7zgqP00FUR1Tc5MrB5wa85QLKmFAgnUdO4Ddyo4XM2lqh3bs7MZ-6/s320/march+2012+in+workout+clothes.jpeg" width="226" /></a></div>
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Today was my last first day of <a href="http://easeinto5k.bluefinapps.com/" target="_blank">Couch to 5K</a>. If it's possible, I think I was more proud of myself today than on my<a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/04/w1d1.html" target="_blank"> FIRST first day</a> of Couch to 5K (I certainly had to work harder!). I'm 50 lbs heavier than I was then. I'm an obese woman. And I huffed & I puffed & I blew that <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/06/why-i-run-lovehate-letter.html" target="_blank">run </a>down. It was urgli. It was painful. And I did it. <br />
Rather than dwell on how the disparity of these pictures (taken almost exactly a year apart) makes me feel like a disgusting failure, I'm choosing to embrace these images. I'm choosing to use the picture on the left to remind me of what is possible--no, what is probable! I'm choosing to use the picture on the right to remind me that a life's work is never done--thank goodness, I'll never be bored! I waffled as to whether to post righty, but this is the process--warts & all. I'm lumpy & bottom heavy but I did it--I went for my first post-baby run.</div>
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There was a moment during my last walk interval when my favorite running song ("Let it Rock" by Kevin Rudolf) came on & I nearly lost it. I could barely keep up to the beat while walking; last year I could run it double time. It was yet another concrete reminder of how far I've slipped in one year. But just as the pictures above, it can be a negative or a positive. Positive: I have another great non-scale benchmark to gauge my progress as I head back again. To thin, to healthy, to myself, to running the snot out of "Let it Rock."</div>
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Speaking of snot, check out my new gloves. They have fleecy index fingers so you can wipe your nose when you're running in the cold. Bizarre? Yes. Disgusting? Absolutely. Did I use them for their intended purpose on this chilly morning? You bet your sweet bippy, I did. Hawt.</div>
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Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-57387620188313709472013-03-11T19:01:00.001-05:002013-03-11T19:01:23.599-05:00A Plate Full of ProgressLike many husbands/boyfriends/partners before him, <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/standing-by-my-man.html" target="_blank">Dave </a> claims finishing rights to my plate when we go out to eat. On my ornery days this prompts me to order things laden with tomatoes, mushrooms & seafood in an effort to protect my lunch leftovers. <br />
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Through most of our relationship I would insist that if Dave was going to finish my food he HAD to take the plate & set it in front of him, as a signal to the server that I hadn't eaten all of the food...because the judgement of a server that I would likely never see again was too much for this obese girl to bear.<br />
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This evening, while Dave was scavenging off of the plate while it was still in front of me, I realized that sometime in the not to distant past I've grown beyond that. It's not a big deal, but it's a deal & I'll take it--evidence of mental progress. I won't say that the server isn't judging me (I was a server for FAR to long to delude myself of that), but I will say that I don't give a flying fig. Proof that my head has in fact changed though my tush is back to a size that I find regrettable. Or maybe it's proof that I'm a mom of three littles & I don't have the energy to waste on judgmental strangers. Either way, I'm not stressing about the unimportant opinions that others hold of me. So I've got that goin' for me--which is nice.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-56669246503812071852013-03-10T16:01:00.000-05:002013-03-10T18:41:03.580-05:00Back in the SaddleYesterday at 6:35 AM I woke up with a start & the horrible memory of canceling my 5:15 AM alarm rather than snoozing it...so that it wouldn't wake <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/standing-by-my-man.html" target="_blank">Dave </a>up. While that seems nicey-nice, I promptly fell back asleep (a usually useful skill in the era of middle of the night feedings) & missed my first weigh in.<br />
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Here's where I'm super glad I picked a winner, not a wiener. Though it meant that he would have to get three kids ready for our morning plans without me, though it meant he had to get up earlier than planned, though he was sleep deprived, Dave kicked me out the door to go weigh in. </div>
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It's so easy as a woman/wife/mom/human to put yourself on the back burner. I goofed & I didn't want my family to pay the price. Dave reminded me that when it comes to getting healthy, the sacrifices that we make as a family in the short term are insignificant compared to the suffering it could save us in the long run. So he got three kids up & started pancakes & bounced a screaming baby because there was no bottle in the freezer & everyone lived to tell the tale. And though I missed my meeting, I weighed in & started my new streak of accountability--something that was invaluable the first time around. I have to prioritize myself & the things that I need to succeed--& listen to Dave when I fail to prioritize because he's a clever fellow.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRO0VIhKFJBb84lKghya9U1senZW7ASHkRo5A4PR6s3XhsZvyPFVCB1M5KUV_F-SCL6lpZaaQZJ7PS6EGWiOsbju_4-tKsRir2pdIQwzq0e6x3q3-IQ1UEedq7YWzuMqlRRj1XPJZavuu/s1600/IMG_8715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcRO0VIhKFJBb84lKghya9U1senZW7ASHkRo5A4PR6s3XhsZvyPFVCB1M5KUV_F-SCL6lpZaaQZJ7PS6EGWiOsbju_4-tKsRir2pdIQwzq0e6x3q3-IQ1UEedq7YWzuMqlRRj1XPJZavuu/s320/IMG_8715.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See how clever we are...</td></tr>
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We were rewarded with a 2.2 lb loss. Would have been more if I had gotten up in time to feed the baby beforehand. That's what I get for being lazy.</div>
Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-62640727669961418312013-03-07T10:23:00.000-06:002013-03-07T10:23:03.863-06:00"Before" JeansSo much of my prior process was marked by my jeans (see <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2010/11/its-in-jeans.html" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/01/does-size-really-matter.html" target="_blank">here </a>, <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/08/someday-jeans.html" target="_blank">here</a> or <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/09/forever-in-bluejeans.html" target="_blank">here</a>).<br />
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Fresh start appears to be no different. Yesterday I decided to rifle through my closet & come up with some non-maternity jeans--not because I have a problem with wearing "maternity jeans," but because I have a problem with WEARING maternity jeans. They fall off. And then I'm in a situation where I'm actually displaying my <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2013/03/fresh-start.html" target="_blank">previously confessed</a>, utterly disgusting maternity undies. Since that's not a show for the young or feint of heart I decided to see what I could find that would actually stay hitched up for my trip to pick up my son at school. <br />
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Good news: I found ONE pair of jeans that fit.<br />
