Maine

When we were little, family vacations consisted of piling as many kids in the station wagon as humanly possible (safety was not a factor in the 70s), leaving at an ungodly hour from syrcause and heading to Maine for a week in a little cabin across the street from the beach. There were rafts at the beach we could rent, there were movies in the rec center in the camp grounds, and a play ground. I collected sea glass and could stare at the ocean for hours looking for mermaids.

We stopped going when I was about 6 or 7...I'm not sure why. Maybe the older kids outgrew family vacation time? 

I found out tonight that my four sisters are going in August with their husbands. And when I initially found out, it sounded like just one sister was going with her husband. She purposely didn't tell me the full plans because she felt bad that I would feel bad. I found out tonight that all four of them are going. "I didn't want you to feel left out."

I can't - and didn't - take it out on her. But yea, I did feel a little left out, because I am being left out of it. All four girls are going and I'm not included?  Would I have gone? As the only single person, probably not. But I'm being overly sensitive to the reason I was left out (if there is a reason at all). Is it because I'm so much younger than them. And therefore have nothing in common with them? Or is it the damn single issue again?

So that's all floating around my noodle. But I think the part that annoys me the most is that my one sister is flying all the way to the east coast from San Diego and is only going to see my other sisters. Not stopping even in Syracuse to see the rest of the family.

Ok whatever, maybe we didn't want to see you anyway. I better go to sleep before Bitter Betty takes up residency in my brain.

On another note...just under 1200 calories (and that included a few too many Hershey miniatures), a good run on the treadmill, 122 protein, 99 carb, 29 fat. Legs felt good today.

Strength

That was the lesson at the gym tonight. Courtney is back, after several weeks dealing with a very sad family medical issue. And she was back with a vengeance.

She made me plank with my hands on a medicine ball. I didn't think I could. I could.

We upped my weights....18-pound kept bell swings with squats, 80 pounds on the leg press, and when I said I couldnt squat because of my knees, she gave a me a look.

"When was the last time you tried?"

I had no answer. "You are stronger than you think, just try."

And I lunged. Didn't lose my balance, didn't go super low, but still felt my leg muscles.

1231 calories

154 protein

103 carbs

24 fat

Carbs would have been lower but I was starving after the gym and had a half of a protein bar. I think I'll be ok :)

Boo-yah

Good number on the scale...at least lower than I was last week. And back at a significant number. Significant not because it's a nice round number, not because it's in a new decade, significant because it was my first goal at the gym, it was until two years when I hit 177, the lowest weight I had ever been at.

My food was spot on today. 1256 calories, 87 carbs, 26 fat and 159 protein.

I ran a quarter of a mile three times, with a quarter mile walking recovery in between. The first one was ok, the second one felt great, I struggled with the third but did it. I took the dog for a walk and then he,med and hawed about yoga, and finally knew that the mouth hunger might get the best of me, so changed out of sweaty clothes and went to a yoga class.

I won't expect anything on the scale tomorrow (bullshit...I can say i won't, but I will). I'm just excited about my mindset, more than anything else.

The way I feel tonight...I can do anything.

Sunday

I started the day with a great walk at Peace Valley Park, six-plus miles, with a wonderful friend and Bernie. We went early but it was still hot once we got through the woods and into the sun. Thankfully we started as early as we did.

I did my Sunday food prep...cutting carrots and making five single-serve baggies with a tablespoon of hummus in little containers, rice cakes with a edge of laughing cow cheese in baggies, cantaloupe cut up and one cup in each baggie, and weighed out three ounces of turkey for my sandwiches. I, giving myself the tools...this makes it so easy to make my lunch  and snacks for the work day. And I have chicken breast cut up and in servings for dinner.

I'm actually excited to get up and weigh myself in the morning. I'm really hoping for a loss. But even if here isn't, I can't let it get me down. I have to keep the momentum.

And tomorrow, after Bernie's walk, I have a date with the treadmill to do a little running. I will add an extra quarter-mile of running. No worries about speed or time. Just run.

My numbers for the day...1247 calories, 153 protein, 89 carbs, 32 fat. Ratios were good...50%, 28%, 23%.

Shame

"Shame is nothing more than denial of the truth."

