fitness

Playing the body numbers

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I would really like to think that we can avoid the American scourges of heart disease and diabetes, if not cancer, by leading a healthy lifestyle. And I would really like to stay away from the complicating medications meant to treat them.

Thus, it was only reluctantly, after years of futilely trying to get my cholesterol numbers down with diet and supplements, that I agreed to start taking a statin. My husband is holding out against medication for himself, choosing to believe those who say cholesterol numbers aren’t all that important. Which of us will live longer? I guess you’ll have to wait and see. Continue reading →

Torture regime

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I have just finished the fourth week of my new exercise regime, a 20-30 minute daily program of high-intensity exercise involving weights and cardio intervals. You have asked me to report back. How am I doing?

Faithfulness: My biggest achievement is that I have actually done it for four weeks. I have done something I don’t like–intense exercise that makes me huff and puff and sweat–because it is good for me. They say you won’t keep up an exercise regime you don’t enjoy. Well, I have. So there. Continue reading →

A new exercise program

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IMG_2948Last Monday I did something I never do: I responded to an Internet ad. It was one of those links to a video that promised information about a sure-fire way to get stronger and healthier and a better body in three months. I was feeling tubby, tired, and weak at the time so, in that idle moment, I pursued the link out of curiosity, even though I knew that I wouldn’t get any real information until I got to the paying part.

And then when I got to the paying part I did something I really never do: I paid. Continue reading →

Terrible Tuesdays

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What is your hardest day of the week? Mine is Tuesday. My husband leaves early Tuesday morning for three days of work in the city and, if loneliness is going to hit me, it is always that day. It gnawed at me yesterday. I needed somebody else around to anchor me. Even my late cat would have helped. I found myself missing Lalo even more than my husband (sorry, Vic). Continue reading →

69

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I just celebrated my 69th birthday. I should say “acknowledged” rather than “celebrated.” I try to put on a certain insouciance about my age but sometimes getting older is just plain discouraging. In fact, discouragement is the great bugaboo of aging. Discouragement, which can stretch out into depression, can make you feel really, really old.

Discouragement is just an emotion, however, and you can do something about emotions if you understand them. My discouragement often stems from comparing myself to others and to my former self.

I have just been at the Y, walking my three miles on the track. This is a prime spot for comparing myself to other people. I do not compare myself to the runners and joggers–well, yes, a little. I notice, for example, that a typical runner passes me every lap, which means that he or she is moving twice as fast as I am. But I am more likely to pay attention to my fellow walkers. Are they older or younger? Fatter or thinner? And, of course, faster or slower?

Today a remarkable number of walkers seemed to be older and faster than me, though several were older and slower. One was younger, fatter, and faster. Some were younger and slower and then they started running and were much, much faster. The pair of women who walk faster than me while talking nonstop were not there today, but another pair–younger, plumper, and even talkier–strolled the 1/10-mile oval like they owned it, ignoring the runners and the faster walkers, including me, who edged by them. They weren’t paying attention to anybody else. Why should I?

It’s just a way of entertaining myself, I suppose, but being with other people also helps me step up my pace. And keeping my butt moving is one way of overcoming the sloggy discouragement that goes with noticing my declining physical powers. Plus it also retards that decline.

Before that I had been to the radiology department of the clinic for a bone scan. Talk about comparisons. I measured 1/4 inch shorter than three years ago. Yikes. I won’t know the results of the scan for another week but it will probably show some decline in bone density. It goes with my genes, gender, and age. I can slow that decline with the walking, calcium, D, etc., but I expect to have a debate with the doctor about trying to reverse it with medication. The proliferating bottles of prescription medication on our shelves are discouraging signs of aging.

I suppose comparison can also be a source of encouragement. On the Y track I cruise past the obese walkers. Other women who were waiting with me in the radiology department were in wheelchairs. But I don’t feel superior to these people; only compassion–and respect for those who are trying their best. One woman was wheeled into the office in a wheelchair but got up and walked when she was called into the treatment room. I don’t think I’d consent to a wheelchair until absolutely necessary. I am grateful to be in pretty good shape. I’m pleased that, although I am shrinking in height (not good), I have also shrunk in weight (good).