Bad news: They're my "Before" pants. You know, the ones that I wanted to hold up in front of me & drop them away a la Tommy Lasorda's mid-80's Slim Fast commercials. I didn't get to my goal weight prior to getting pregnant, so I never made the video, but I tucked those jeans in the back of my closet knowing that I'd get there. Little did I know I'd get to wear them again in a less comical, more practical manner. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuo9w3Zo8RcRKTxBh8pASIzAOP3A7EYK4vwYxkMgWBc0ZtQsHvCdbRdgk5pNIcX1YdSmcCucrvcAvMtTvVnJW91qOh6mhJQy3WlaLCjfvDZwwkMdfb3dti8JcT5E0nsejH9uVWWfocQAqM/s1600/Millers+at+The+Huffmans+2010+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuo9w3Zo8RcRKTxBh8pASIzAOP3A7EYK4vwYxkMgWBc0ZtQsHvCdbRdgk5pNIcX1YdSmcCucrvcAvMtTvVnJW91qOh6mhJQy3WlaLCjfvDZwwkMdfb3dti8JcT5E0nsejH9uVWWfocQAqM/s320/Millers+at+The+Huffmans+2010+022.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the last times I wore the "Before" jeans (April 2010)...I was excited <br />to be back into them from maternity jeans last time...this time notsomuch.</td></tr>
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It's a little discouraging that I'm 40 lbs lighter than the last time these pants fit & here I am wearing them again. It's not even the size of the pants that bothers me, it's just the fact that they are THE "Before" pants (the fact that they are hugely flared & completely out of style doesn't help my ego any either). I know that having a baby four weeks ago means that my body is a different shape & a lot will change with a little time...I just hope that time is as little as possible. <br />
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In the mean time, I might just take a couple of Target coupons I found & get a couple pairs of "Until Then" jeans. Why-oh-why did I have to be so thorough with my Goodwill runs the last go-around?Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-15623331478680708332013-03-05T17:35:00.002-06:002013-03-05T17:35:49.244-06:00Fresh StartSaturday was my <b>last</b> first day at Weight Watchers--the last time I will walk in for the first time & feel that twinge of guiltshamenausea that comes with feeling like I failed. Even though I know that's a load of hog wash--the failure part--it still gets me. I firmly believe that weight issues are not a reflection of character & yet here I am feeling ridiculously ashamed at where I'm at (226.8 lbs & completely out of shape, in the interest of full disclosure). As I've been chewing on the negativity & moving into my fresh start, I realized that I'm in a very different place than I was when I first start therapizing myself with the blog. Not only do I have a fresh start for my tush, I have a fresh start for my online diary...& of course a fresh start fridge picture!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGqvz3h_KceX2qHCB4wYn5F3vLjpyOzfHwluBbBuZ4AlFaimdvPkfkLA-Cl9wzvQ2wDE5DJl-sDRT5W399qVENjaeLrFvcTJkJ2pZwnBD0rri5rL-4JQFgrAQAjUc92tDl23klE6O4gAs/s1600/sara+new+before+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOGqvz3h_KceX2qHCB4wYn5F3vLjpyOzfHwluBbBuZ4AlFaimdvPkfkLA-Cl9wzvQ2wDE5DJl-sDRT5W399qVENjaeLrFvcTJkJ2pZwnBD0rri5rL-4JQFgrAQAjUc92tDl23klE6O4gAs/s320/sara+new+before+002.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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When I <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2010/10/claiming-big-o.html" target="_blank">first started writing</a> about my process, I had already lost 80 of my eventual 120 lbs. I had done most of the heavy lifting--made good habits, built positive thought patterns, educated myself about my choices. Fast forward. The heavy lifting is right at my doorstep. While I waxed poetic the first time around about the things that I <i>had </i>done, now I get to process in real time. It's exciting & nerve wracking. There's more on the line when there's a possibility of fully exposed failure. <br />
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But the flip side: now I get to be pragmatic. I get to remind myself in the thick of things about what works & doesn't work. To get the ball rolling I'm focusing on one key behavior & one mini-goal at a time. <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Behavior: Plan Ahead </span></b></div>
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I spent my free time last week planning dinner menus out through the middle of March & prepping food. I put dinner plans on my calender, along with alarms set for when I need to start cooking & "to-dos" the night before if I need to get something out of the freezer to defrost. </div>
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Because I try to eat a largely "real" food diet, it takes a little work to make sure I have the things I need to be successful. I scheduled time each day last week to make: </div>
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<ul>
<li>bread</li>
<li>chicken stock</li>
<li>cream of mushroom soup</li>
<li>cream of chicken soup</li>
<li>yogurt</li>
<li>black beans</li>
<li>refried beans</li>
<li>northern beans</li>
<li>ranch dressing</li>
</ul>
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This week's scheduled prep plans include:</div>
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<ul>
<li>zucchini muffins</li>
<li>pumpkin muffins</li>
<li>whole wheat bread crumbs</li>
<li>chicken nuggets</li>
<li>cream of celery soup</li>
</ul>
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And here's the point that I want to remember in all of this flurry of planning & cooking & prepping: this is how I <i>prefer </i>to do things...it is by no means the <i>only </i>way to do things. The key is in the planning ahead, in knowing when I have time to make things & when I need to rely on the grocery store. There will be times when my freezer is empty & I don't have all of my homemade staples...but I must still have a plan. Running to McDonald's does not constitute a plan.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mini-Goal: No More Maternity Undies</b></span> </div>
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In the next two weeks I would like to rid my drawers of maternity drawers. Beside the obvious reason being they are hideous & the granniest of granny panties, they have also seen me through three pregnancies. They are straight up falling apart. We're not talking minor holes--we're talking massive holes & swaths where elastic is separated from the fabric & other problems too unmentionable for the world wide web (but if you've had a baby, you probably get the gist of it). Anyhoo...I want them gone forever. In two weeks. I don't care what the scale says, I'm not getting bent out of shape about not working out. I just want to wear real underwear that couldn't also double as the tattered & torn sails of The Nina, The Pinta or The Santa Maria. <br />
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<br />Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-87919777180482322102013-02-27T15:49:00.001-06:002013-02-27T16:08:21.243-06:00A Quick ReminderIn case I needed a real-life reminder that I've changed the trajectory of my life & my kids' lives despite how I may feel about the state of my state right now...<br />
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The Scene: wandering the grocery store with <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/sweet-coraline-whoa-whoa-whoa.html" target="_blank">Coraline</a> & Etta<br />
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Coraline (pointing down the cookie/chip/junk aisle): "Mom, treat foods don't have any nutrients, do they?"<br />
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Old Sara's kids wouldn't have even known the word "nutrients," let alone used it in conversation. Score. All is not lost. Let's celebrate with Dr Coraline & the Avenger Monkeys (& if I ever start a band that is officially its name).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4HSrKCiX4UldTQVkcp6cnldgmlDJDxVfojrUbSW2faBqR-hqJXLkhhmMrEAwHxrLwIznOOq65L8qe1ANiGmE0CPBYbO68nPlQSSrbFDEOAjj6MsxkGOIDTBrCft75vRRzKRqFKzEthgNP/s1600/Avenger+Monkeys+001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4HSrKCiX4UldTQVkcp6cnldgmlDJDxVfojrUbSW2faBqR-hqJXLkhhmMrEAwHxrLwIznOOq65L8qe1ANiGmE0CPBYbO68nPlQSSrbFDEOAjj6MsxkGOIDTBrCft75vRRzKRqFKzEthgNP/s320/Avenger+Monkeys+001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-63578608009630515172013-02-26T17:54:00.001-06:002013-02-27T15:55:34.614-06:00Maybe It's the PregnancyWhen I was a kindergartner, I wanted to be a professional cheerleader for the Iowa State Cyclones. When I got a little older I wanted to be a lawyer because my parents watched "LA Law." Now I just want to let my dog out to pee without putting on a peep show while simultaneously nursing the baby. <br />