I've been neglectful of this blog, mostly because I feel shame, ashamed, of my lack of focus. By not writing it publicly, by not sharing it, it wasn't real. My lack of focus, my continuing to think the the 80/20'rule is about eating well 20% of the time.

But no more. 

For the past two weeks, I've had more good days than bad. And the bad days were only small cheats, not full blown, out of control binges.

The success in the past two weeks was that I checked in every night with my friend (the woman who owns the gym I go to). And so rather than bother her, it'll go here. Whether anyone is reading this or not, you're my accountability.

The goal is to be between 1200 and 1400 calories, under 100 grams of carbs, under 30 grams of fat and over 120 grams of protein.

Today...1272 calories, 93 carbs, 38 fat, 141 protein.

I also need to start running again. I've been lazy. And lazy is a relevant term. I walk the dog an hour or more a day, but that's walking at, for me, a casual pace. I ran today. I wasn't fast, it wasn't long, but I ran. Quarter mile walking, quarter mile running at 4.6 mph, quarter mile walking, and then quarter mile running.

That's what I have to do. It took me less than 15 minutes. I can do that three or four times a week. It's not about the time, it's about getting back into the habit.

I committed $2,000 to be back at the ladies gym for the next year. The money was worth it two years ago, and do not go to waste. I need to be just as committed now as I was then. I'm struggling to get over the 190 hump and back in the 180s. That will be, I think, the watershed moment for me. That will open the gates. It won't be any easier, but for the last six months, my half hearted attempts have seen me swing between 192/193 upwards of 203. 

Even the first month back at the gym, I saw the scale swing up and down. Stress eating. Eating my feelings. I rationalized. I made excuses. This week I got on the scale at the gym for a loss. The second week in a row with a loss. Rather than accept the small win, I had to find the negative. After six weeks, I'm only at a net loss of two pounds.

It was shame. 

But I won't let the shame win out this time. I'm committed. The thing in my brain, that switch that keeps me going even in the face of temptation, is almost fully on.

This morning, and the past two mornings, I was at 193, one up from earlier in the week. This is the hump, the speed bump, the road block, whatever metaphor I want to call it. This is the number I need to get over (or in this case, under) and continue with strong momentum.

It can't be about shame anymore. I have to own it. And by owning it, I have to share it. It will keep me honest. And hopefully it will keep me motivated.

Still...

Struggling a little...stress eating, overwhelmed at work...but took the action I needed by going back to the gym. Workouts have been great, food is still my Achilles heel.

I'll never have that.

I remember the moment that I knew without a doubt that I wanted to be a mom. And for a fleeting second, a doubt that it would ever happen.

I was in my 20s, living in Rochester. I had found a church I really enjoyed -- good pastor, good sermons, good cantor -- and I became a regular church-goer.

It was Mother's Day and the priest asked for all to stand except the moms. We were to raise a hand and say a prayer over the mothers. The young family in front of me had three boys; the youngest stood on the pew and put his hand on his mom's head as we repeated after the priest. And then he leaned down and kissed her forehead.

I'll never have that.

As soon as the thought popped into my head, it left.

My maternal yearnings kicked into high gear and I spent the rest of my 20s and early 30s moving my deadline a little further out. I kept pushing the deadline because, to me, it felt like making the baby dream happen in this way was to give up on love. If I'm not married by XX age, then I'll have a baby on my own. First it was 32, then 35 and then finally at 37, I made the appointment with my OB to discuss my options.

I had the blood work done in anticipation of my first appointment. The nurse practitioner called me a few days before the appointment to give me time to digest that this wasn't going to be easy. "We'll have a lot to talk about, but your numbers indicate a fertility issue."

I'll never have that.

For the second time in my life, that thought popped into my head. And this time, it stuck a little longer.

I would learn at that appointment that my egg reserve, at the age of 37, was that of a post-menopausal woman, even though I showed no other signs of being near menopause. That my eggs did not mature. Each month -- for a few years or my entire reproductive life span, who knows? -- I released an egg that would not be capable of creating a life.

During that time, even though I was a regular church goer, I did not attend mass on Mother's Day.

This weekend, I will avoid public places -- the grocery store, a restaurant -- where someone could wish me a happy Mother's Day. 