One thing that I have observed about the aging/comparison/discouragement syndrome is that, as I age, I require increasing recovery time from almost any kind of injury or stress. Where injury is concerned, this can be discouraging. I dealt with plantar fasciitis in my right foot for three years before it finally went away.

The stress of travel, or planning a worship service, or hosting overnight guests–all of which I have been doing lately–often leaves me feeling inadequate and thus, discouraged. But then I realize that I am just tired. I was feeling discouraged yesterday. Then I had an introverty evening alone, watching my current favorite TV series on Netflix (the French crime drama Spiral); a good night’s sleep; those three miles this morning; and time to reflect on it all.

I’m not discouraged, tired, or even old any more. I am just 69.

Go-o-o-o-oal!

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3D render of a gold starI shouted this to my husband this morning and he didn’t know what I was referring to at first. Oh. You reached your goal weight. Good.

I’ll admit it was a bit anticlimactic because I’ve been hovering close to 145.8 for two months and actually reached it several times but never on Weigh-in Saturday until today.

My reward on Weight Watchers online was a star that was larger than other milestone stars and it bounced. I was offered the option of setting a new goal and reminded that my healthy weight was 109 to 137. Yes I know but I’m not going there yet, if ever.

So I chose the option of maintaining the current weight and then checked my food tracker and saw that I was now allotted 32 points for the day instead of 26—a 23 percent increase. I spent three extra points on a slice of rice millet toast with coconut butter and honey, along with my usual small bowl of cereal and fruit. (I have been craving sweet recently and ate several spoonfuls of that Trader Joe’s organic honey from India yesterday.) I am now feeling quite full.

I think I would gain weight on 32 points a day to say nothing of the 49 extra allotted each week for indulgences, which I seldom dip into very far. So basically I have to keep doing what I have been doing recently. Pretty boring.

Slow weight loss is good but 8 months to take off 22 pounds is ridiculous. However, I was already eating healthily and exercising quite a lot when I started so it took extra discipline. Plus I am 68 and I really do think it is harder to lose weight as you get older.

I was within a pound of goal at the 6-month mark, when I bought all my new clothes. It just took me two months to take off the last pound.

I don’t think buying the new clothes prematurely is why the last pound took so long to come off. My body and spirit were just needing to let up a little on the discipline. When you start eating maple syrup by the spoonful and heading straight to the olive bar at Whole Foods, you know you need something you haven’t been getting.

(We now have a Whole Foods in the nether reaches of Michiana though not yet a Trader Joe’s. When TJ arrives we will have at last joined the United States of Couth. Plenty of uncouthness here to go around still—every brand of all-you-can-eat excess fried fast cheap gloppy yummy to-go supersize self-destruction available, by car no sidewalks.)

Last September I wrote that I would be ecstatic to get back to what I weighed 7 years ago when I was feeling fat in Japan. And I am! Who-hoo! But this morning I am also thinking there are a few things I don’t like about weight loss. (Discipline isn’t one of them. I enjoy being disciplined. It brings its own rewards.)

1. It comes off where you don’t need it to. Like my face and hands. One friend who hadn’t seen me for months said she missed my round cheeks. I do too. They made me look like my sweet mother. Now I look more like my thin-chinned Aunt Irene.

Thus losing weight does not solve all my appearance problems. I must keep working on my posture. I am still an older woman and look like one though truly I feel much younger than I did a year ago.

2. I become judgmental. I feel superior to and sorry for all the obese people who are walking around the track and huffing and puffing on the machines at the Y. I am smug about having nipped my weight problem in the bud before it got that bad. And I feel a tinge of scorn for the other obese people who are sitting around watching their kids swim or do gymnastics rather than moving themselves.

Reminder: Even 22 extra pounds sapped my energy and made it really hard for me get my butt moving. Those who are working out are heroes. Those who are sitting represent what I felt like doing 8 months ago.

