D'you know how you repeatedly resolve to start fresh on a Monday, so you think to yourself, OK, self, we're going to eat trash on this fine Sunday evening, because tomorrow is a new day, and tomorrow I am ON!
And then later that evening you have that tiny, or humongous feeling of dread, like, oh shit, I ate all that delicious trash food, and now I can't have anymore for the foreseeable future...shitshitshitshit...
Well, the thing about macros, is that you don't have to have that feeling anymore.
WAAAAALA!!
So, the thing is, I myself am still trying to remember this, and I don't have to beat myself up over a weekend, or a couple of lousy days, or hell, maybe even a lousy couple of weeks. It's OK. My clothes are going to be real clear about the consequences of my choices, but I don't have to feel badly about it. Talk about a victory, right?! If there's one lesson from this I want to keep forever, it's this. I'm tired of telling myself I'm crap, because my body might not look how I want it. The way I look does not dictate the person I am.
I've chatted with a few people this summer, and I feel like every summer we all find the same thing. It is hard to follow a nutrition regime during summer. It is! I get it! There's drinking, and BBQs, and parties, and picnics and festivals and don't even get me started on mini donuts and ice cream and and and...
Can you make wise choices all summer long? Of course. If you indulge in every mini donut truck you find, is that OK too? Of course. It's your damn life, and your choices, but there are consequences, so simply be aware and do not, for the love of everything good and holy, feel badly about yourself. There isn't one unhealthy choice that can't be undone with a few weeks or a couple of solid months of macro tracking.
I've indulged this summer. I've had beer, and junk and made some of the greatest memories with my family while enjoying my food choices. I've also had days where I've packed my lunch and snacks and turned down the noshing at the event. Made the choice to track smartly one day, and not tracked one damn thing the very next. It's cool. I'm cool with the choices I've made.
Where to next, though, amiright?
I need a goal. Some direction. I've needed it for sometime now, since I'm not registering for races anymore. Aimless is not a great place to be. I need purpose.
January 2018.
I will be standing, alone, with a very, very talented photographer. She will be capturing, what will likely be the first and last time I will have, visible abs.
Visible abs, ya'll?!
I'm tracking closely this week as next week, I begin a four month diet. Not giving up all of the things I love, but dieting - eating in a caloric deficit. And then, once I show off and get loads of pictures of my muscles, I'm going to do a slow and controlled reverse diet. Gaining back some, or all of the weight I'd lost.
Mental game must be strong. Losing weight has so little to do with will power and compliance, and so, so much to do with learning who we really are, in spite of what we think we are. I've considered myself the token chubby girl for so long, and I want to reinvent myself as a shredded shreddy. (You can totally call me that for the two days I am shredded. I'll likely be wearing nothing but a sports bra and booty shorts for those days...in January...)
I completely understand that I will not look like a magazine model. I have a thick waist. I have big, bulky arms and even my abs will be bulge-y. My tummy will not be flat. If I start this journey with totally unrealistic expectations, then I will fail. I am honest with myself, and so I'm going to give myself a little more time than the average Jane. My body resists change. Very, very well. It likes to have more mass on it, naturally, and so I may have to fight hard to get fat off.
I have built a support system to rival any, and mentally, I am so prepared to get working on this goal. I'm scared though, too. Can I do this? Will I spiral? What will I do when people have negative comments? I know my goal isn't one everyone has, but I've written about this before - just because my goals don't align with yours, doesn't mean we can't be supportive of one another.
Donuts, pizza, candy - not off limits, but limited. Birthdays, Hallowe'en and Christmas. Not off limits, just planned and tracked. I've got this. I cannot wait to see this transformation! Here we go, Brandy!
Thursday 24 August 2017
Saturday 12 August 2017
STAAAAAAAHP with I Can't
My son eats his food wearing only a diaper most of the time.
We're beyond bibs, as in, I'm far too lazy to put on an item of clothing to protect other clothing.
So I just strip him.
Standards fall with every child.
Their hair is a mess? So what.
What about the food on their face from breakfast and/or snack and/or lunch? Who cares.
My five year old looks like she got dressed in the dark. With one hand. Because the other hand was busy holding a melting fudgsicle. Big deal.