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That's right, the baby is here &...it's a GIRL! Interwebs, allow me to introduce the newest piece of my heart, the final installment of our Trilogy, Etta Emmeline.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitfdIQurp9Pt949eUF4QYI_mE6F5mOOsHlbt6xRsLKk3PPczQ5YTQizsQzoJRvhQP6V-7gSeCqGutLgPapwxDFMkirN4Kn5nhqPZRaZSp2YZu5Uwrr7y8H5IdBgfFNpvYYtSqaWchTFEIH/s1600/IMG_4653.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitfdIQurp9Pt949eUF4QYI_mE6F5mOOsHlbt6xRsLKk3PPczQ5YTQizsQzoJRvhQP6V-7gSeCqGutLgPapwxDFMkirN4Kn5nhqPZRaZSp2YZu5Uwrr7y8H5IdBgfFNpvYYtSqaWchTFEIH/s320/IMG_4653.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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But I'm getting ahead of myself. When last I word vomited on the blog I looked (& felt) like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJFbutdm8sMHdeyqFAch5smKT91j6vYB8hbppfJDeCI0wEinxv98NHB7oPtPFiQfaPNbZo5ben5ly1fyTNu-uGrGv3MNyU-Y_zQ08aZWyJjuji1c1V8JOv72VBFcpj-WOp8RnsXbK6U5-/s1600/summer+2012+186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJFbutdm8sMHdeyqFAch5smKT91j6vYB8hbppfJDeCI0wEinxv98NHB7oPtPFiQfaPNbZo5ben5ly1fyTNu-uGrGv3MNyU-Y_zQ08aZWyJjuji1c1V8JOv72VBFcpj-WOp8RnsXbK6U5-/s320/summer+2012+186.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Dewey eyed, optimistic, rounding the bend on the worst "morning" sickness I had experienced with any of my three kids. This was August.</div>
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Then came September. If this were a read aloud blog (a concept I likely just made up), I would use Ralph Fiennes' "Voldemort" voice to say September in the most despicable skin-crawlingly awful manner imaginable. September is when the poo hit the fan. It started with a sore ankle on a Tuesday. By Friday both ankles & both knees were in searing pain. By the next week I was an absolute disaster. I'll spare the cornucopia of seemingly unrelated symptoms (because I don't want to bother to list them & I'm not looking for armchair diagnoses) but by month end I had seen seven different doctors & been to the ER twice & it all boiled down to this, "Maybe it's the pregnancy, maybe it's a one-time fluke, maybe it's the first signs of something chronic . We'll have to wait until the baby comes to figure this one out." </div>
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"Maybe it's the pregnancy"--four words I could have done without hearing given that I was, in fact, the pregnant one. By the end of November the symptoms started to settle down enough that I was feeling cautiously "better," but blood tests were still irritatingly uncooperative & at the same time inconclusive. I missed my blissful second trimester (to say nothing of missing so much of my big kids' lives in those three months!), I felt lousy, and worst of all, the pregnancy that was to have been a healthy & fun romp through procreation, unfettered by excess weight, was marred by the unbelievable terror of worrying that my body wasn't taking care of my baby...& the stress eating that came with it.</div>
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From September through February 4th, I was utterly convinced that my body, that had previously sailed through two pregnancies while being obese, was not up to the task. I <i>knew </i>that every minute my baby was in me was more damage being done. At 28 weeks I wanted to have an immediate c-section because if I could just see the baby & hold the baby & get it on the outside I could take such better care of it (proviso: I was coked up on stress & pregnancy hormones & I am fully aware that this is one of the world's worst ideas). Was my baby in the pain that I was in? Was my baby being disfigured or impaired by the drugs I was taking? Was my baby going to make it to this side of my uterus or was this all some elaborate precursor to the most horrible outcome possible? </div>
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The kicker was that I had worked so hard to be HEALTHY. Through the last few years, everything I did was to make my body strong. I hadn't been preoccupied with being thin or pretty...I was eating well & working out so that I would have health. I spent the better part of the last six months feeling that it had all been a waste. I tossed away all ideas of maintaining my health through my pregnancy--fat lot of good it had done us to begin with. I joked that I was the anti-poster child for healthy living & weight loss, but as with most jokes, it was only out there to obscure the truth that I was terrified I that my body was betraying me & my unborn child. </div>
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This story doesn't really have an ending per se. In the delivery room, I cried (a first for me) & my first words after her arrival were something to the effect of "Thank God! I didn't kill our baby!" Not only did I not kill her, but she is utterly perfect. On this side of pregnancy, I still don't know what happened to my body or if it will happen again, but I do know that whatever it is, I need to be as strong as possible for as long as possible regardless of my ultimate diagnosis or lack thereof. Once again, with the <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/sweet-coraline-whoa-whoa-whoa.html" target="_blank">birth of a daughter</a>, I am reminded that my body is, not only my vehicle for caring for my children, but the greatest object lesson I can ever give to my girls. They will know what it is to be strong, healthy, women who love their bodies as the vehicles to propel them to all of their dreams--not because I told them, but because I showed them. </div>
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I can't control my body chemistry or my hormones or my genetics but I can control what I put in my mouth & what I do with my feet. Maybe it was the pregnancy, maybe it was a fluke, maybe I'll deal with this crap again. I don't know. What I do know: Saturday I go back to Weight Watchers. On March 16th I'll restart <a href="http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml" target="_blank">C25K</a>. At the end of March I have the first of my post-baby appointments with some of the doctors that kept me from going crazy through "the dark months." I'll control what I can control. I can't choose my diagnosis, but I can certainly choose how I respond to it & now I look like this:</div>
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Now, since I don't like to leave things heavy (bahaha), I'll leave with this: a meager THREE days after Etta was born, Coraline says this to me at the dinner table, "Your baby is out now...you need to go for a run." While perhaps a <i>slightly </i>unrealistic expectation, it did serve to remind me that maybe the last few years weren't a complete waste after all. </div>
Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-10344936502952766012012-08-05T16:08:00.001-05:002012-08-05T16:08:22.555-05:00Answer: Something I Never Thought I Would DoQuestion: What are "Belly Shots?," Alex.<br />
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When I was pregnant with my first & second, and I say this without a hint of hyperbole, I never felt sexier or more beautiful in my life. As an obese woman, I think I relished in the time that I was supposed to be round & curvy & I felt great. My belly was supposed to eclipse the plane of my boobs & be round & full. It was awesome. It didn't hurt that I felt physically fantastic as well. <br />
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Even with all of that good feeling, there was something that wouldn't let me take pictures that really documented or celebrated the "bump." There are precious few pictures of me pregnant with my son & only a sparse handful with my daughter. <br />
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When I looked forward to my "healthy" pregnancy (a moniker which I have since decided is a big fat joke--more on that later) I vowed that I would take the pictures. I would chronicle the growth. I would love each stage & celebrate this, my last time creating life. It never once occurred to me that I wouldn't feel every bit as lovely & round & wonderful when I started out with a leaner, stronger body.<br />
