The Delaney and Waylon Diaries

Dude, I've been up since six a.m.

I did it! And how I managed to is completely beyond me. Storms, complete with dog-frightening thunder, pounded our area for most of the night and into the morning. The last thing I wanted to do was get up at six a.m. to go to THE GYM. But I figured that I'd better. Otherwise I'd erode my exercise plan for the week with a different excuse each day ("Oh, there's a storm. Better not go!" "Oh, I need to paint my toenails before Little Gym. Better not go!" "Oh, I've got way too much breathing to do this morning. Better not go!"). And considering that I've spent the better part of 35 years coming up with excuses for why I shouldn't do good things for myself (another post entirely) I got up and dragged my sorry butt into the darkness before the dawn to work out.

It wasn't always pleasant (I get headaches doing cardio sometimes. Probably means I'm dehydrated, right? But it's hard to hydrate when you're asleep!) but I kept imagining the hot shower that would serve as my reward for 30 minutes on the elliptical machine and the extra spunk I was sure to feel throughout the day (Um, when is that spunk supposed to kick in, exactly? Because I'm starting to feel a little drag-ass and it's only noon.). And it felt so good to accomplish a goal, to stick to a plan, to make time for myself even if that time was at an unholy hour.

I promised myself I'd give this crazy schedule a try for at least week so, one day down and only four to go. Maybe it'll get easier to get out of bed with each passing day. Maybe the headaches will fade with the more cardio I do. Maybe I'll learn to love getting up early and doing something worthwhile just for me. And maybe, just maybe, monkeys will fly out my butt.

Oh, well. A girl can hope, can't she?

It's the accountability, stupid

I love every other Wednesday. That's when a wonderful woman comes to clean our house. She's young, kind, pretty and learning to speak English. She's a professional woman (a teacher) who came here from Mexico to be with her husband. She isn't certified to teach in the U.S. yet, so while she works toward that goal, she cleans homes. We're very lucky that she agreed to clean ours. A homemaker I may be. A housekeeper, I am definitely not.

Delaney and I get out of her way by going to the gym. Delaney plays in the kids' club while I work out and then shower. We head over to Starbuck's before going home and hiding out in our bedrooms (Delaney naps, I work or blog) until our lovely cleaning lady is done. It's our fun, little routine. There's something about sitting on the bed working on my laptop that reminds me of college days gone by (not that they had laptops back then...more like hand-held chalkboards, but still).

Today when we were at Starbuck's, I noticed this man starting at us. And, it wasn't just an in-passing, I'm-smiling-at-you, how's-your-day kind of friendly look. It was a stare and he kept it up the entire time we were there, even pausing outside to stare at us as I strapped Delaney into her carseat. The guy wasn't unattractive, but not hot either. Just a 40-something yuppie guy with a closely-cropped haircut. He didn't freak me out or anything. But, he did make me wonder why he was staring so much, so openly and so blatantly.

Could it be that he thought he knew me from somewhere? I certainly didn't recognize him. He probably just thought that Delaney was the most beautiful baby he'd ever seen so he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Or he might have wondered why I wore sunglasses indoors (I'm lazy...they're prescription and I hate taking them off, putting on my regular glasses, going inside, going back out, taking them off and putting on my sunglasses again. Ugh.) and thought I was a dork. Maybe he was trying to figure out my jerky, manic attempt to sway to the jazz blaring out of the speaker above us. Or, maybe in the end, it's because he thought I took his latte by mistake. He sure didn't look like the venti, non-fat latte type to me.

Whatever his reason for starting, it wasn't because he was checking me out. I know this because I'd weighed myself at the gym earlier and, embarrassingly, I'm nearly back to the weight I was when I joined the gym almost a year ago. That's after getting a second mortgage to pay the trainer who tortured me for eight months. That's after visiting the ever-so-helpful nutritionist ("Eat less! Eat often! Eat less often!") three times and after going to the gym five-six times a week. Over the last year I've lost 14 pounds. But, over the course of the last three months, I've gained close to 10 of it back. How, you ask? How could someone who goes to the gym that much gain ten pounds in such a short period of time? Stupidity, of course.

When I stopped seeing the trainer back in May, I stopped going to the gym as much too. I no longer had his goals to meet (cardio 4-5 times per week in addition to my 2x per week meetings with him). And back in June after I stopped seeing the nutritionist, Roger and I went out to dinner for his birthday. In that one meal (or over the course of that weekend) I gained four pounds. It was devastating to see all of my hard work disappear over some mashed potatoes, filet mignon and creamed spinach. Instead of getting right back up on that weight-loss horse, I sat on my ass and did nothing. Well, that's not true. I ate. Whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. With no one peering over my shoulder telling me how much weight to lift or how to eat small meals five times a day, I was lost. I'm still lost. It's ridiculous.

I joined the gym a year ago because I was tired of carrying around extra weight--and we're not talking baby weight here. Somehow I got lucky and lost that within weeks of having Delaney. The extra weight I carry now is weight I put on when Roger and I got together. There's a reason for the phrase, "fat and happy." I really wanted to take the weight off, learn to eat more healthfully and exercise on a regular basis to be a good example for Delaney. I still want that. But somehow, I got derailed from that plan. OK. Honestly? I derailed myself.