I complain a lot about my kids. I'm far from a perfect parent. I do my best, and I truly love them to bits, but this is a really, really hard gig and the day-in and day-out grind can really get to a Mom. These kids have truly shown us what matters, and can turn any day, every day, into a great one. We are not just existing, going through the motions, we are guiding these crazy kids into independence.
I am grateful and lucky, and even while I am crying because it's just been a horrific day, I know that I live a life many could only dream of.
To say I love them like crazy in one breath, and then to turn to them and growl-yell at them to clean up their messes, would summarize daily mom life. That's the honest truth.
And I get tired. Tired of being their Mom.
Love 'em to bits, but I need my space, and I need to decompress after a long day of stupendous behavior- and by stupendous, I mean friggin' awful.
Working out is my safe haven. My brain clear-er. My let it out here, because when 'ya get home, those crazy kids will be waiting and you betta' know there will be fresh messes to clean up, but also shouts of "MOM'S HOME!".
I posted on facebook one day, this picture:
I
I struggle an incredible amount with the crazy witch demon in my brain who tells me I can't. She's right. I believe her. I am not a "heavy lifter". Except I am. I am whatever the hell I put the work in to be. And that goes for anything in life.
Why do we give that little jacka** so much power over us? My brain says, "man, that's a lot of weight. I'm not sure I can do this." I haven't even touched the bar, and I've failed.
"Y'know, we were about this weight before and it was totally fine. Just stop here. You look great."
As in, there's nowhere to go from here, so just quit and live in this lovely, comfortable, my-clothes-fit place.
I want to go further, I want to do more. I want to be better. This self-doubt garbage has got to stop, and I'm working on it. I am. It's difficult, but I'll take on the challenge. I live my life in a way that I can hopefully be around for a long time - I demand it, and my kids deserve it.
Stories
I love doing special things, impromptu dates and staycations with the kids, and although I want to document every beautiful thing that happens, I'm learning to hide our memories away from social media and away from them so that they aren't learning that unless someone is photographing and posting about our activities, then it might not have happened.
I don't remember there being a camera at every event when I was growing up, and some of my most amazing memories have no concrete evidence, except that I can catch a faint scent and be instantly transported back there. I don't want to share everything and I don't want to be always searching for my phone telling them to smile. I know for a lot of people, capturing every moment is important, and I respect that, but for our family, we choose not to share everything and we sometimes don't bring cameras at all.
I started writing this blog when there was only one kidlet, and we've grown by two more of them, and in the evolution of this running commentary of our life, I came to realize that this blog will be a kind of autobiography of our life, and of all the crazy things they've done over the years.
I attempted a baby book for the first one, and that got summarized into a different book so that I could pitch the ugly "baby book". I bought each of them an erin condren notebook (beautiful stuff, BTW, if you're looking for a new personalized journal!) so that I can someday start to hand write each of their stories.I continue to sit down and jot notes about the early years, because the sleep deprivation tends to steal those memories the fastest, but I know that when they get a little older, they will want to read about what they were like when they were babies. How I felt when they were growing in my belly. In my years spent growing up, I've discovered that I'm not much of a photographer, but I do like words. There are loads of pictures of them, but I am taking it upon myself to be the storyteller for this family.
"I lawyu Mom", he says, then wraps those chubby arms tightly around my neck and screams right into my face, "RAWWWWWWWWWWW!!". This little boy. My last baby. He has simultaneously made our family feel complete, and tested me like none of the other two ever has. He has started finding words, which makes life a whole lot easier, as I am trusting wholly that he's leaving the screaming phase behind in favor of words and sentences. "Leemeloooooooone!". (Leave me alone.) This is one of his most beloved sayings right now. We started off as two humans in this family, then added a little girl, and another, so that when he finally came along, there was already quite a lot going on. He is feisty and loud, and yet I think he may be introverted like his Mom, as I sometimes find him in his room with the door closed, playing quietly with his "rae-cars" and "monserTRUCKS".
Ellie. She is quickly rising to the top. My performer. Superstar. Singer extraordinaire. She lives for dressing up, finger nails (of which she has none because she has inherited the Kellington nailbiting!), having her hair done (also which is lacking as this childs' whispy hair grows not), and everything that glitters. This girl who is exceptionally caring, but also flighty and forgetful. I think she is the most like me and although most people see my children and immediately note how much they look like their Dad, I am told most often that Ellie looks like me. She belts out lyrics to songs I swear she's never heard before, but the passion and feeling she gives is breathtaking. She is all things princess, although we like to avoid that word in our house. There isn't much denying it!