I'll never have that.

I will call my mother, and wish her a day she so richly deserves. I will walk Bernie around the lake and enjoy six miles of tranquility. And I will do everything I can to avoid remembering what that day means...because I'll never have that.

PS: After I posted this, I got an email from a friend asking if I was ok. I'm fine. I wrote this post very matter-of-fact. It's not about sadness anymore. I think I'm numb to it all. My infertility and the subsequent failed adoptions are so not about emotion anymore; the point of the post is that I will not put myself in a position to be sad. It's about self-preservation so that my infertility and the subsequent failed adoptions stay not about emotion. It's just the facts, ma'am.

Wrapping up 44, welcome to 45

I bought a new car. I launched a college to a university. I gained 15 pounds (on top of the 10 I gained last year).

That just about wraps up the past few months. Long hours, too many carbohydrates (bread and chocolate), unlimited diet Pepsi's, no significant running or working out other than walking the dog, in the office every Saturday.

And in the end, I somehow pulled out a rebrand of epic proportions. The logo stayed secret until the big reveal. Highway signs were changed a few days before the official launch. Gateway signage was installed and wrapped until the big day. Banners are up. Signs are up. T-shirts were given away.

And then I turned 45 and reality kicked me in the ass. I started year 45 (or is it my 46th year…I always get that confused) with a three-day refresh, ate healthy the rest of the week and lost nearly 10 pounds.

So what? So I'm back to where I was at the beginning of the year. At 4am Saturday morning, I emailed my friend who owns the gym I used to go to and told her I wanted to come back.

I kind of feel like a failure, but I also realized that I needed to do this. I'm not happy with the way I look and that's effecting more than I realized. It wasn't just being over whelmed at work, it was the whole "I hate my body" come to the surface again. And it could have been pretty easy to continue to eat, to continue to drink my diet Pepsi's and yo-yo the same five pounds. It's how I've pretty much spent my entire life, so why not?

Because two years ago I was brilliantly happy and I want that back. I want to look like that girl up on the banner to the right. That's a happy girl, not stick thin, but healthy with a positive body image.


So tonight I'll feel like a failure, I amy even feel ashamed or embarrassed walking through the doors tomorrow night, but hopefully when I walk out, it's the first night of finding me again.

Saturday morning musings about the last week

The snow is melted...it smells like spring even though it's still chilly enough for a hat and thin gloves on our walks. But these are a six days difference.

The time change didn't effect Bernie at all. He still woke up at 4am, one day at standard time, the next at daylights saving time. 4:00 on the clock, even though my body knew it was really 3. Why didn't his? My body certainly knew that 6 was 5 when my alarm went off on Monday.

I'm a little in love with one of Bernie's daycare teachers...mostly because of how much Bernie loves him (and how much he loves Bernie).

I ran my first 5k of the season. In 19 degrees. I paced a little over 11 minutes my first two miles, averaged 12 for the race and finished under 38. I can only get faster from there. My next race is at the end of the month.

I bought a new car! It should be in --and mine -- this coming week! More on that next week.

To the woman at the dentist office...

I'm sorry I didn't look up and acknowledge your very adorable, curly/ and red-headed child, I'm sorry if I offended you by not oohing and aahing at what a delight she is. 

She tried to get my attention, I knew that, but she was only trying to make eye contact. She did not talk to to me (I would have said hello), I did not hurt her nor was I mean to her.

So before you sigh loudly, before you tell your older child that I must not like kids, before you think inwardly that I'm a bitch, before you judge me...

You know nothing of my journey. Thirteen IUIs/IVFs...two pregnancies...two miscarriages. Two years trying to adopt.

But I've come to terms with all of that. The trigger....the thing that still is a punch in the gut...is the red hair.

What you don't know, what you can't know and what people in my own life probably don't realize...All of my assisted reproductive attempts were made with sperm (and one egg) donors with red hair, in the hopes that I would get my own mini-me. 

So have some empathy for the unknown. Look beyond the nose on your face and think that the expression on my face is not one of annoyance at your child, but sadness for an unfulfilled dream. You don't need to know what the dream is, just have empathy for the stranger who can't make eye contact with a three year old.

xoxo, the girl with the broken uterus