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What a shock it has been as I have cried about my weight gain & the changes in my shape. I don't feel sexy or beautiful. I feel frumpy & slow. I feel awkward & lethargic. And I feel shallow & conceited. I hid in the house until I made "the announcement" because I was sure that everyone was whispering, "that's the girl that lost the weight...see...it doesn't last." <br />
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Now that I'm "out" I feel a little bit better. My body is also cooperating & I look more pregnant & less chunky than I did even a couple of weeks ago. I guess that's part of the third baby: my body isn't willing to fight the good fight when it comes to showing--it's just all hanging out there. <br />
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So, without further ado, here is the first of many (I hope) belly shots of our Three-quel (because every good nerd loves a trilogy):<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJFbutdm8sMHdeyqFAch5smKT91j6vYB8hbppfJDeCI0wEinxv98NHB7oPtPFiQfaPNbZo5ben5ly1fyTNu-uGrGv3MNyU-Y_zQ08aZWyJjuji1c1V8JOv72VBFcpj-WOp8RnsXbK6U5-/s1600/summer+2012+186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJFbutdm8sMHdeyqFAch5smKT91j6vYB8hbppfJDeCI0wEinxv98NHB7oPtPFiQfaPNbZo5ben5ly1fyTNu-uGrGv3MNyU-Y_zQ08aZWyJjuji1c1V8JOv72VBFcpj-WOp8RnsXbK6U5-/s320/summer+2012+186.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">14 Weeks </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-23323516958623870952012-08-02T16:24:00.000-05:002012-08-02T16:24:15.726-05:00And Then I Wondered if I Was Accidentally in PornIn my hiatus from blogging, I avoided all things blog-adjacent. I didn't check Facebook, I didn't monitor comments, & I didn't watch my stats. There was guilt in not writing & if I didn't see any evidence that I wasn't blogging, it wasn't an issue, right?<br />
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Anyway...last night I sat down with the laptop & dug in. I read all of your kind & supportive comments, both on the blog & on Facebook. I picked through my page hits over my four month absence & was shocked that people were still tooling around even when I wasn't here. And then I took a peek at how people were finding me when I was so busy hiding from them. <br />
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As expected, I found mostly Google searches for weightylife or some derivation, but something had changed in my absence. My brand new #2 & #3 search terms were--I discovered after a quick jaunt to Google myself--searches for porn. <br />
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I was a little appalled that something I've written about (quite often, I might add) touches on enough key words to get some pretty frequent hits in the middle of the night. Dave's response: "Gee, Sara, you're right. It IS shocking that people use the Internet to find porn." Fair point.<br />
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So, if you found me searching for porn, I likely proved a huge disappointment. I did write a post once about <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/04/time-for-little-less-hooking.html" target="_blank">the thrill of buying new bras</a>, but that's as salacious as I get around here. But now I'm pregnant so that clearly means things will get kicked up a notch: there's nothing hotter than cankles, flatulence & debilitating heartburn. So all you porn-hunters better stick around. It's about to get hot in herre.<br />
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For all of those who are here without thinking I am a porn star: thanks for sticking around. Thanks for bolstering me up. Thanks for not expecting me to take off my clothes. It's the little things.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-66079657094850423082012-08-01T15:16:00.001-05:002012-08-01T15:16:47.505-05:00GainingSo...hi...my name is Sara & I have this little rag of a blog where I yap about the size of my butt & the size of my plate & the size of my emotions on the size of my butt & the size of my plate. Over the past year & a half, this blog has become absolutely critical in achieving & processing all of my goals...or at least most of my goals.<br />
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You see, I'm an only child (insert wise crack about being spoiled/maladjusted/introverted here). I grew up wanting a bushel basket full of kids of my own to accommodate for the absence of kids provided by my parents. Reality & old age pared my bushel basket expectations down to a more manageable number, but that number was still more than the two I was blessed with pre-New Sara.<br />
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So Dave & I had the normal convos that most couples have when they contemplate expanding their brood: where we would put a new baby & how we wouldn't all fit in our Prius & how we would adjust to Zone Defense. I knew I wanted a baby. I knew it would change things. But I didn't account for it changing my blog. <br />
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I felt guilty for WANTING to gain weight. I felt untrue to my goal weight which I would most definitely not achieve (in this sitting, at least). I felt false to the people who asked me for advice or gave me compliments. I felt uneasy about gaining weight & simultaneously comfortable doing so. Then I felt uneasy about feeling comfortable. Then I got mad that everything in my whole life comes down to weight...including adding a brand new person to the world. In the grand scheme of things aren't some things more important? <br />
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*sigh* Since I'm using a thousand words to say something very simple, I'll throw in a picture, too:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OdjLUHcnkjxcbQ7AlxjxbxhZcKiGNRqnHO-W72xA8Kl4Z-YOFs2OFSSUqtTo7bdpAqRcB1Wss4IDA2ycoNn5mlTKTheOZPBSqtFT3OtT6b1Wo4q1lsDF-2tgv2pryqZFwTPKTw-736Gr/s1600/lincoln+preschool+art+&+sprinkler+fun+024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-OdjLUHcnkjxcbQ7AlxjxbxhZcKiGNRqnHO-W72xA8Kl4Z-YOFs2OFSSUqtTo7bdpAqRcB1Wss4IDA2ycoNn5mlTKTheOZPBSqtFT3OtT6b1Wo4q1lsDF-2tgv2pryqZFwTPKTw-736Gr/s640/lincoln+preschool+art+&+sprinkler+fun+024.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm knocked up & we're all thrilled about it. Really. But there are some complex things swirling around in my head that make this pregnancy different than my others. Stuff I probably need to blab about, so this blog is going to take a bit of a detour until February 2013. I've stayed away until now, first out of an abundance of first trimester caution & then out of a feeling of guilt at changing the story before coming to a good resolution on the first--because no one REALLY likes a cliff-hanger. But hang I must because now is just the right time to finish our family. And isn't family one of the main reasons that I've worked so hard to shed 120 lbs? </div>