The oldest. The first. The one who changed everything. Audrey. It literally makes me have to swallow emotion when I think of her because she is such a spectacular person. She is so, so clever. She is thoughtful and kind, reserved and quiet. There hasn't been an easier child to raise, than her. She is a frustratingly picky eater, and is so much like her Dad that I sometimes think that he was exactly like her as a child. Stubborn, but generally right. She and I are reading the first Harry Potter book and she will quickly correct me if I miss a word or use the wrong one. Not very snuggly, like her brother, but she will stealthily sneak up and be under your arm before you have a chance to notice.
Life goes by fast, like real, real fast, and I can only hope that these stories I've been writing will be something for them to read when they're older,and to know what it was like at our house when they were small. This blog is often about my own personal health and fitness journey, but I want for it also to be about them, and for them. It really is all for them, isn't it?
I don't remember there being a camera at every event when I was growing up, and some of my most amazing memories have no concrete evidence, except that I can catch a faint scent and be instantly transported back there. I don't want to share everything and I don't want to be always searching for my phone telling them to smile. I know for a lot of people, capturing every moment is important, and I respect that, but for our family, we choose not to share everything and we sometimes don't bring cameras at all.
I started writing this blog when there was only one kidlet, and we've grown by two more of them, and in the evolution of this running commentary of our life, I came to realize that this blog will be a kind of autobiography of our life, and of all the crazy things they've done over the years.
I attempted a baby book for the first one, and that got summarized into a different book so that I could pitch the ugly "baby book". I bought each of them an erin condren notebook (beautiful stuff, BTW, if you're looking for a new personalized journal!) so that I can someday start to hand write each of their stories.I continue to sit down and jot notes about the early years, because the sleep deprivation tends to steal those memories the fastest, but I know that when they get a little older, they will want to read about what they were like when they were babies. How I felt when they were growing in my belly. In my years spent growing up, I've discovered that I'm not much of a photographer, but I do like words. There are loads of pictures of them, but I am taking it upon myself to be the storyteller for this family.
"I lawyu Mom", he says, then wraps those chubby arms tightly around my neck and screams right into my face, "RAWWWWWWWWWWW!!". This little boy. My last baby. He has simultaneously made our family feel complete, and tested me like none of the other two ever has. He has started finding words, which makes life a whole lot easier, as I am trusting wholly that he's leaving the screaming phase behind in favor of words and sentences. "Leemeloooooooone!". (Leave me alone.) This is one of his most beloved sayings right now. We started off as two humans in this family, then added a little girl, and another, so that when he finally came along, there was already quite a lot going on. He is feisty and loud, and yet I think he may be introverted like his Mom, as I sometimes find him in his room with the door closed, playing quietly with his "rae-cars" and "monserTRUCKS".
Ellie. She is quickly rising to the top. My performer. Superstar. Singer extraordinaire. She lives for dressing up, finger nails (of which she has none because she has inherited the Kellington nailbiting!), having her hair done (also which is lacking as this childs' whispy hair grows not), and everything that glitters. This girl who is exceptionally caring, but also flighty and forgetful. I think she is the most like me and although most people see my children and immediately note how much they look like their Dad, I am told most often that Ellie looks like me. She belts out lyrics to songs I swear she's never heard before, but the passion and feeling she gives is breathtaking. She is all things princess, although we like to avoid that word in our house. There isn't much denying it!
The oldest. The first. The one who changed everything. Audrey. It literally makes me have to swallow emotion when I think of her because she is such a spectacular person. She is so, so clever. She is thoughtful and kind, reserved and quiet. There hasn't been an easier child to raise, than her. She is a frustratingly picky eater, and is so much like her Dad that I sometimes think that he was exactly like her as a child. Stubborn, but generally right. She and I are reading the first Harry Potter book and she will quickly correct me if I miss a word or use the wrong one. Not very snuggly, like her brother, but she will stealthily sneak up and be under your arm before you have a chance to notice.
Life goes by fast, like real, real fast, and I can only hope that these stories I've been writing will be something for them to read when they're older,and to know what it was like at our house when they were small. This blog is often about my own personal health and fitness journey, but I want for it also to be about them, and for them. It really is all for them, isn't it?