3. It can make you want to give advice to others. Everybody who loses weight wants to do this and I am no exception, though I try to rein myself in and talk only about my own experience. During this personal campaign I came to the stunning realization that I am responsible only for myself. I am not responsible for the way other people eat except those who eat at my table.

In fact, the more I talk about it the more I may turn people off. I may inspire guilt rather than courage. But writing about my effort has been good. It has helped to keep me focused and accountable just a bit beyond myself.

So thank you for reading and cheering me on.

 

Hovering

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I guess I have found my weight maintenance, as opposed to weight loss formula: stick with the plan except have seconds every now and then, or a few evening snacks. I have been doing this for several weeks because the strict discipline I need to actually lose weight is flagging. Obeying my body and indulging my spirits, I am letting up a little. And indeed, I am holding steady.

But I am hovering half or three-quarters of a pound above my goal, which is 145.8. (I did see it once but it disappeared by my weekly weigh-in day.)

Why that odd number for a goal? It is 10 percent below the weight at which I signed on to Weight Watchers. It is actually more than 10 percent below my starting weight, because I lost more than 5 pounds on my own before WW. But I read somewhere that losing more than 10 percent at a time isn’t good because it encourages rebounding. Maybe my body is saying, you already lost more than your 10 percent, let’s just keep it there for a while.

But this is very boring. I want to reach a milestone. I want to see what bells and whistles WW online offers when I reach goal and 10 percent at the same time. (Those little stars and words of cyber praise bring a silly kind of satisfaction.)

What I really want to do is throw the discipline out the window.

However, what this low hovering is teaching me is that if I think losing 22 pounds is hard, guess what. Keeping them off is even harder. Because I’ll have to keep up the discipline without the reward of seeing weekly progress.

I’ll have to keep up the three miles a day or equivalent.

I’ll have to keep counting points and stick close to the minimum.

I’ll have to keep drowning the evening snacking urges in herbal tea.

One six-ounce glass of wine, weekends only.

Etc.

All of this will have to continue after I reach that magical, mythical 145.8. Reaching my goal changes nothing. I may be able to let up a little, like I have been doing recently, but not a lot.

What has to change is my mentality. Setting a goal tricks you into adopting discipline. Eventually you will reach the goal and, unless you can immediately set another goal,  you have to concentrate on the intrinsic rewards of that discipline. There’s a life lesson in there somewhere.

The fact is, my tummy feels much better going to bed on chamomile tea rather than Trader Joe’s Sesame Sticks. I can’t even drink two glasses of wine anymore without getting a headache. The thought of cheesecake turns my stomach. If I crave anything it’s veggies and brown rice and some sweet, ripe papaya.

My daily exercise makes me feel good and sleep well. My energy level is at a new normal, much higher than before. Even though the midriff bulge isn’t gone, it’s hideable. I like looking in the mirror and I like trying on clothes.

I have to remind myself of these things and be grateful and pat myself on the back. That’s a good shoulder stretch, too.

Goals, objectives, and God

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In my professional life I learned to sling the jargon of strategic planning. I know the difference between goals and objectives. And I know how to write reports and proposals that make it sound like the life of an organization or a person can be arranged in a logical hierarchy: the overarching mission, then the goal, then the objectives that serve as milestones toward the goal.

Generally, however, I don’t believe it. I think life is much more organic, less predictable, and both more difficult and fun than that. Life is not logical. Life happens in the unpredicted cracks in the sidewalk of your consciousness. This is true for organizations as well as people.

But recently my life has surprised me by sorting itself into goals and objectives. True, it has done this in an upside-down way. The objectives have come first and the goal has emerged more slowly, but now that the goal has emerged the objectives make sense, they hang together. They clearly lead to the goal and are necessary if I am to accomplish it.

The goal is to write a book about Congo through the lens of the joy of worship music–écrire un livre sur Congo à travers le prisme de la joie de la musique d’adoration (I am running everything through a mental or Google translator these days).

I was not able to articulate this goal until very recently, although versions of it popped up now and then over the past year. I have only sensed the need for a Next Big Thing, a major writing project, without being able to define it.