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Family, and an excuse to go shopping--which I get to do again because none of my maternity clothes fit.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-7046891754679035842012-04-28T10:34:00.001-05:002012-04-28T10:34:46.383-05:00Yes, I'm a "Program" GirlThe Director of my local Weight Watchers called me early this week to ask if I would be interested in sharing my story at an employee function today. While I can prattle on for eons in a blog post, the thought of speaking in front of a group fills me with terror (funny side note: I went to college in the era of transition from human based records to computer based records & my Intro to Computer Science class (ComS 103) was accidentally coded as a speech class (SCom 103) & I weasled my way into a BA from a D1 school without fulfilling the speech requirement!). Anyway, I decided to write it out as a post. It's a little longer than most for me, but it's something I haven't talked much about. While I haven't made it a secret that I follow the Weight Watchers plan, I haven't really written much about it because I view it as a tool that has helped me into other, more important, things. However, it is an important tool (for me--there are no silver bullets or one-size-fits-all solutions) & Weight Watchers more than deserves a few chicken scratches on topic. Speaking of chicken scratches...<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Dayna called to ask me to come tell my story I was literally in the middle of frying six pounds of chicken nuggets. FRYING. And my first internal response was to feel incredibly guilty. What Weight Watchers Success Story fries anything? Shouldn't there be some sort of un-greased lightning coming down from the Weight Watchers gods to smite me or something? But that's just the point of what Weight Watchers is to me. It's about choices, control & no. more. guilt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I originally started Weight Watchers in January of 2009 at 239 pounds. After weening my first child, I had put all of my pregnancy weight back on & I was tired & in pain all of the time. I owe a lot to a friend that had success on Weight Watchers. Seeing her spurred me to "give that diet" a try. Up until that time I was a habitual dieter--soups, juices, lemon/cayenne/maple concoctions--I had half-heartedly tried them all in my quest to "get skinny."</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fcN7vMBsJesw-KLNPbj5SaObRei8Ux3wEheZ9J8RuYCsPyc3TeMLpQtfX7xice_YoJGtxEPtGCddUj093FI5stROdSIw0Kw8EXx5SHOQiJr_Gnv_CS4y-d9xsd0a__7AmTvUBPa1TTlg/s1600/link%2527s+1st+bday+%2526+haircut+142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fcN7vMBsJesw-KLNPbj5SaObRei8Ux3wEheZ9J8RuYCsPyc3TeMLpQtfX7xice_YoJGtxEPtGCddUj093FI5stROdSIw0Kw8EXx5SHOQiJr_Gnv_CS4y-d9xsd0a__7AmTvUBPa1TTlg/s320/link%2527s+1st+bday+%2526+haircut+142.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">December 2008: 239 Pounds</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I lost 30 pounds by rigorously following the plan & staying away from things that I wasn't "suppose to" have. When I got pregnant with my second child I told Pam that I would see her again in April of 2010 & I skipped out the door. "Pregnancy Cakes" (a yellow boxed cake with chocolate frosting eaten over the span of 2-3 days) soon followed. All of the foods that I had disallowed came back into my diet with a vengeance & I justified it because I was pregnant & I would take care of it "after the baby came." I had a 60 pound pregnancy & a 7 pound baby, but something had changed. When the doctor said "It's a girl!" in the delivery room, I knew that I had a responsibility to break the obesity cycle that has been plaguing the women in my family. I knew that my daughter wouldn't grow up with the assumption of obesity that I had. I knew that if that were to be the case I had to model how to be healthy so that she would know that as an expectation, not a pipe dream. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweMi8pJjODWSuqHnqo-WG5Hbfd-AaKgBHfl_gQhV8azRpK3c4bDtQ5Ux1osUGap_ZwHs-Rqy6ByV3hgl6i1GYn0aKqFgxrvzrEkGlPmRwrXTHM_Tx8MHzQ5q_WvjZB9GY1ApEJDwhOPnm/s1600/Coraline+Pics+From+Carol+028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweMi8pJjODWSuqHnqo-WG5Hbfd-AaKgBHfl_gQhV8azRpK3c4bDtQ5Ux1osUGap_ZwHs-Rqy6ByV3hgl6i1GYn0aKqFgxrvzrEkGlPmRwrXTHM_Tx8MHzQ5q_WvjZB9GY1ApEJDwhOPnm/s320/Coraline+Pics+From+Carol+028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February 2010: 269 Pounds</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was 269 pounds when I came home from the hospital. I lost 15 pounds on my own but was absolutely giddy to be starting back up with Weight Watchers when my daughter was six weeks old. From there I started looking at how I got to be obese, how I use food, & what is going on in my head when it comes to food & body image. I learned that I was a volume eater & used the Points system to help me reprogram what a healthy portion looks like. I used the Recipe Builder for everything I cooked to help me figure out what each ingredient was doing to my food & analyze how to make each meal work harder for me. I trained myself to go to Power Foods first for snacks & cravings & tried to re-frame my mindset that food is fuel, not a friend. I started realizing that it wasn't about getting skinny, it was about being healthy & living a life where longevity with quality was an attainable reality.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwKTv1xwLGA2vjOZT6Ih2fh3t1yc6qE8vEMtW4vMe_Gz3T19Nni82tPfGJiqz3GJr2dh5RdlN0pjXAAQhX76XzNLFuN6xN4O-n9ReqGR_jFKbARjaq__ccOhHIn-7jBI4ivSzriR-vPhJ/s1600/late+march+%2526+easter+2010+026.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwKTv1xwLGA2vjOZT6Ih2fh3t1yc6qE8vEMtW4vMe_Gz3T19Nni82tPfGJiqz3GJr2dh5RdlN0pjXAAQhX76XzNLFuN6xN4O-n9ReqGR_jFKbARjaq__ccOhHIn-7jBI4ivSzriR-vPhJ/s320/late+march+%2526+easter+2010+026.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April 2010: 254 Pounds </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When people ask me about Weight Watchers I always say that it is ONE of the invaluable tools that I have used on this journey. Weight Watchers, for me, is primarily about figuring out how much to eat by utilizing the PointsPlus system (& yes, I eat ALL of my Points) & giving me the support & accountability that I need along the way to doing that. Weight Watchers is not about telling me what to eat or having me deprive myself. It's about helping me change my life to one that is sustainable, where yes, I eat chicken nuggets that I fried in oil. But now they're fried in a skimming--of heart-healthy oil--coated in whole wheat bread crumbs--made from bread that I baked--with flour that I milled. As of this morning, I've lost nearly 105 pounds with Weight Watchers (120 in total) because I have learned how to make choices that are right for my body & the bodies of the people I feed. Not by eating a set of pre-determined, regimented foods, but by making conscious & informed decisions through the knowledge the plan has given me. For that, I will forever be grateful.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">April 2012: 151 Pounds</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-72506984011981475272012-04-19T14:34:00.000-05:002012-04-20T11:22:08.654-05:00From the Outside, Looking InI'm having a moment. From the outside, it's easy to see the changes that I've made as they manifest physically in the size of my tush. But from the inside, I'm just a mom of two little kids, living every day life--just trying to keep my sanity through potty training & muddy shoes & drama filled temper tantrums. It's really easy for me to forget how everything has changed over the last two years until something makes me step outside of myself & look inward. <br />
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A quick little FB post last year after running the <a href="http://www.grandbluemile.com/" target="_blank">Grand Blue Mile</a> (my first ever race/mile run) turned into event promoters asking me to make a video promoting this year's event. In making the video & now watching it, I am just. so. thankful.<br />
<ul>
<li>I'm thankful for <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/sweet-coraline-whoa-whoa-whoa.html" target="_blank">my girl</a> who changed my life in more ways than a normal child should have to change a parent.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for my <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/standing-by-my-man.html" target="_blank">hubster</a> who is the perfect blend of support & encouragement & patience & intuitively knows when to push me & when to shut up.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for my mom who reminded me that all parents want their children to do "more" than they themselves have done & in doing that children honor their parents' hard work & sacrifices.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for my friends who have had to listen to me prattle far too much about all things weight related.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for a friend who unknowingly kick started an exercise revolution in my life with the gift of a pair of shoes.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for my Weight Watchers leader, who is hysterical--& in my opinion hilarity is the BEST way to face any problem, weight related or otherwise. It was also her idea for me to write my list of <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/10/25-reasons-im-changing-my-life.html" target="_blank">25 Reasons I'm Changing My Life</a> (write one of your own if you need a motivation boost!).</li>
