or something really cool is happening.

The scale last night said 202.2. Up 3 lbs. And then I weighed myself this morning, 195.8. Really? 6+ lbs overnight? Whatever. I hate the scale.

But that’s not the cool part. No, the cool part came last week when I had another epiphany. (Or was it a continuation of the same epiphany?)

As fair warning, I will advise that you brace yourselves, this story might seem weird.

I was sitting at my kitchen table last week, early in the morning. The house was quiet. The street was quiet. The sun was starting to rise. I had just finished reading in 2 Corinthians (chapter 12) about Paul’s thorn in the flesh. The thing in his life (no one knows for sure what it was) that held him back. The thing that bothered him, frustrated him, pained him and forced him to depend on God’s strength, rather than his own. No matter how hard he tried, Paul just couldn’t shake his thorn.

I read the passage and felt the frustration welling up inside of me. I have always seen my issues with food as my thorn. I started journaling, raging at the unfairness of God. I don’t want this to be my thorn. Why would you give me this thorn and then give me such a strong desire to overcome it? God, I believe that you want me to take good care of the body you have given me, yet this thorn is keeping me from taking good care of myself. I don’t understand! I went on in this manner for some time. I was so frustrated with my failure, so frustrated with what seemed to be a hopeless situation. Nothing ever changes, God. Why would you give me the desire for change and then not give me the ability to change? Paul, PAUL, never overcame his thorn. How can you expect me to overcome mine?

And then (and this is where it gets weird), I heard a clear and distinct voice in my head. This isn’t your thorn, Jenny. Food isn’t your thorn. You have made it in to your thorn. You have chosen to live like it is your thorn. But food isn’t your thorn.

I felt like somebody dropped a ton of bricks on my head. My issues with food are sin. God does not make me sin. When I sin it is my choice. I am not the victim, I am the perpetrator. If my struggle with food is life-long, it is because of the choices that I make. Food is not my thorn.

We can go round and round picking about the theology of this whole experience, or debating if I should call the men in white coats, or suggesting that - since I am hearing voices - maybe I should get some more sleep, and all of those options seem safer to me than clinging to the promise that I heard and acting accordingly.

Change is scary. Letting go usually means that you will fall. Our tendency, as humans, is to cling - white knuckled - to the norm. But the norm is not working for me, so I’m going to cling to that voice in my head that tells me things can change.

We are halfway through 2008.

Do you remember what your New Year’s Resolutions were? Do you care?

I looked back at mine and felt pretty good.

My two starting goals were to keep better records and to stay within my food limits for at least four days each week. The results of these are mixed. I have been keeping my records faithfully all year. I love looking and the downward trend of my graph and seeing all the rows of data filled in on my sheet. As far as the food? As always, it remains my biggest struggle. While I can’t say I have stayed within my limits for four days each week, I can say, with certainty, that I have created new habits and I am consistently making better choices with food than I was six months ago.

With the exception of the 1/2 marathon (which seemed like a pipe dream in January, and now it’s over!), I can’t think of any other goals that I have set and attained this year. But I don’t believe that is because they didn’t exist, I think it’s because I didn’t keep track of them very well.

So, building on my record-keeping success, I am setting a goal to write down my new goals and note when I achieve them. I listed a few new goals here and I am choosing to focus on losing fat and gaining muscle (through more concentrated nutrition efforts and pools of sweat at the gym) and becoming a better 1/2 marathon runner (by running with my new running friend, Katie, who kind of talked me in to doing another 1/2 marathon - yikes!).

You have six months left in 2008 - what are you going to do?

One of these weeks I want to write this post and call it ‘Still On Track’, and someday I will.

But, this week, it is back on track. I guess that’s a good place to start.

I weighed in last night at 199.2. Down 2.6. That’s good.

I’m working on getting back to basics with my nutrition, sticking to the rules and staying within my daily calories.

It always amazes me how hard some so-called simple rules can be.

Remember when I talked about running the Seattle Marathon this November?

I changed my mind.

Amid the questions of how I was going to fit the training in, or whether my knees were up to it, or if running 26.2 miles is actually good for the human body - and somewhere around mile 10 of the half-marathon - it hit me. I don’t want to run the Seattle Marathon this year.

Not that I don’t want to run it ever, or that I don’t want to run in general, just that I don’t want to run the Seattle Marathon this year.

