Day Fifty-Seven: The Ties That Bind

I talk to my mom every weekend. We are not terribly alike, but I look forward to these phone calls. I have a lot of relatives, but not a lot of family, ifyougetwhatimsayin'. Mom is always there for me in the proverbial sense. I can make her laugh, and she can make me feel like I can do anything.

She arrives here in late September for a visit, right during my Day 90 completion of the PCP (a little more than a month away ~ woot!). She lives in the South these days, so distance and money keep visits far and few between. Like three years in between. As you can imagine, we are excited for her visit to Colorado for one week. I was asking her on the phone what groceries I need to buy to keep her happy at my homestead and she said something to the effect of "nothing weird ... none of that healthy stuff."

At least that's what I heard. See I was raised on Tuna Helper, Campbell's Tomato soup (milk recipe), Tang and the occasional block of orange government cheese. Mom was never an adventurous eater, either; and to top that off, she was a yo-yo dieter. And she bakes. A lot. She's very good at it. Ruh-roh ...

I'd like to end the PCP on a good note, but Mom is already asking for burger-and-shake places. Hmmm. I love Mom, but this is an inheritance I wish to avoid.

Day Fifty-Six: Important Notice

Sometimes I feel strong and toned. Sometimes I feel weak and soft.

Sometimes I feel that in the same day. The same hour even.

I feel my limbs, looking for evidence. I tug at the skin, the chub.
Is it smaller than before? Are there muscles under this?
Does anyone notice? I don't sometimes.
Maybe it's all an illusion. Maybe it's just in my head.
In my dreams ...

But then my neighbor says, in the midst of his surprise party:

Hey, you're really working hard. I see you out there every day.
I'm impressed.
His wife, on a different day, says:
No, I can tell. This shirt would have been snug on you before.
And my former coworker and pal,
who lives nearby, caught me by surprise as he ran by and teased:
hey grrrrrl! work it! lookin' smooth!
He said I was rockin' it. That he couldn't do this.
(I don't believe that, by the way.)
And my friend, the one who runs marathons,
teaches yoga and rides in statewide bike tours, says:
i've totally started reading your pcp blog before i work out.....a nice little motivator*
i love how real your blog is...
I got veklempt.
My frown turned upside down.

So thank you,
the people who notice
or pretend to notice
and let us know that you notice
because we notice when you do.

*this blog entry is dedicated to my dearest friend, Cara.
my first college friend

BFF
godmother to my child
birthday girl (happy 30th!)
first-time home owner as of today
xoxoxo

Day One, Vol. II: They're All Gonna Root For You

Just finished my first PCP workout in my new "gym" aka the backyard patio.

jumping rope
push-ups
sit-ups
squats

Nice but think I will definitely have to switch to a.m. workouts (the neighborhood is alive, noisy and busy in the afternoons, as it should be; neighbors and my kid wanted to know what was up with me and the jump rope, and I felt like my social hour in the suburbs was missed). I would have done PCP this a.m., but I'm still in the throes of my boot camp, session two, for the summer. I have two weeks left. Which means for the MWFs of the first two weeks of PCP, I will do boot camp in the a.m., and PCP workouts in the p.m. I kept telling myself It's only six days (five now), but truth be told today my body was already tired when I got home from work. Lucky for me, the PCP exercises align nicely with what we do in boot camp. On my non-boot camp days, I'm definitely going to start my day with PCP to ensure nothing at the end of the day gets in my way. Which is saying a lot, considering I'm a night owl.

The first week of PCP "diet" (oh how I loathe that word! I've never been a diet kind of person, and I don't believe PCP is anything even close to a diet. We need something better to call it. How about food solution? cuisine opportunity? fit fuel?): Just eat half. Whatever we normally would dish out for ourselves, eat half. Sounds easy. And it is easy to do ... until you're hungry an hour later. But I really stuck with it, and I realize today might be the easy day of it all.
Small bowl of cheerios instead of large. One morning coffee instead of two; one tsp of sugar instead of two. Five almonds instead of 10. Even half a nutrigrain bar when I was famished on the commute home (this PCP could really make the drive home dangerous for others if I continue to drive hungry). I noticed I really paid attention to my food so I wouldn't snarf it all down and that I could really enjoy the food. And that even with "half" portions, I felt satiated (but not stuffed) which snowballed into really looking forward to and appreciating the next time I got to eat.

Today I had a lot of people ask about PCP, and I was happy to share. Once I got over my embarassment and worry about revealing the blog, it was really awesome to see people outside the PCP are cheering us on, too. Viva la revolucion!

Day One: Fit to Print (let's rock)

I write. It's what I do.

So why am I nervous?

I wrote my first newspaper article when I was 17. Since then, I spent the last 12 or so years writing about other people. Sometimes it is hard, especially if it involves a tragedy or undue hardship or that occasional devil, writer's block. Most of the time, even when someone was griping at me about something that I may or may not have had any control over, it is fun. Writing, for me, has always been a worthwhile endeavor.

So why do I feel so nervous I could puke? (Which is too bad because I just made dinner.)

The hardest thing for me to write about: me. Which I'm feeling pretty vulnerable and nervous and excited about right now because not only am I beginning the path to my best self, I'm sharing this, all the trials and triumphs, on a blog (?!?!??) which can be read by all (six) of you. Yea, I get it: I'm NUTS. And I'm OK with that, as long as it gets me there.

When I told my inner circle the idea of the Peak Condition Project, they were skeptical. You don't need that, they encouraged me, you can do it on your own! And I loved them for believing in me so much. Sure I've always been fairly active: was a tomboy, played sports all through high school, and in my adult life, I rollerblade, play second base in the city summer league for the last four years, show up for cardio kickboxing every Saturday, even dabble in running (for fun apparently, or at least that's what I hear), yoga and am currently finishing my second session of a boot camp program where I wake up on purpose to exercise at 6:10a.m. three times a week and come home covered in bug spray, sweat and sometimes sprinkler system water.

But this year, the typical routine of "eating whatever as long as I exercise" no longer works; my winter weight, brought on by holiday baking and my usual break-up with exercise due to inclement weather vs warm bed, overcrowded gyms and asthmatic episodes, has stubbornly stuck with me through the end of June. Dang.

Once I signed onto the PCP, though, the support and interest has been so affirming (and provided a nice deterrent to, uh, backing out of this), and I thank you each for that. In the last few years, I've consciously worked harder to bring out the best mother, daughter, sister, employee, friend, neighbor, and heart within myself. Now I'd like a body to match. I know I can do it if you (yes, YOU) are willing to stick this out with me vicariously or otherwise.(seriously, thank you. please send good mojo, vibes and other well wishes my way)

I'm 29, a mother to a soon-to-be kindergartner, a new job as a communicator online and in print, I have amazing friends, co-workers and good role models, AND (and!) I live and work in the Boulder area, one of the fittest and most active communities in the nation. If it's not too selfish, I'd like one more thing: Health. Fitness. A body I can be proud of, instead of apologetic (I had a baby ... almost six years ago! I eat ice cream ... while watching The Biggest Loser! I hate fruit! And yogurt!). So, something's got to change, and I know it's me. And that's the goal. Cue the music ...