Wednesday 2 August 2017
Self Support
Just because your goals don't align with mine, doesn't mean you can't still support mine, and I, yours.
The road to success has pitfalls, Traps.
Many I can see coming.
Many I have encountered before.
Sometimes though, I'm blindsided by something that I not only didn't expect, but that should have been an encouragement, a support in my corner of the ring.
Not everyone will support your journey.
Be OK with this.
It is yours, after all, and you must own it.
My oldest daughter asked me the other day, "Mom, why are you trying to lose weight?"
It's a question I've been expecting, in some capacity, and I think I have pretty stellar body image, so it's something of a victory that it's taken 7 years for her to broach the subject!
I answered her.
I'm not exactly trying to lose weight. Do you think I'm trying to lose weight?
"Well, you're dieting, and diets are for losing weight."
True. Check mate.
Well, Audrey, the lifestyle I'm adopting is simply called flexible dieting.
It's not a diet though.
"Then why aren't you eating with us?" (They're having hotcakes at McDonald's.)
Because I ate already, I'm satisfied, and I don't really want to eat pancakes.
This appeased her and she continued eating her pancake.
I felt compelled to snack on her pancake, simply to prove that I could eat what I want, but I didn't.
I preach that I must be self-inspired and contented with myself, and this is an action that would imply otherwise.
Do you think I need to lose weight, Audrey?
"No. I never have."
She says this in a matter-of-fact kind of way, mid-bite and carries on. Like it's never crossed her mind that I've ever needed to change my body.
I want her to keep that. Not only for me, and for all the women in her life, but for herself one day when she's comparing herself to, well, whoever.
She's one of the good ones.
Clever, gentle and kind.
We've begun at a young age to show our kids that talking about our bodies is only OK if we're being positive, or talking scientifically. It's a bit of a tricky thing to teach, and one that gives me some anxiety. How do we protect them from the tricky people? How do we show them how to love their bodies? How do we instill in them the grace to notice, but not judge, when that is what, especially as women, we are always expected to do?
The girls are in swimming lessons, and last week I couldn't help but overhear a Mom commenting on her tween daughters' body.
"You're such a skinny mini. You should eat a sandwich or something!"
Most certainly it was meant in jest, but I caught Audrey's eye after she heard this.
This is something I don't think she has never heard, and yet, most of you reading have heard something like this before, either directed at yourself or someone you know, I'm sure!
Body shaming comes from a hurt place, an ugly place, a place where we are not comfortable with our own bodies. I understand that we won't always be happy with ourselves. That's OK. I wake up some days and just feel lousy, fat. I just want to hide in the covers and eat donuts and watch Netflix. I'm allowed to have these feelings, and I might just have a donut that day, but it is not OK for me to project my crappy feelings onto someone else.
Support can't be expected. It can't. We have to learn to dig deep, on our own, and know that this process is hard for everyone. Know that although it may seem easier for some people, it really isn't. The easier days for you might be the grinding ones for someone else.
I self-implemented a challenge for the summer.
It was to be the summer of the bikini.
I was going to wear nothing but bikinis all summer, no matter where we went swimming.
It took all of a few days for me to realize that I don't give a crap about wearing a bikini all summer. I do not need to do this challenge to feel damn good about my body and to wear a friggin' bikini. I already do. I do not have a six pack, or even a flat belly but you better believe that my bikinis were damn lucky I was wearing them!
I did wear a bikini for 10 days straight. I can tell you that I most certainly did the comparison. Y'know, the one you do in your head, as brief as it might be, to the other gals in bikinis. Only the ones in similar life situations, though. Under 20? You're not in this judgment. Under 30? I'm not counting you either. But if you've got a bunch'a little kids and you're not able to relax and read a book either, well then, you and me lady, are fair game, and don't think I didn't see that extra second of a glance you gave me. I fought the urge to judge, compare. I fought it hard. I fought it with the knowledge that my girls are noticing things like this and I've told them these things are not OK, but I always the lose the battle, virtually place myself side by side with these women, and the only person who feels the repercussions of this, are me.
Self-support, to me, means being able to kick my own arse through my workouts, but it also means being kinder to myself in the mirror. This battle is tough. It isn't for the weak. It takes guts, and ambition and a tenacity you've never had, I'VE never had. Would I be here if I'd had the tenacity before?