How do I get back on that weight-loss horse? What has to happen for me to see that I must stick to a good, healthy plan not only for me, but for Delaney and Roger too? Every day I derive small pleasures from eating unhealthy food, but for my whole life I've also craved the bigger pleasure of being healthy, of fitting into cute clothes, of being a role model for my daughter. Why do I have to report to someone else who scrutinizes my every move, my every bite to be successful? Although truthfully, successful is not what I've been.

Why can't I be accountable to myself?

Weight a minute

I've gained four pounds. Four! How is that possible? I've been following the nutritionist's plan pretty closely and other than Roger's birthday dinner at a famous, buttery steakhouse where I stuffed myself with filet mignon, mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, key lime pie and two martinis, I've been very good. Could that rich meal alone have packed on FOUR whole pounds? And to think that I'd been strutting around here all week, proud as heck that I'd lost 10 pounds so far. Damn. Now it's only six. I've got some work to do.

To that end, I dragged my sorry butt to the gym today and took a 45-minute treadmill class. I love that class because you can walk or run and the time flies. And, you get to suffer with others instead of all by yourself. Group misery. That's what it's all about.

I think I've lost my mind because I'm under the impression that I can run. Please, those of you who know me, stop laughing now. No, really. I'll wait. Last week I ran for 15 minutes--in a row. I was rewarded with crippling pain in my knees, but only for a day. Maybe if I run on a regular basis that pain will go away and be replaced by that runner's high business I've heard so much about. I'm even toying with the idea of training to run a 5k. Me! The ultimate couch potato and reality TV queen. I've looked at these two plans, found on these respective blogs, and want to take the leap but I don't know if I can attempt it alone. I also don't know if there's anyone I can con into doing it with me.

All I know is something's got to give. I got a little taste of weight loss and smaller sizes and now I want to lose weight even more. The humbling experience of putting on a bathing suit today (first time since my wedding/honeymoon trip in 2003!) is enough to drive me to do stupid things like running. I just don't know. Can a weak-kneed couch potato change her spots?

Who knew?

Did you know that if you stop eating cake every night and start eating about five small meals a day, you can actually lose weight? Seems like common sense, right? But it took me putting it into practice for a week for that to sink in. I've lost FIVE pounds! Just by eating sensibly and reasonably.

I killed myself working out like a fiend for six months only to lose eight pounds. Not bad, but I'd expected to lose about 40 in that time frame. I couldn't figure out why I wasn't buff, why I hadn't dropped 6 dress sizes (I've only dropped one). Turns out that exercise accounts for only 20% of the equation. Healthy eating is the other 80%. 80%!!! Who knew?

I finally broke down and saw a nutritionist last week because after all of my hard work, after sweating about 20 gallons, and with little to show for it (other than I'm a bit stronger, which is nice), I am ready. I'm mentally and physically ready to start eating healthier and to start learning how I can teach my daughter to eat healthy. I don't want her to grow up eating Cheetos instead of vegetables or fruits. I don't want her to be picky about what she eats. This little plan of mine to expand her culinary horizons, to steer her towards a healthy lifestyle, can only work if I set a good example. I've got to get a handle on this healthy eating myself. It's not easy to break 35 years of bad habits, but I'm doing it one step, one meal, at a time. And so far, it's paying off.

Recent developments on the Mommy front

The gym. I've gone to the gym every day for the last ten days. Let me repeat that. I've gone to the gym every day for the last ten days. I don't think I've ever gone to any gym for ten days period, let alone ten days in a row. OK, today when I went all I did was sit in the steam room and then take a shower, but I worked my butt off the other nine days I was there. I'm meeting with my trainer twice a week, taking yoga, pilates and stretching classes and doing cardio several days each week. Something's changed in me. I like exercise. I look forward to it. It excites me. This is one of the weirdest things I've ever experienced. I never, in a million years, would have predicted that I would come to like exercise. During middle and high school, it was my nemesis. I didn't just hate it, I loathed it. I avoided it at all costs. But now? I'm lacing up my tennies every chance I get. Even R.'s noticed the change in me and I know he wonders what kind of mommy crack their dispensing over there. He just started going to the gym with me so maybe he's hoping to find out.

In a way, they are pushing something at the gym--the gym itself. The temporary gym closed on Wednesday and the new one opened on Thursday. It's a brand-new, shiny, pretty, modern gym. It's plush. It's sleek. It's gorgeous. I can't get enough of it. I want to marry it.

But, it's not just the sexy gym that's made me turn over a new leaf. I think it's got more to do with the little darling in my life. I grew up hating exercise and loving fattening food. I want to give Delaney a better start in life than that. I want to instill in her an enjoyment of exercise. I want to teach her to eat healthy meals. The best way to do that is to lead by example. And that's my great motivation.

Things I think about when I'm working out with my trainer

Oh, God. Time to work out. Do I really have to?

OK. This isn't too bad. He's not torturing me. Yet. I can handle this. I actually kind of like it.