Instead, certain objectives presented themselves one by one. I have been acting on these objectives without knowing the goal, in fact, because I didn’t know the goal. I didn’t know what the Next Big Thing was but I could do each of these smaller things that presented themselves and captured my attention. (I have blogged about all of these but won’t pepper this post with links.)

1. Learn. I edited a book about the Congo Mennonite Church in late 2011 to early 2012 and in the process learned the church’s fascinating history, something I hadn’t learned in my three years in Congo back in the seventies.

2. Go. But my involvement with Congo Cloth Connection predated that, and I went to Congo last May with that project. I had a great time and my love of Congo Cloth expanded to include Congolese church music.

3. Network. Following up on both of these things, I decided to go to Congo again for the centennial celebration in July. Thus in the space of a few months I was drawn into a network of warm relationships with Congolese Mennonites.

4. Deepen. Last fall I began working with a spiritual director and established a meditation practice.

5. Publish. I decided I couldn’t move on to a Next Big Thing until I decided what to do with a manuscript that had been languishing for several years in the “what am I going to do with this” pile. In the course of a few months I revised and published it as The Dream Matrix.

6. Energize. The July Congo trip had worn me out. I decided I needed to lose weight and adopt a diet and fitness regime for maximum energy. I have done this over the course of the past eight months: Weight Watchers, gluten-free, mostly vegan, 3 miles a day. Two-tenths of a pound to go as of today to reach my goal (objective!) weight.

7. Flow. My daughter-in-law gave me a Christmas gift prompt that led me to adopt the word “flow” as my theme this year, to keep all these streams flowing and moving in the same direction. It worked when I needed it most, in the first quarter of this year.

8. Dream. Publishing The Dream Matrix prompted me to lead a dream class in church and pay attention once again to my own dreams. Some of this sequence has emerged through those dreams.

9. Partner. The Congo relationships have continued to blossom as I work on a partnership between my church and a congregation in Kinshasa, host visitors, and address cross-cultural challenges.

10. Write. Writing this blog has catalyzed each of these developments because I write my life—I write about it and I write my life into being if that makes sense. But in addition, just as I was beginning to dare to articulate my goal, an opportunity came up to write—to travel to Congo in September and October of this year to report on the ordination of the first women in the last branch of the Congo Mennonite Church that had been holding out on ordaining women. Choirs will be there. I know some of these women. My husband and I are beginning to plan our trip.

All of these objectives just happen to lead toward this newly articulated goal. This, my friends, is how I experience God. God is in the gift of the goal, God is in the timing of each of these so-called objectives. Maybe God is the great Strategic Planner.

Celebrations, shopping, setbacks

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Last week was the 44th anniversary of my marriage to the tall, lean, shy cute guy. He is still tall and lean. He is much less shy than he was when we were 24. And he is even cuter. I really lucked out.

We celebrated in Chicago. I went with him for his weekly 3-day work stint and shopped for new clothes while he worked. The way I look at it, his anniversary present to me was the new clothes. Mine to him was looking good in them.

He’s not here right now so I can’t show you how good we both look.

In the evenings we dined out, totally busting out of our vegan gluten-free regime. I did not count Weight Watchers points last week. Consequently my weight rebounded a bit, a minor setback. The pleasure was worth it. I am happy to get back to simple high-veggie, low fat this week.

I’m not complaining but the shopping was hard work. The first day I went to Oak Brook Mall, my old favorite. It was torn up for relandscaping. It was raining. And it was a case of the usual overabundance of bad selections. I have trouble with overchoice, with finding the gem on the rack of garish. Give me a small shop filled with my kind of clothes.

But I dutifully trudged through every department store and every possibly appropriate shop, selecting a few things here and there. The most thrilling purchase? New bras perfectly, professionally fitted! (Too much information? Stop reading, guys.)

At the very end I found the little shop that had my kind of clothes, J. Jill. I didn’t buy much because I was already shopped out. I found the essential black knit dress I’d been looking for to wear under my Congo Cloth jackets, linen crop pants, and a pink linen shirt. Now I know where to go online to look for simple, well-made clothes. Most important, I’ve tried on their sizes.