<li>I'm thankful for my very favorite Curves employee who measured me every month...even when I didn't bother to shave my legs but wore Capri pants anyway.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for good friends who don't treat New Sara any differently than Old Sara.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for the agog looks of people whom I haven't seen in a while.</li>
<li>I'm thankful for people that I don't know in the real world, but bolster me up every day on the interwebs.</li>
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I've put a lot of work into my 120 lbs removed, but today I'm blown away by all of the work that those around me have done & I'm very very thankful. Y'all saved my life--thanks!<br />
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And all of that came from watching this:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/exxvpTGEwXk?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-36684076386638384602012-04-18T11:47:00.000-05:002012-04-18T11:47:02.097-05:00Weight Loss = MC Squared?Recently I've had a few people ask me some variation of, "What is more important for losing weight: eating right or exercise?" <br />
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*sigh* It's such a loaded question, usually packing the asker's predisposition for the "right" answer. I don't suppose there is an ACTUAL right answer--if there is, I'm certainly not qualified to know what it is. <br />
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For ME, weight loss looks a little like this: 60% what's in my head + 30% what's in my mouth + 10 % what my feet are doing. Taking out the main element of the mental & emotional component, food is the critical piece of the equation. This morning I came up with an analogy.<br />
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When I was in high school I took Physics to fulfill my school's science requirement. Physics & I fought a LOT. It didn't come intuitively to me & I didn't enjoy it, which made it a struggle. I faithfully went to class every day but when it came time to do the homework, I often shirked it & I NEVER studied. <br />
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Going to class is like exercising & studying is like eating. My success in Physics was mitigated by my refusal to give my mind the fuel it needed to process what I was getting in class. Similarly, my weight loss is hampered when I am in periods of giving myself low quality or low nutrition fuel, regardless of how much I am working out. Without the proper fuel, both efforts are wasted. <br />
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I passed Physics, but I don't want to squeak by with my body. For me & my weight loss progress (note: when it comes to my overall HEALTH, I think exercise takes a more pivotal roll, this is just specific to my weight loss) I have to focus on the food I eat--high quality, whole foods not low calorie, processed junk. When it comes to my body I want better than a C-.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-66803395752308278542012-04-13T13:48:00.001-05:002012-04-13T14:10:51.607-05:00Jump Shout BoogieMy very first ever race/mile run was at last year's <a href="http://www.grandbluemile.com/" target="_blank">Grand Blue Mile</a>. It's an awesome local event meant to help average people think about health & wellness through a simple one mile run/walk. When I started running last March, I never dreamed that it would be something I would still be doing (more on the ridiculous way I roped myself into running <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/03/run-sara-run.html" target="_blank">here</a>), but I can honestly say that I ALMOST enjoy it now.<br />
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As Grand Blue Mile is just around the corner (April 24th for you locals...come on...you know you want to), I've found myself setting a totally new kind of goal for myself. I have run exactly four races & each time, my goal was to finish come hell or high water (both of which DID come at <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/11/living-history-farms-or-have-i-lost-my.html" target="_blank">Living History Farms</a>). This year, I want to run that one single mile for a specific time. Last year, for my very first mile I ever ran straight (I trained with <a href="http://www.c25k.com/" target="_blank">Couch to 5K</a> that uses intervals) I finished with a time just under 11 minutes. There is no way I'll ever be more proud of a finish than that. That being said, this year I'm gunning for a 9 minute mile, & here's my secret weapon (skip to 7:19 for my secret weapon or give into all of the Manilow-y fun for a bouncing good pick-me-up to your Friday slump):<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Me + Jump Shout Boogie = perfect 9 minute mile pace for my stride. As a former marching band geek, my feet practically go on autopilot when they find a driving beat & this just makes me move. Plus, it puts a smile on my face EVERY time...but I'm not sure if that's because of the peppy song or the image of Barry's flowing locks. Good times.</div>Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-51764389814394624342012-04-10T14:59:00.000-05:002012-04-10T14:59:53.772-05:00My First Feat of StrengthLately I've found myself doing a lot of reflection on my journey & today I was thinking about one of the unsung factors in my success. This is your fair warning: I'm about to talk about childbirth which may either a) gross you out or b) offend you. Every word hereafter is meant merely as a reflection on my own experiences & in no way is intended to impart judgement on anyone else's experience. After all, anyone who has read anything about pregnancy & child birth can tell you: "every pregnancy is different." So, with that little proviso out of the way...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXJz6U_NdZyKgXBLlAp03o5aLzJar_YYJxH58w58qYtLpla4LdEdlr0qkNaDjp6d7PYOikT7AcMWO9mfwvxEaxkXwbEzHLk4Dd1-Uw_rwQrhwMT-oTkKZ_E4_cipDDWZpVx6ZEm1FxvRSv/s1600/Lincoln_Dawson_Miller+042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXJz6U_NdZyKgXBLlAp03o5aLzJar_YYJxH58w58qYtLpla4LdEdlr0qkNaDjp6d7PYOikT7AcMWO9mfwvxEaxkXwbEzHLk4Dd1-Uw_rwQrhwMT-oTkKZ_E4_cipDDWZpVx6ZEm1FxvRSv/s320/Lincoln_Dawson_Miller+042.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Linkavitch Chimovsky</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It's no secret, I've got some hippie tendencies. When I was pregnant with my son (5 years ago) I went into the delivery room all dewy eyed & expectant of an un-medicated, uncomplicated, peaceful birth. Lincoln had other plans. One induction, 15 hours of Pitocin-ful epidural-less labor, one prolapsed cord & one very emergency C-section later, I was a mom. No matter how many times Dave chanted "Healthy baby, healthy mom...that's all that matters," I still felt like a failure. I wanted so badly to experience a natural birth & even though there was absolutely nothing I could (or would) do to change it, I chalked it up as just one more thing my body couldn't do.<br />
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I literally started talking VBAC with my OB the very next day. It became an obsession. When our local hospital stopped allowing them, I vowed I would drive an hour to a provider that would (thankfully we moved before it was an issue). I made my plans for a VBAC known at my very first prenatal visit for my second pregnancy (three years ago). At each visit, the doctor reminded me of the risks & each time I said I understood the risks & wanted the opportunity to try to deliver naturally. I was a dog that wouldn't let go of a bone, tenacious & resolute.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweMi8pJjODWSuqHnqo-WG5Hbfd-AaKgBHfl_gQhV8azRpK3c4bDtQ5Ux1osUGap_ZwHs-Rqy6ByV3hgl6i1GYn0aKqFgxrvzrEkGlPmRwrXTHM_Tx8MHzQ5q_WvjZB9GY1ApEJDwhOPnm/s1600/Coraline+Pics+From+Carol+028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhweMi8pJjODWSuqHnqo-WG5Hbfd-AaKgBHfl_gQhV8azRpK3c4bDtQ5Ux1osUGap_ZwHs-Rqy6ByV3hgl6i1GYn0aKqFgxrvzrEkGlPmRwrXTHM_Tx8MHzQ5q_WvjZB9GY1ApEJDwhOPnm/s320/Coraline+Pics+From+Carol+028.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Coraline</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Another induction, more Pitocin, no epidural. My labor started stalling at 5 cm dilated. I was in a panic. This was the same point that I had my C-section with my son. What if my body couldn't go any farther? What if it was a waste to keep trying? Through my cursing & moaning, I had to make a choice. I could compromise some of my expectations for the sake of an end goal or grit through & hope for the best. I chose to compromise & get an epidural with the hope that I could relax & let my body do its thang. I had my baby girl 45 minutes later. <br />
