Author Archives: bec2point0

A little ‘chick on chick’ action – Part 1

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The chicks here at Scoot A Doot all know each other pretty well. There are a lot of emails, texts, phone calls and Heytells that go back and forth about everything from blog business to what we ate for lunch. (Admittedly, there are a lot about lunch.)

But, we wanted to let you guys get to know us better! And who better to interview us than… well… US!

So, for the next six Fridays, we’ll be posting some Chick-on-Chick interviews. You’ll definitely hear some stuff about health and fitness and what motivates us. But you’ll also get to find out more fun stuff about us! And heck, if there is anything we don’t cover, any burning questions you’re just dying for us to answer, just ask.

We’ll pretty much talk to anyone. About anything. We’re a chatty lot.

So, here is our first installment!

Bec on Meri

Meri representing Bec's hometown in her City Sports Boston shirt.

Meri representing Bec’s hometown in her City Sports Boston shirt.

Since all this sillyness was my idea, I took on matching up our interviewer to our interviewees. It was completely random, I swear. I have little slips of paper in my work wastepaper basket to prove it. But truth be told, I was pretty excited when I got matched up to interview Meri.

Mer and Bec snuggling in an Irish Pub.

Mer and Bec snuggling in an Irish Pub.

Meri and I have known each other for just over three years, and in that time, she has become one of my dearest friends. She never fails to lift my spirits, and she’s been known to ‘full name’ me on occasions when I really need it. Being that I’m in Massachusetts and Meri is in New Jersey, we don’t get in person visits nearly often enough, but we’ve both hung out with each other’s families and I can’t wait to see her and her’s again next Spring (if not before…universe, be kind).

Bec and Mer (with fellow Scooter Cam and honorary Chick Jenn) on the Boston Chocolate Tour.

Bec and Mer (with fellow Scooter Cam and honorary Chick Jenn) on the Boston Chocolate Tour.

Prior to this interview, I would have told you that there wasn’t much I don’t know about Meri. But I would have been wrong! So, without further ado (a.k.a. babbling by me)…

Bec:  When was the first moment you really felt like an athlete?

Meri: Well, there’s been many moments when I really DIDN’T feel like an athlete, despite taking part in athletic events. 😉 However, with running, I think one of the coolest moments for me was when I did the Run the Bridge 10k and I was able to call my time, to the minute before we ran the race.

It was my first 10k ever and hillier than any run I’d ever done (the Ben Franklin bridge from Camden into Philadelphia is essentially one giant hill, btw – I don’t think I was really cognizant of that fact when I signed up). Vic, Brandi, Sean and Kate were all running too and as we split up at the start line, I said, “Okay, I’ll see you at a 1:10/1:11 – cheer for me!” And sure enough, that’s exactly when I ran across the finish line (and they were all cheering for me).

To know my capabilities and push myself through those hills was a really fantastic experience. That’s definitely as real as it gets.

Bec: If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Meri: Ice cream. 

Bec: I didn’t know this. I mean, Meri and I share a love of ice cream, but I think I would have said oatmeal. Meaning I thought Meri would say oatmeal. I would definitely not say oatmeal. I would say ice cream.

Bec: Do you have an ultimate health/fitness goal, be it a specific weight or something you want to be able to do? What is it?

Meri: You know, it’s funny because when I started running in 2011, I was 30 pounds heavier than I am now and I was very number focused. As I’ve lost weight and became more fit, it’s become less and less about the number and more about how I feel.

I’m 10 pounds heavier than I was last summer but I’m okay with that. My goal is to be healthy and fit, but I also have an obsessive personality so finding the balance of all of these things is numero uno important. My self confidence has never been higher and I know that when I put the work in and focus on my goals, good things will happen.

Bec: Tell me about your dream ‘girl’s weekend’.

Meri: Mount Airy Lodge. Where all you have to bring is your love of everything. I still have dreams of the champagne shaped hot tub. And all my best girls, of course.

All kidding aside, I want to do Campowerment! 2014? 

Bec: I don’t even know what Campowerment is but I already kind of want to do it!

Bec and Mer and one of our best girls, Jenn, exploring Salem, MA.

Bec and Mer and one of our best girls, Jenn, exploring Salem, MA. It’s no Mount Airy lodge, but we had a great weekend!