Yeah! I'm good at crunches. I could easily do twenty more of these. What? Do ten more of these? Damn.

What time is it?

Oh, geez. Look at her. She's gorgeous. And, so trim. I'll never be trim like that. I'm killing myself and I'll never be trim. I wish I had a Wendy's cheeseburger.

Wait. Check that girl out. She's way bigger than me. I'm closer to being trim than she is. If she can do this, so can I! I'll be so trim that one day she'll look up to me as an example of how to get trim. Oh, but look at that one. Now she's thin. Man, I'll never be that thin!

You want me to do what? Pushups? Oh, God, I hate pushups. They're so middle school.

I'm getting stronger! I love this. I feel so powerful. Look at me go! What time is it? THIRTY more minutes? I'll never make it.

I'm flushed. I'm sweaty. It's awesome!

Damn, that burns. But, only five more to go. What? Ten more? Did I lose count? Come on! This is too much. What? I'm done? Oh. That wasn't so bad.

Oh. I. Stink. Sweating is overrated.

Maybe I've lost a pound. Have I lost a pound? My clothes feel the same, but my waist feels thinner on the inside. Did I lose a pound? WHAT? I've gained FOUR pounds? Hmmmph. Must be muscle gain. I'm sure it has nothing to do with Wendy's cheeseburgers.

Let's get physical-er

First off, let me say that I know I've already broken my promise to post every day in November. I've missed two days. Shame on me. But, I'm giving myself a break. I will do my best to post daily, but truthfully what would you rather do: post or play with her?

Anyway, I joined a gym back in September and I'm so glad I did. I usually go at least three times a week, attending various stretching and yoga classes and occasionally doing cardio. About a week after I started going, I got a call from a personal trainer who told me I won three free training sessions from a Red Cross benefit raffle in which I participated. He told me he specialized in pilates, yoga and postnatal training and thought he could help me get back in shape. Ha! What he didn't know is that I've never been in shape. He'd have his work cut out for him with me. Although my original plan was to ease myself into the gym lifestyle (i.e. not bust my butt or break a sweat) I figured it couldn't hurt to give it a try.

My trainer, let's call him Friendly Drill Sargeant (FDS), suggested that we meet for our first session on Halloween and we did. It was tough, but great. I went to my other two free sessions this week and decided to purchase five more. Why would a wimp like me want to pay someone for hour-long torture (and let me tell you, an hour feels like FOREVER when FDS is calling the shots)? Because as hard as he works me, as sweaty as I get, as sore as I am the day after, I have never felt so strong or powerful as I do following a session. I have more energy and even though I can't notice any major changes, I have more self-confidence. I never would have believed I could do the things FDS makes me do. For a dough girl like me, that's big. Who knows, maybe over time I'll even drop a few pounds. Losing weight without specifically trying...wouldn't that be a hoot?

Let's get physical

Delaney and I went to the gym today. We joined on Saturday and now we have someplace else to go besides our house in this 100+ degree weather. Speaking of weather, would someone please tell the weather that it is supposed to be FALL out there, not the equivalent of the surface of the sun? Thank you.

Anyway, I'd been thinking about joining the gym for a while, but I was worried about leaving Delaney with strangers in the Kids' Club while I worked out. But, after a near breakdown last week where I slipped into a mini-depression from lack of adult activity and conversation during the day, I figured it would be the best thing for both of us. Delaney is going through a stranger anxiety phase where she starts to cry if someone other than Mom, Dad or Nana talk to or approach her. I figured a few visits to the Kids' Club might cure her of it.

Sure enough, as I dropped her off, she looked happy and content. The older woman of the two on duty picked Delaney up and Delaney couldn't take her eyes off of the other kids. She was the youngest there by at least a few months and the other children were running and playing and Delaney was mesmerized by them. Off I went to reaquaint myself with the concept of exercise.

Let me pause here to say that it has been Y-E-A-R-S since I've exercised. My 95-year-old neighbor, walking back and forth on her driveway each morning (regardless of the temperature outside) gets more exercise in one day than I do in a year. So, this gym thing was a big step for me in more ways than one.

My dad and my 27-year-old cousin, E., who's visiting from Florida, met us at the gym. I caught up with E. while we worked out on eliptical cross trainers. I only lasted 15 minutes, but it felt good to move. Before I went to spend some time on the bike, I peaked into the window of the Kids' Club and Delaney was moving around in a little walker and she looked totally content. Thank God.

I finished my workout for the day (total calories burned, supposedly: 150). Not bad for a sloth. I washed up in the locker room and then went to retrieve my darling girl. The minute I opened the door and she saw my face, her lip quivered and she started to bawl. It was as if it just hit her then that I had left her there. She sobbed for about 5 minutes solid before I was able to calm her down. By the time we got home, she was fast asleep and stayed that way for almost two hours.

I am so proud of Delaney for not being sad about me leaving her with strangers (at least not until I came to get her!) and I'm proud of myself for actually going to the gym. In the past I was an ace at joining gyms, but I never mastered the art of actually going. All in all, it was a good thing and we're going back for more tomorrow.

Now, if I could only stop the pain coursing through my legs...