<br />
What does this have to do with making a change in my life? I was never an athlete. Aside from dance lessons as a child, I wasn't in a single physical activity or sport. I had never asked my body to do a anything beyond the daily activities of life. Labor & child birth are tough & I made it through; past the fear, past the self doubt, past the pain (with the help of an anesthesiologist on a white horse). On the other side I found a daughter (who has motivated me in ways that I will never be able to fully express--more on that <a href="http://weightylife.blogspot.com/2011/02/sweet-coraline-whoa-whoa-whoa.html" target="_blank">here</a>) but I also found something far simpler: I found physical accomplishment.<br />
<br />
Intellectually I know that the manner in which I brought my babies into the world has NO bearing on me as a person, woman, or mother, but being able to set my mind to completing a physical task was something entirely new to me & it changed me. It could have been bench pressing a heavy weight or running a long distance, but for me it was having a baby the same way skillions of women have babies every day. I pushed my body in a way I didn't think I could & I came out on the other side stronger. That taste of physical accomplishment was the first of many I've experienced along this journey & I'm so thankful to have had it. <br />
<br />
While laboring, I remember having a distinct mental image of a father & his pre-school age daughter walking down the hall in the maternity ward to visit her new baby brother for the first time. She was skipping happily with an "It's a Boy!" balloon in her tiny hand. It was a beautiful moment in my mind that was surely ruined when she skipped past my door & heard what could only be described as a sailor woman being disemboweled "Braveheart"-style. I felt guilty for ruining their (imaginary) moment, just as I feel guilty I have likely ruined your lovely Tuesday afternoon with talk of VBACs & dilation. This is why I'll encourage my daughter to take up soccer...so a discussion of her first feat of strength needn't come at the expense of someone's appetite.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-60810990163534858082012-04-06T15:30:00.000-05:002012-04-06T15:30:21.150-05:00Last Week on "A Weight-y Life"I was all fired up. I was excited to blend some of the great habits I have learned in my 2+ years of shedding pounds with the new passion for whole foods. And then it happened...illness.<br />
When your job is stay at home parent, the sick policy is really lousy. It goes something like this: "You have a 103 degree temperature & you're seeing purple oompa-loompas doing a may pole dance on the bed post? Tough. Go make breakfast." That was me last week. A fever that high does some crazy stuff to your brain & once you're better, you're still a little addled & ridiculously tired in the days that follow. "Lucky" for me Lincoln was sick at the exact same time. We laid motionless in my bed & watched "a furious amount of TV"--as Lincoln put it--& prayed that Coraline stayed alive. At some point she found a pen & explored the possibility of becoming a tattoo artist. I had no idea until Dave asked me about it the next day.<br />
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All of this is to say that I was excited & on track, I had strung together a couple of good weeks of loss, I was running again & then...I didn't let it derail me! This is a victory of major mental proportions. So often I have a good stretch going & then life does what life does & I let it get to me. This week I took charge & reminded myself that I am the only one that makes my choices. I let it inspire me to look up a new Zumba class that works perfectly with our schedule & budget. I let it push me to get back out & run during some (more) of our ridiculously great weather. I let it fuel me to try to make good food choices because my body needed nutrients to recuperate from fever damage. <br />
<br />
Some genuine observations from the clouded haze of my fever addled brain:<br />
<ol><li>I'm the only one that makes choices for me.</li>
<li>I am not an observer in my own life, I am the play maker.</li>
<li>I am DONE letting fear make a choice for me--inaction is the same thing as a negative action.</li>
<li>I am dealing with my food demons because of how they affect my life, not just my pants' size.</li>
</ol>And one not so genuine observation:<br />
<ol><li>When any one member of a family is sick, the house erupts in an explosion of filth rivaling an episode of "Hoarders." When two members are sick, it's time to 'doze it & start over.</li>
</ol>Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-56744169771629044492012-03-22T17:55:00.000-05:002012-03-22T17:55:37.230-05:00Avoidance ProductivityRemember in school when you had a big assignment due & you re-he-he-ealllllly didn't want to do it? Your room was never cleaner. Your hobbies were never more alluring. And your books were never more organized (by publisher & then alphabetized--isn't that how you kept your book collection when you were 9?).<br />
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I am never more productive than when I'm avoiding something. Whilst I was avoiding being accountable & facing the music on my 5 lbs of creeping negligence I was EXTREMELY productive in the rest of my life:<br />
<ul><li>I learned how to make homemade whole wheat pizza crust.</li>
<li>I organized our DVD collection in cute acrylic boxes.</li>
<li>I started purging our house of cleaning chemicals & started making <a href="http://pinterest.com/sarahurler/hippie-dippy/" target="_blank">my own cleaners</a>.</li>
<li>I read up on milling my own flour, listened to a webinar on the subject & tracked down a new filter for the 1980's hand-me-down mill that I got from my mother.</li>
<li>I finished our taxes.</li>
<li>I tracked down information on <a href="http://www.amazon.com/BlueSource-HYR270-HydroRight-Converter-MJSI/dp/B002NKRR7Y" target="_blank">dual flush toilets</a> & got the parts for Dave to convert our master bath (which he did--if you're interested in making the switch, don't believe the lies about 10 minute, tool-less install).</li>
<li>I got my kids signed up for their summer swim lessons & day camps.</li>
<li>I peel-&-stick tiled under our master bathroom sink & organized all of the junk under there.</li>
<li>I took to Pinterest & learned how to <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2008/10/cooking-dried-beans-in-crockpot.html" target="_blank">make my own "canned" beans</a> using dried beans & my crock pot.</li>
<li>I made orange infused vinegar for cleaning my wood floors.</li>
<li>I started planning/planting our 2012 Garden Extravaganza.</li>
<li>I finally went to the local health market (<a href="http://www.newcitymarket.com/" target="_blank">New City Market</a> for curious locals) I've been meaning to hit up & realized that farm fresh eggs are only 10 minutes from my house.</li>
<li>I moved around some furniture in the living & dining rooms.</li>
<li>I organized the drawers in the kitchen & purged kitchen gizmos that I don't use.</li>
<li>I started on our next project: a penny tiled desktop for the short book shelves in the kitchen.</li>
</ul>Here's what I didn't do:<br />
<ul><li>I didn't track my food.</li>
<li>I didn't write a word.</li>
<li>I didn't log onto my blog or Facebook page. At all.</li>
