Back in the Saddle Again

Well, that's it--I've fired up the MyFitnessPal again and started keeping track-even if I go over.  That's what worked for me just last year--not just keeping track on the days I was "good," but keeping track no matter what, with brutal honesty.  Today I'm over by 187 calories, and that's going to be okay.  So long as I kept track. 

That really was the trick--I lost 180 + lbs just doing that--keeping track.  But then I stopped losing, even though I was keeping track, even though I was still exercising.  It wasn't the first plateau I'd hit, but it was the one that brought me down.  To my credit, it took almost five months of not losing anything for me to start slipping.  I kept telling myself that the loss didn't matter, it's about being healthy.  And while that SHOULD be true, fact is, it's both, because I still FEEL really good, but I've gained back fifty pounds.  I can still walk four hours at Mt. Vernon or hike up a steep hillside at Ft. Washington and not have my back scream and cry at me.  But it's going to.  If I keep this up, I'm going to wind up housebound again, just like I was. 

The back pain, while absolutely exacerbated by weight, was a problem even when I was thin.  In fact, at 130 lbs, it nearly trapped me in the Grand Canyon after a day hike most of the way in.  It's the result of a series of back injuries when I was a kid, culminating in a spectacular car accident in 1993 that blasted out disks and shredded muscle and tendons.  So the back is a disaster no matter what, but it's a more debilitating disaster the heavier I am.  Before I started losing weight, I was seriously considering a wheel chair.  Making it from the apartment door to the car (about 100 yards) was devastating to me.  I was breathless, and the pain in my back, hip, and into the right leg was so bad I wasn't really even walking--I was just soldiering through and throwing that leg forward. 

And then I wasn't.  Then I was spending five or six hours on my feet, walking through DC, checking out museums, strolling from monument to monument, or hiking around all day in Rock Creek Park.  Suddenly I was able to be the mom to my son I had always wanted to be.

And now I'm blowing that all to hell.  I feel like the poor guy from "Flowers for Algernon." 

No way.  That cannot happen.  But it is.  The other night, my feet blew up like balloons.  Not as bad as they used to, but there it was.  Yeah, I'd had a lot of sodium.  That needs to stop, too.

So today, I keep track.  Today, I am mindful of what I'm putting in my mouth.  Even if it doesn't stop me from doing it, I am mindful.  I will keep track. 

And tomorrow?  I will do the same

Afraid of Drugs

You know, as a teen, I did more than my share of dabbling with drugs.  In fact, you could say I was something of an expert when it came to various chemical recreational endeavors.  That's not a brag--nothing brag-worthy about being a stoner.  Not a brag, but a statement of fact.

Ironic that now, in my late forties, I'm scared to death to take even prescription medications.  I resisted taking medication for my arrhythmia for ten years for fear that it would make it worse, that taking a beta-blocker would create a second, competing arrhythmia.  While the beta-blocker has improved the situation, it hasn't solved it, and I'm too afraid of the medication to suggest upping my dosage.  So I put up with "improved, but not eradicated."

Months ago, I was suffering a pesky, irritating, increasingly scary pain in my neck and jaw.  Scary because I have a strong family history of thyroid cancer.  Went to the ENT, and he checked me out, then wrote it off as anxiety.  He prescribed Metaxalone, aka Skelaxin.  I haven't taken even one.  Which is convenient, because my PCP just suggested prescribing that very thing for my back pain.  I told her not to bother, I had a full, untouched script at home.  So she sent me home with a script for some NSAID for my hands and elbow.  I've taken one.  Didn't work any better than a couple of ibuprofen, so I'm not likely to use these pills, either.

Speaking of unused scripts, I also have a dozen or so oxycodones from my disastrous back injury two years ago.  A script for 30, I still have a dozen?  Like I said, I fear taking drugs.  I still haven't decided if that's a virtue or a vice.

On a totally unrelated note, the HOA's yard work guys came through today--blasted my new grass seed with their blowers.  We've been struggling to get that front lawn to fill in for six months now, no joy.  A couple of times, the grass seed has sprouted, all green and promising, only to die.  If this round is unsuccessful, I guess we'll have to try testing the soil and maybe adding lime.  It's very frustrating--we're on a super-tight budget, and we've dropped well over a hundred bucks on multiple attempts with seed, fertilizer, etc.  The back yard, which has much more compacted, clay-like soil, has come along nicely, it looks quite lush.  Of course, it gets sun all day.  The front?  Shade all day because of the flowering pear.  If this doesn't work, I'm tempted to throw in a shade-hardy ground cover.  The HOA may not like that, though.

On the bright side, my mums are just ramping up to go crazy!  We bought them late last fall, felt sure they'd died over the winter, but WOW, have they come back!  I think I'll pop in a picture!