The road to success has pitfalls, Traps.
Many I can see coming.
Many I have encountered before.
Sometimes though, I'm blindsided by something that I not only didn't expect, but that should have been an encouragement, a support in my corner of the ring.
Not everyone will support your journey.
Be OK with this.
It is yours, after all, and you must own it.
My oldest daughter asked me the other day, "Mom, why are you trying to lose weight?"
It's a question I've been expecting, in some capacity, and I think I have pretty stellar body image, so it's something of a victory that it's taken 7 years for her to broach the subject!
I answered her.
I'm not exactly trying to lose weight. Do you think I'm trying to lose weight?
"Well, you're dieting, and diets are for losing weight."
True. Check mate.
Well, Audrey, the lifestyle I'm adopting is simply called flexible dieting.
It's not a diet though.
"Then why aren't you eating with us?" (They're having hotcakes at McDonald's.)
Because I ate already, I'm satisfied, and I don't really want to eat pancakes.
This appeased her and she continued eating her pancake.
I felt compelled to snack on her pancake, simply to prove that I could eat what I want, but I didn't.
I preach that I must be self-inspired and contented with myself, and this is an action that would imply otherwise.
Do you think I need to lose weight, Audrey?
"No. I never have."
She says this in a matter-of-fact kind of way, mid-bite and carries on. Like it's never crossed her mind that I've ever needed to change my body.
I want her to keep that. Not only for me, and for all the women in her life, but for herself one day when she's comparing herself to, well, whoever.
She's one of the good ones.
Clever, gentle and kind.
We've begun at a young age to show our kids that talking about our bodies is only OK if we're being positive, or talking scientifically. It's a bit of a tricky thing to teach, and one that gives me some anxiety. How do we protect them from the tricky people? How do we show them how to love their bodies? How do we instill in them the grace to notice, but not judge, when that is what, especially as women, we are always expected to do?
The girls are in swimming lessons, and last week I couldn't help but overhear a Mom commenting on her tween daughters' body.
"You're such a skinny mini. You should eat a sandwich or something!"
Most certainly it was meant in jest, but I caught Audrey's eye after she heard this.
This is something I don't think she has never heard, and yet, most of you reading have heard something like this before, either directed at yourself or someone you know, I'm sure!
Body shaming comes from a hurt place, an ugly place, a place where we are not comfortable with our own bodies. I understand that we won't always be happy with ourselves. That's OK. I wake up some days and just feel lousy, fat. I just want to hide in the covers and eat donuts and watch Netflix. I'm allowed to have these feelings, and I might just have a donut that day, but it is not OK for me to project my crappy feelings onto someone else.
Support can't be expected. It can't. We have to learn to dig deep, on our own, and know that this process is hard for everyone. Know that although it may seem easier for some people, it really isn't. The easier days for you might be the grinding ones for someone else.
I self-implemented a challenge for the summer.
It was to be the summer of the bikini.
I was going to wear nothing but bikinis all summer, no matter where we went swimming.
It took all of a few days for me to realize that I don't give a crap about wearing a bikini all summer. I do not need to do this challenge to feel damn good about my body and to wear a friggin' bikini. I already do. I do not have a six pack, or even a flat belly but you better believe that my bikinis were damn lucky I was wearing them!
I did wear a bikini for 10 days straight. I can tell you that I most certainly did the comparison. Y'know, the one you do in your head, as brief as it might be, to the other gals in bikinis. Only the ones in similar life situations, though. Under 20? You're not in this judgment. Under 30? I'm not counting you either. But if you've got a bunch'a little kids and you're not able to relax and read a book either, well then, you and me lady, are fair game, and don't think I didn't see that extra second of a glance you gave me. I fought the urge to judge, compare. I fought it hard. I fought it with the knowledge that my girls are noticing things like this and I've told them these things are not OK, but I always the lose the battle, virtually place myself side by side with these women, and the only person who feels the repercussions of this, are me.
Self-support, to me, means being able to kick my own arse through my workouts, but it also means being kinder to myself in the mirror. This battle is tough. It isn't for the weak. It takes guts, and ambition and a tenacity you've never had, I'VE never had. Would I be here if I'd had the tenacity before?
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