I learned a lot in preparation for the 1/2. I learned that 13.1 is an attainable, but difficult, goal. I learned that even the most supportive family gets stressed when working around an increasingly demanding training schedule. I learned that unless I really want something, it will seem like a heinous chore. I learned that while I really want to run, I don’t ever want it to feel like a chore. I learned that pushing myself too hard makes my body break down. I learned that I don’t want to be sick all the time.

So I spent the last week thinking. I thought about what I WANT to do and I came up with this list:*

-I want to make a concerted effort to lose fat and gain muscle, read: more weights, less running.
-I want to run the North Olympic Discovery 1/2 Marathon next year (June 9, 2009!) WITH JUSTIN (yes, I just outed him) and better my time.
-I want to go hiking/sand castle building/trike riding on Saturdays and not worry about which 3-5 hours of the day I should spend running.
-I want to get faster and better my times in shorter races.
-I want to be a good 1/2 marathon runner before I move on to longer distances.
-I want to stabilize my eating habits and focus on better nutrition.

The fact that I gave myself permission to entertain the thought of not running the marathon, especially after making a public declaration of intent is remarkable. I am still in the process of beating down the voices that would tell me to run it so that I’m not a failure. I’d be lying if I said they weren’t there, but they’re weaker than they used to be - or maybe I just don’t care as much.

Grace is a beautiful thing.

*and yes, you’re going to hear more about these goals

Almost every morning, Andrew greets me with the question, “What does today bring, Mommy?”

I love the cadence in his voice as he asks. I love the trust implied in that question. I love that he is equally satisfied with Monday’s answer - Grammy and Poppa are coming over and then we are going to the grocery store and the library - and Thursday’s answer - we’re going ____________ (insert someplace fun and exciting). All he wants is to know what is coming next.

Now that I’m done with the 1/2 marathon, I have to ask myself, “What does today bring?”

I didn’t go to my meeting last night because Andrew and I are both sick, but I weighed myself at home - 201.

Training for distance has been hard on my weight loss. I gave the running too much credit to cover up my poor food choices. I didn’t really worry about what I ate on the days that I ran long. I struggled to establish habits within the extremes of my daily calories - 2500 calories on Saturday, 1530 on Sunday, 1980 on Monday - I couldn’t settle in to a pattern and I spent most days feeling stuffed or starving.

I’m ready to take the next step. Today, and the next few weeks while I take a break from running, brings nutritional order. Today brings a return to measuring portions and an end to the guessing games of how many calories that meal had. Today brings some new foods, new recipes (yes, I’ll share them) and a sweep of the pantry.

It gives my controlling heart great joy to get back to basics.

**********

In other news, today brought a doctor’s appointment for the little boy, some antibiotics for an ear infection and an additional steroid for his asthma.

Here’s to better living through chemistry.

Sunday morning was cool and cloudy. I slept surprisingly well, something about crashing waves and seagulls outside the window will do that to me.

An hour before my alarm, I lie awake, the past 14 months running through my mind.

Starting Couch-to-5k. My first continuous mile. My first 20 minutes. My first hour. My second hour.

Remember this, I thought, remember how much it took to get here.

My first race. My second race. The moment running became a part of me.

Remember. Remember.

Too often I forget. Too often I am too busy looking ahead to enjoy the present.

Not today. Not this moment. Today, I will be present.

We started off, trying to pace ourselves, trying to take it slow, talking about how unreal it seemed that we were actually here.

All smiles at Mile 3, we’re just getting warmed up.

Mile 7 - It’s easy to smile when you know the rest of the course is flat or downhill. After watching my heart rate monitor sit at 175 for the last, hilly 3/4 mile, I was ready for some fuel.

I’ve heard that the last three miles of a half-marathon are where your body breaks down and your mind takes over. My mind was full. Full of the beauty of the course, of the encouragement of your comments, of the repeated refrain of Heidi’s early morning text - “Kill! Kill! Kill! Northerners attack! Your stubborn head can get you through anything. I’m so fucking proud of you!” I focused on each of these things as my heart rate climbed - 175, 179, 181.

1.5 miles to go. There was no way I was going to stop.

With the finish line in sight I managed to give Justin one last smile, although the shot he took when I wasn’t looking tells the real story.

I crossed the line. I heard the beep telling me that my chip had registered. A man gave me my medal and held my elbow as I struggled to find my footing and looked for Nick, who had finished a little ways ahead of me.

I crossed the line. I finished what I started. I tried as hard as I could. I left everything I had on the course.

I crossed the line. No matter where I go, there’s no going back.

The rest of the pictures are here.

I’m blaming the weather.

There is no other reason why Andrew and I are both sick - again.

If we could be outside the germs would not fester.