The second day was more fun. It was sunny. I spent it in my old stomping ground, Oak Park, where we’d lived for nearly 30 years, visiting old shops and new. I didn’t buy all that much–cute shoes at DSW, bargain tees at my familiar Gap. I found a new swimsuit at the Sports Authority where we’ve always shopped. I made a run to Trader Joe’s for tea and wine and to Olive & Well for black current balsamic vinegar. When it comes to shopping I like some predictability.

By the third day I was getting a UT infection from too much rich food and wine and not enough water. That, too, is predictable. This is probably way too much information but it may be of interest to other UTI-prone old ladies who bike: The UTI, which I’d begun treating, got worse after I got out on the bike a few days later for my first ride of the season.

I fought this problem two years ago when I was training for a century. Do I want to have to deal with it again? I’ve been getting ready for a new bike but now I’m having second thoughts. Giving up biking would be a real setback.

Meanwhile, the real celebration is going on in the woods. Spring is busting out all over. I just want to sit and watch.

front porch

The view from my front porch

 

 

My Next Big Thing

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The truth is, I’ve hit a snag. Flow stopped, motivation gone, I am at a loss for what to do next. I’m retired, I can do what I want, but that is easier said than done. What do I want?

On this warmer but still gray afternoon in early April, with only a hint of green and hepatica (yay, hepatica!)  in the forest leaf cover, I feel like I have started a thought and lost it, mid-sentence. What were all these plans I had as recently as January 1? I had what I thought was a year’s worth of desires lined up. All I had to do was follow through.

hepatica

Yay, hepatica!

Maybe it wasn’t a year’s worth; maybe only three months’ worth.

No, that’s not quite right. Some of those plans are accomplished, ta-da, done! Or almost. I work really fast when I put my mind to it. Others are not yet fully executed. I have done the easy parts and many of the hard parts but now there are some really hard parts left and I am running out of steam.

In the accomplished column is the publication of a book that I thought I would never finish writing and revising, let alone publish. Ta-da, done! I did this much faster than I thought possible and had fun mastering self-publishing, which has come a long way in the last few years.

In the nearly accomplished category: weight loss. I thought I couldn’t do it and then I did it. Ta-da, goal in sight!

Yet to do: get back to biking. But I have made progress by finding the guy who will help me get on the right bike. I will visit that shop outside Detroit again in the next month. Meanwhile, I will start to toughen my butt on my old bike as soon as the conditions are right. (I require temps in the 50s or above but not too hot, no rain, not too much wind. Today is a tiny bit rainy and besides I already got my exercise at the Y.)

However, what is really bothering me on this too-open afternoon, making me feel like a cowardly, unmotivated lazybones, is that I haven’t yet started my Next Big Writing Project.

But come to think of it, that’s not true. I have started the project but it is not yet at the writing stage.

  • I think I know what it is. I want to write about Mennonites in Congo and the power of music and faith in some of the toughest circumstances on the globe.
  • Since making two trips to Congo last year, I have been working on developing a special relationship between my church here and a congregation in Kinshasa.
  • I have revived the Congo Cloth Connection to create relationships and fund projects for women and children in Congo–we’ll do another big cloth market at the Mennonite Church USA convention in Phoenix in July.
  • And I am starting to think about my next trip to Congo.

I am hung up on this last point, however, the next trip. This will be a trip I do entirely on my own except my husband will go with me this time. But no sponsoring project, no special occasion like a centennial celebration, no fellow travelers. I want to go to visit churches and listen to as many choirs as possible. I want to go to write. This would be a research trip for my Next Big Writing Project.

There is a gap between the desire to do a thing–go to Congo on our own and listen to choirs–and making that happen. It is in this gap that the desire begins to doubt itself. Do I want this badly enough to do everything it takes to make it happen? All the money, logistics, contacts needed to travel in that compelling, outrageous country. Just for me. Just to write.

I need to believe in myself both as a doer and as a writer in order to move off square one. I am writing this as a statement of intention. If you wish, hold me accountable. Cheer me on.