Bec: What is your biggest challenge in being a healthy mom to two (adorable) boys?

Meri: My boys are adorable, aren’t they? Biggest challenge would be getting everything done. And having time enough at last (aka to read).

           And laundry. Always laundry.

Bec: Laundry is my world. *eyeroll*

Bec:  Best Boy Band of all time? And favorite member of said Boy Band?

Meri: Of ALL time? The Beatles. Don’t tell me they’re not a boy band – they were THE boy band.

But if we’re talking more recently, the N’SYNC. And JC. I still love him on ABDC. He’s blowin’ me up with his love. Yep.

Bec: I love this answer. So much.

So, that’s Meri in a nutshell. (Let her out! A nutshell is very cramped!) Next week, we’ll have another chick-on-chick interview. You’ll just have to tune in to see who! 

And if you have questions for Mer… or me… or any of the chicks… pop them in the comments. We love hearing from you guys! 

Recipe Box: Oriental Cold Noodles

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It’s been the summer of cold salads in my house. The heat has been unbearable, and the only thing I like less than cooking hot food is eating hot food. Because yuck.

I’ve been all about Pasta Salad and Potato Salad and Quinoa Salad and Fruit Salad and Garden Salad and Mexican Veggie and Bean Salad (future recipe post to follow) and… I think you get the picture. I get up super early on Sundays, before the heat hits, cook and prep large batches of a couple of salads and then eat them all week for lunch or with dinner. This has been working out great in terms of time management and having healthy food at the ready, but flavor-wise, things had gotten a bit boring.

Until this Sunday.

In search of some flavor in my salads, I turned to the internet, and after a couple of searches for ‘cold dinner ideas’, I found the following recipe on LaaLoosh (an invaluable resource for healthy, and specifically Weight Watchers friendly, recipes).

Oriental Cold Noodles (adapted from LaaLoosh)

Ingredients

1 12 oz. package Whole Wheat Spaghetti
1 large cucumber, diced
1 cup carrots, diced
1 tbsp sesame oil
1/3 cup reduced sodium soy sauce
1/4 cup rice vinegar
1/3 cup cilantro, finely chopped
3 garlic cloves, minced
2 tbsp brown sugar
1 tsp red pepper flakes
1 ½ tsp sesame seeds
Juice from 1 lime
Instructions
Cook spaghetti according to package directions. Drain, and rinse with cold water. Place in a large bowl. Toss in cilantro, cucumbers and carrots, and set aside.
In a small bowl, whisk together the soy sauce, vinegar, lime juice, garlic, brown sugar, red pepper flakes, and sesame oil.
Pour dressing over noodles and toss to combine. Top with sesame seeds.

Cover and place in refrigerator for at least 1.5 hours.
Preparation time: 10 minute(s), Cooking time: 15 minute(s)

Number of servings (yield): 6
PER SERVING: 231 calories; 3.5g fat; 41g carbohydrates; 6g protein; 2.5g fiber

Recipe Source: LaaLoosh

Now, I’ve never met a recipe I didn’t want to tweak, but I stayed very close to the original on this. The only changes I made were to add some scallions and to usage Whole Wheat Spaghetti instead of Soba Noodles (because I had it on hand). Also, I measure nothing. Ever.

The result?

Ooooooodles of Noodles

Ooooooodles of Noodles

BOOM. FLAVOR EXPLOSION IN MY MOUTH.

You guys, this was SO good. Aside from cutting veggies, the prep work was very minimal. And aside from the 20 minutes of boiling water and cooking pasta, I didn’t have to turn on the stove. WHICH MAKES ME VERY HAPPY.

This and some diced chicken breast were my lunch on Monday, and the rest will be a side dish for the Turkey Teriyaki Meatballs I’ll be making for dinner one night this week. You know, if it lasts that long.

If you’re a Weight Watcher’s member, I calculated this differently than the website did. Mine came up to 4 Points Plus for 6 servings or 7 Points Plus for 4 servings (I went with four servings because I was HUNGRY!)

So, whip yourself up a batch and set them aside for the next hot night. Which is surely imminent. SIGH.

When it’s hot out, what’s your go to cold dinner? Help Bec out. Her family is ready to mutiny if she serves sandwiches one more time. 