It’s hard to write anything thoughtful about the race when you have a clingy, coughing, feverish child on your lap.

I promise I’ll try later.

Official results - 2.12.19.6 (by my calculations that 10.09/mile)

WoooHooo!

I did it. I’m home. I’ve got the medal to prove it.

Official times aren’t up yet so, while we wait, let’s talk about some other numbers.

(very) Unofficial time 2:11:45
Average Heart Rate over that time 161
Maximum Heart Rate 181 (holy crap!)
Number of sore legs 2

Pictures, stories and the official time up tomorrow.

Yay!

Twenty-four hours from now I will be running the half-marathon.

I’m psyched. Hyper. Nervous. Giddy. Ready.

I stretched carefully and thoroughly at yoga last night and ran my final 2.8 miles early this morning. Slow and easy, I spent the time praying for good weather. I’m sipping Throat Coat and Elderberry tea again, apparently perfection is too much to ask for.

I’m getting used to that by now.

The pre-race afternoon is all planned. Pick up race packet at the expo, attempt to resist buying gear I don’t need. Early dinner in town and back to the house for some inspiration, Bend It Like Beckham-style. If I get out-voted on the movie option, I also packed Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King and A League of Their Own - movies that make me want to stand up and yell are always helpful. If I can’t sleep I might watch all three.

We’re ready to go.

Let the countdown begin.

The weigh-in last night was not good.

201.8. Up 4.8 lbs from my last official weight.

Geh.

I know that the three empty days on my food record didn’t help that number, but I think there were darker forces at work too.

On Sunday morning my home scale (which is about 1/2 lb heavier than the official scale) read 197.8. Since Sunday and Monday were both good food and exercise days, I’m thinking that this may be one of those times to look at the scale, shake my head in wonder and walk away.

“Here’s your first rule for race prep: Understand that whatever you’re feeling is normal. If you find yourself waking up in the middle of the night screaming - that’s normal. If you find yourself singing every Grateful Dead song you ever head - that’s normal. And if you find yourself suddenly living in a parallel universe where no one else seems to understand a word that you’re saying - that’s normal too.

Don’t worry if your friends and family don’t understand you. Don’t worry if by the Thursday before race day no one is even willing to be in the same room with you, let alone try to have a conversation with you. These last few days are the closest to being possessed that you will ever experience. Rather than fighting it, enjoy it.” Marathoning For Mortals

One week to go before the 1/2 marathon.

I may be losing my mind.

Tapering is the strategy whereby you run less and less as the race approaches, trying to find the balance between keeping your mind in running mode and letting your body recover and relax in order to be race-day ready. Taper Madness is the phenomenon that occurs when the thing you have been focusing on for so long is finally here and all you want to do is go for a run to expend some of that nervous energy but you can’t because you already ran your miles for the day and now you are supposed to relax.

Tapering is hard.

Confidence is easy to come by when you’ve just run 11.5 or 12 miles. I can do this, you tell yourself, I’m tired but I could totally run for 15 more minutes. But that day was three weeks ago. I ran eight miles last weekend, another nine over the course of last week. Five on Saturday, with nine more before race day. It doesn’t feel like enough.

I want to trust my training but I’m nervous.

As of today (Sunday), I have run 300.2 miles in preparation for this race. I have run in the rain and the sleet. I have run on the treadmill and the beach. I have loved running and I have hated it. I have been sick and injured and I have been strong and healthy. I have pushed and been pushed.

One week from this moment, I will be finished. One week from this moment, I will be relieved. One week from this moment, I will need a new goal.

Just one mad week to go.

I often lose sight of the bigger picture.

I know it’s a common aliment for those of us who love to obsess and fiddle and tweak. In fact, we use our obsession as an escape. The big picture is frequently overwhelming and, because we lack vision, we don’t see how our baby steps are making any difference in that scary big thing hanging over our heads. Whereas, if I can just get this one database, one room in my house, one area of my life, one part of my body cleaned up and perfect I will have accomplished something and I can breathe a little easier. But, while some of those little things help, the big picture remains.

I was challenged this last week to think about my journey of health and weight-loss with a big picture mentality and make a list of the reasons I have to make wise choices with food.

Making the list was harder than it sounds, but I think I have a good start.

I will make wise choices with food…

Because I believe God created me to live and eat in balance and health.

Because I don’t want to be the way I have been.

Because I want to leave a legacy of health and wellness for my children.

Because I love my smokin’ hot body.

Because I want to be a better runner.

****

What are your reasons?