<li>I didn't keep myself accountable.</li>
<li>I didn't take the bull by the horns & stop moping.</li>
</ul>I'm mad. I don't want to have to THINK about food every minute of every day forever. I don't want to have loose skin that makes it hard to find bras, underpants & jeans that don't highlight my lumps at best & cause pain at worst. I don't want to feel guilty when I eat a brownie & guilty when I DON'T eat a brownie. I don't want to work-out. I don't want to feel torn between what I've been taught about low-cal/low-fat & what I feel to be true about whole foods & real foods. I don't want to give up on my goal weight but I don't want to put in the extra work required to attain it. <br />
<br />
And all of that energy focused on what I DON'T want won't help me get any of the things I DO want. I guess I'm just not sure what it is that I want--except to go to "The Hunger Games" tonight. I know I want that.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-21160601477881609452012-02-27T15:54:00.000-06:002012-02-27T15:54:42.534-06:00Thank You, Beyonce<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"The time is going to pass whether you do something with it or not. Next year it will be Next Year no matter what I do, so I might as well do something good with what I've got in the meantime."</span><br />
<br />
When I was a wee sprat in middle school, I had a friend who's mother was going through a rather sudden divorce. She used the chaotic time in her life as a spring board to change her circumstances & rather than sit & mope, she decided to get her college degree. The above quote is something I overheard her saying to another mother (not my mother!) when asked why she was taking the time to go back to school "at her age," especially since it would take so long doing it part time.<br />
<br />
Little did Beyonce (sadly not her name--I honestly can't remember her name this many years after the fact) know that she was not only taking charge of her life, but she was also shaping mine years down the road. Not much good comes easy or quickly. It takes time & hard work & consistency & perseverance to get to a long term goal. <br />
<br />
I don't know why I'm thinking about Beyonce today, but I wonder where I would be without that inadvertent lesson? I pulled that quote out of my memory many times in the early stages of my journey, reminding myself that each small good choice was a step toward a big step that I wouldn't be able to see without the benefit of time. Now that some time is past & I can look back on two years of better choices & accumulation of effort, I'd like to say: <br />
<ul><li>Thank you, Beyonce, for giving me an idea to hold onto when the small steps are frustrating (this is how Internet rumors get started, by the way, but I'm not saying anything mean about Beyonce, so I don't think she'll mind...it's not like I'm naming a big metal chicken after her--if you're not afraid of impolite snort out loud laughter & four-letter-words click <a href="http://thebloggess.com/2011/06/and-thats-why-you-should-learn-to-pick-your-battles/" target="_blank">here</a> & you will find THE funniest thing on the Internet).</li>
<li>Thank you, Shortsighted Other Mother, for asking a hideously rude & inappropriate question within earshot of impressionable youths. You're just lucky that Beyonce took the ball & ran with it.</li>
<li>Thank you, Memory for hanging on to at least one useful thing in my whole life. If I can't remember kidnapping my (then) boyfriend for an impromptu trip to Graceland because Graceland should be on EVERYONE'S bucket list, well then at least I can remember a golden idea that I eavesdropped as a 14 year old.</li>
</ul> The take-aways:<br />
<ol><li>I can't stop time from marching on. All I can do is the best I can with the time I have right now.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There's always a tween looking for a life lesson, so have your message-stick at the ready at all times. Look, there's one now with the clothes of an 80 year old man & the make-up of an 80 year old hooker. Oh wait, that was me. Carry on.</li>
</ol><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhqe6gzML35GqzhTMVbSY4XSt3v_GL8XPpvdI72edgbMNyiJw1X13MHpz3yy2_KqECFpW9Bg06Lf2H-6GiuQAjJvJ1HpY5je6ONgjsi48awLzAZP3HPGK41yjA7evFhyphenhyphen8cDWGQFuF6rLn/s1600/teenage+sara+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhqe6gzML35GqzhTMVbSY4XSt3v_GL8XPpvdI72edgbMNyiJw1X13MHpz3yy2_KqECFpW9Bg06Lf2H-6GiuQAjJvJ1HpY5je6ONgjsi48awLzAZP3HPGK41yjA7evFhyphenhyphen8cDWGQFuF6rLn/s320/teenage+sara+001.jpg" uda="true" width="320" /></a></div>Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-54465061708665397242012-02-22T21:26:00.000-06:002012-02-22T21:26:46.011-06:00New Sara + The MachineThis song. So much:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/iWOyfLBYtuU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>I found myself hangin' with Ursula this afternoon & discovered this as a kick-hiney running song. I already loved it as a grooving-in-the-kitchen, but when Florence wails "run fast for your mother," I really really wanted to!<br />
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Not only that, I really really wanted to keep running. For the first time in a long time, I felt the thrill of fitness & wanting to make my body strong again. I even started entertaining the idea of training for the local 20K in June. <br />
<br />
I was so excited about working out (wha-ha?!?!?) that I put on a clean pair of running tights & tank after my shower so that I'm ready to hit it again tomorrow morning. Yup, I sleep in my work out wear to eliminate one excuse from the endless supply I find myself with at the crack of early. <br />
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So here I sit ready (but for my new Smart Wool socks that are in the dryer--looooooove them) for my run in the morning & looking forward to my second ever plank (did one this afternoon after Florence got me all whipped up--10 seconds...I've got lots of room for improvement!). It's time to make New Sara strong as well as lean.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1407553653984766711.post-19396380760809374332012-02-20T16:33:00.001-06:002012-02-20T21:39:33.050-06:00Our Daily BreadI'm a freak. <br />
<br />
About a year ago, because I didn't want to dump whey (leftover from making <a href="http://weightyeats.blogspot.com/2011/05/greek-yogurt.html" target="_blank">yogurt</a>) down the drain, I bought a bread machine & started making all of our bread. At the time I did the math & figured that the fancy-schmancy machine (a requirement if I was going to bake bread as I knew--& still know--nothing about baking) would pay for itself in one year with the savings from not buying our $3.50 per loaf grocery store bread. Factor in the "savings" in preservatives & highly processed nonsense & it was a no-brainer.<br />
<br />
Today is "free" <a href="http://weightyeats.blogspot.com/2012/02/whole-wheat-bread.html" target="_blank">bread</a> day...<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq4fAWM7mhOLPMUeNol-iKIsxITKiviNcpCEpHvzotZ6yWafMD0X4B_R46F_uwh6Vg33u5uDAm1eBuGOzoQRLG9AH5y0Q3T4ew46AP5Itu6CqXBqSEpDzmEAx__Ruz7Gw034Bhpfu9bZZ/s1600/coraline's+bday+part+two,+sara's+bday,+coraline's+fiesta+&+bread+176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq4fAWM7mhOLPMUeNol-iKIsxITKiviNcpCEpHvzotZ6yWafMD0X4B_R46F_uwh6Vg33u5uDAm1eBuGOzoQRLG9AH5y0Q3T4ew46AP5Itu6CqXBqSEpDzmEAx__Ruz7Gw034Bhpfu9bZZ/s320/coraline's+bday+part+two,+sara's+bday,+coraline's+fiesta+&+bread+176.JPG" width="320" yda="true" /></a></div><div style="text-align: right;">...it's a beautiful day.</div><br />
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I'm celebrating by pushing myself waaaaay out of my comfort zone & making hamburger buns for our veggie burgers tonight. Anything that requires me doing anything with dough that isn't of the cookie variety terrifies me, but what's the worst that can happen? Veggie burgers a la plate isn't the end of the world & maybe hamburger buns can be one more thing I can make to take better care of my body & the other three bodies that I feed each day.Sara Hurlerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13112276662929222194noreply@blogger.com5