197.

Up 0.1 from the last official weigh-in. I guess I should have blown my nose again before I stepped on the scale.

For a few weeks that included Justin being in Virginia, dinners with friends and a week of no exercise and very little record-keeping, this is nothing short of extraordinary.

Onward we go.

Here are three things I think everyone who is working to improve their health should do:

Make a really good chart. If you’re a big nerd and you love excel, I’ll send you mine (Justin’s in-house tech support not included). If not, write down your weight every week, or your measurements every couple of months, or how far you walk, or what you eat every day. Whatever is important to you, whatever you are trying to improve, write it down. Looking at those numbers and watching them change over time is incredibly encouraging.

Take pictures. I have been putting this off for over a year. You don’t have to show them to anyone, just take them every few months (I’m going to take mine every 10 weeks) and tuck them away somewhere. Wear approximately the same thing in each picture (ladies, a sports bra and shorts works really well, guys, shorts with no shirt) so that you won’t die if they happen to pop up on your computer but you can still see your body as it is, not hidden under loose clothing. Remember, the after picture means nothing without a before shot.

Get a physical with full labs. Most insurance plans cover an annual physical. You need to find out where you stand. Getting a baseline for blood pressure, weight, cholesterol, blood sugar and all that other good stuff is very helpful. My last physical was in June 2005, six months after Andrew was born. At that time my weight was recorded at 253.3, I didn’t have full blood work done so I don’t know how those numbers have changed, but I’m sure they have. In addition to establishing a baseline, it is important to make sure that everything is working the way it should be.

That’s my advice, now it’s up to you to do something with it.

I spent the better part of the last two days in bed. Fever. Chills. Headache. Sore throat. Coughing. I’ve got it all.

It may be impossible to overstate how much I hate being sick. I realize that everyone else hates it too, but I’m enough of a drama queen to believe that I hate it most.

I stayed home from my meeting last night so I don’t know what the official scale said, my new scale (new scale! yay!) said 197.6 which seems reasonably close to what I would expect.

I think I’m feeling a little better today. I made it to Fred Meyer and the library without falling over, so there must be hope.

Now, since Andrew is sleeping, I am going to take a nap.

We didn’t have our weigh-in last night, the group was canceled due to a scheduling conflict.

I can’t say I am too disappointed. I’ve been to four large parties in the past two weeks, and while there were many healthy options available and I did okay at all of them, it was a lot of food that I didn’t have control over.

And then there is the Cinnamon Toast Crunch that was on sale which I do have control over and I should have exerted that control by not buying it. But I didn’t. Damn you, little bits of cinnamon goodness! Damn you sweet tooth!

The scale at the gym is up a couple of pounds, which may or may not mean anything.

This is a low mileage training week, so it’s a good time to get back on track with the food. Parenthetically, those long runs are not actually all that helpful. I have to eat a lot on those days so that I don’t keel over and it is hard to get back on track after a 2500+ calorie day.

Also, I’m feeling better about the whole running thing after yesterday’s post. Maybe I just needed to let a bit of The Crazy out in a controlled setting.

There’s a danger in locker rooms, and it’s not just athlete’s foot.

A falsely intimate community is created by sweating next to a person for 45 minutes every morning and then changing next to that same person. Guards are let down. Trust is given too freely. Things that should stay hidden are revealed.

Last week my locker room buddy (I truthfully don’t know her name) dropped a bomb in the midst of our morning small talk, “This is the first time I’ve been a member of a gym in years. I forgot how obsessive I can get. I don’t think my family is very happy with me, but I can’t stop.”

“Yeah,” I laughed, “you should try distance running.”

And, standing there in the locker room, I told her everything - how tired I was, how much I miss my friends, how I felt trapped by my goals and intentions. I told her that I was counting the days to the marathon, not out of excitement but because then I could stop without feeling like a failure. I told her about how my knee hurts and how scared I am of being injured because, as much as I hate it sometimes, I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t run. I told her how I feel like running is just another addiction and how I tired I am of being addicted to things.

I told her things that I hadn’t told Justin, things that I hadn’t told my best friend, things that I hadn’t really told myself.

It scared the crap out of me.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I haven’t made any decisions yet. Finishing what I start is something vitally important to me, and I’m not sure that I am mentally strong enough to deal with failing to meet my goals. Sometimes feats of physical strength are easier than feats of mental strength.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I love to run. I love who I am as a runner. I don’t want to reinvent myself again. I’m hoping that this is just the pendulum swinging to the other extreme and if I can just hold on long enough it will settle in the middle and I can run, sanely.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I think I’ll keep my mouth shut in the locker room.

It’s too dangerous.

Today was my longest run in preparation for the 1/2 marathon (five weeks from tomorrow!).

After a week of Seattle-level nice weather, today started out cloudy and cold. We decided to do a point-to-point run from Kent to Tukwila. If you’re not from around here and those names mean nothing to you, picture two suburbs that used to be some of the most fertile farmland in the world, spread them about 12-miles apart and connect them with a meandering river and flat trail. As runs go, this one is pretty sweet.

I was decked out in my race-day clothes, including my lucky underwear. We parked one car at the north end and drove south to the start.

I wasn’t looking forward to this run at all. I’ve been tired and stressed all week. I’m having twinges of knee pain that worry me - a lot. I didn’t sleep well last night and the return of the cold weather makes me want to curl up and die. This is where having a running buddy helps immensely. If I didn’t know that someone was waiting for me, there is no way I would have left the house this morning.

But leave the house I did, and, like every other time I lace up my shoes and go running, I’m glad for it after the first ten minutes.

We ended up running just over 11 miles in just under two hours. We ran, talking about how far we’d come on this run and as runners in general. We talked about everyday life, Lance Armstrong and our plans for the future. We ran quietly, without music, and listened to our breathing and the sounds of our feet, and then we talked some more. Towards the end we decided we needed that music so we started singing, Eminem and then Queen. It was goofy, but it helped.

It was a hard run, but a good one.

I’ve heard that the last section, three miles in a 1/2 marathon and 6 miles in the full marathon are the hardest. It’s when your body is done and your mind must make the decision to keep going. It’s why, when training for those races, you rarely run those miles. They are not about your body, they are about your will.

I feel ready for the race. Ready to see the fruits of my training. Ready to push my body to the edge and then let go, trusting my will to carry me through. These next few weeks are going to be tough. I have one more 10-mile training run and then I really start to taper back. I have to discipline myself to stay strong while allowing my body to rest, heal and prepare. I have to cast myself as my friend, not my enemy, and make choices that are good for my body. I have to listen to myself and take the time to take good care.

I’m nervous. I’m excited. I’m scared. I’m ready.

196.9.*

During my many stints on Weight Watchers, I always mocked the people who called the one hundred pound range one-derland. I told myself that I hated cheesy word-plays and that I, as a sophisticated and refined adult, was far above such tacky behavior.

Upon further review, I find that, like the Mariners ball girls, high school cheerleaders and homecoming royalty, one-derland is something that I mocked in hopes of convincing myself, and those around me, that I could care less. Funny how much we care about those silly things.

So, yeah, I’m calling it one-derland. Being tacky never felt so right.

In other news, and this may be the single greatest sentence I have ever written, it seems I am losing weight a little too quickly (my goal is 1-2 lbs per week) which means that I get to up my calories a tiny bit. Woo Hooo!

*Assuming the scale is accurate, which I’m trying not to think about too much.

One of the more entertaining parts of my OCD occurs when I fixate on something that seems wrong when I know it should be right. When I had to inventory all the greeting cards at the bookstore one night, I became convinced that Dad was spelled wrong on some of the cards. I ended up staying at the store until 3am, trying to figure out which ones were right and which ones were wrong. At various times in my life, I become obsessed with clocks, making sure they are all set to the same time and completely freaking out when I came across a clock that differs from the ones that I thought were right. Even now, after medication and therapy, I can get myself pretty worked up if I think too hard about the clock issue.

The point? I get a little crazy when I believe there is a RIGHT answer and I can’t find it.

Enter, the scale.

The one at my house is utterly useless. It is at least 8 lbs off. I avoid standing on it as much as I can. The one at the doctor’s office? I know it should be right, but I’m not there very often, so I can’t be sure. The one at the gym? It balances at zero, but both Justin and I have noticed random unexplainable fluctuations. And the one at my weight loss meeting last night? Well, I stood on it three times in a row and got three different numbers.

(The middle number was 200.4, so that’s what is going on my graph. Yay for me!)

It’s enough to bring out The Crazy in anyone, and more than enough to drive me over the edge.

Using some of the coping skills developed over the years, I am trying to talk myself down from complete insanity. All the scales show change. It’s just a number. With the exception of the one at home, they are within 2-3lbs of each other and that could be explained by the clothes you are wearing or the time of day at which you weighed yourself.

I get it, and I’ll be okay.

I’m just going to go lie down and wait for my nervous twitch to stop.