Fathlete

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It’s called Couch to 5K, but I’m pretty sure that the person who named the program didn’t assume that the person in question was in a relationship with said couch that was so complex and intimate it was basically Couch-eo and Juli-Bec. My understanding of C25K is that it is intended for people who don’t run to start running, doing so gradually to build strength and endurance.

What I’m looking for is Morbidly Obese to 5K. Because it’s not that same thing. Run for 30 seconds? Kiss my…couch. Being an AOUS (Athlete of Unusual Size) poses many challenges, some of which all athletes face and some which are decidedly unique to the plus size exerciser.

I didn’t gain weight overnight. It took 28 years of yo-yo dieting and sedentary living to achieve, and the lack of exercise is a huge part of that. For years, I hated exercise in all its forms. Being fat and working out do NOT go hand in sweaty hand. As a  larger person, there are physical and emotional aspects of working out that make me run… errr, saunter… in the opposite direction. But, that needs to change in order to change my life. And writing my I am post definitely helped me to work things out in my head, so I’m hoping this will help get me past my exercise aversion again.

When I decided to write this post, I knew I wanted someone to write it with me, and I knew I wanted that someone to be Anne. Anne will keep it funny, and snarky, and she won’t let me be too much of a Pollyanna. But mostly, Anne will keep it real. Anne and I are signed up to run our first half marathon together next year. Anne and I take turns freaking out and trying to bail. Anne and I are a little codependent. And? We’re both ‘big’ girls. (Anne is giving me that look… the one that says ‘Bec, don’t try and pretty it up…just say fat.’)

So, if you’ve ever been out for a run and seen the ‘fat chick’ chugging along, sweating and looking like she’s going to die… if you’ve ever gone to the gym and seen that really big girl trying to do strength training… and if you’ve ever wonder what it’s like to be those people… well, this is what it’s like for these two fat chicks.

Disclaimer: This is NOT a list of excuses as to why we can’t work out.

Additional disclaimer: One of the authors of the post may be using this as such.

Pre- Workout

Plus Size Workout Clothes

Anne – Workout clothes are my own personal Kryptonite, as far as Fat Girl Workout Related Disasters go. Let’s be real, the right clothes for the job make the job a whole lot more comfortable. I’ve managed to cobble together a workable wardrobe of yoga pants and tops that usually get the job done, even if they lack all of the fancy bells and whistles that my thin friends can get for $12 at Target. The problem is, since I’m essentially working out in yoga pants and a t-shirt, there’s not much to stop me from turning my workout clothes into lounge clothes. Now, when I see my favorite workout pants, I don’t think “oh! I should go for a run!” I think “Hey! Guacamole sounds good!” or maybe “Ooh! A nap!”

Bec – Sometimes I think that Plus Size Activewear is as much an oxymoron as Jumbo Shrimp… which sounds delicious right now. You need fat girl clothes, take a right, the small section in the back. You need workout clothes, take a right, not as small section in the front. You need fat girl workout clothes… wait, you need what? Yeah. Plus size activewear is not easy to find, even online. In stores, it’s damn near impossible. And if you want it to be cute? Just don’t go there. Currently, my workout wardrobe consists of a couple pairs of ill-fitting running pants I ordered online and a bunch of men’s t-shirts. My face, you guys. I’m supposed to be cuter than this.
Sports Bras

Bec – I’ll admit, I feel like a bad Fat Kid on this topic. We did a Chick Chat a few months ago where I admitted that not only have I been able to find a sports bra that I love, I bought it at the Target that is five minutes from my house. Don’t hate me.

Anne  – I am convinced that no one in the sports bra industry actually has breasts. I can’t think of another valid explanation for why said industry has decided that my breasts don’t really exist. The thing is, I have the weight equivalent of a small toddler attached to my chest, so a sports bra is tied with “the right shoes” as the most important thing I put on before going for a run. So far, I’ve struck out at every retailer in a 30 mile radius. My best bet is to drive 50 miles one way to find a bra that isn’t actually the right size, but gets the job done, as long as I don’t take deep breaths.

Oh sure. I can go online. Are we sensing a trend here? I’m too fat, my breasts are too big. They don’t want me in this club.  I don’t even know who “they” is, I just know that before I can even get dressed to join in, I’ve been properly body shamed into wanting to curl up in bed with a Cadbury bar and Jennifer Weiner’s entire body of work.

During the workout

Jiggle

Bec – Last week at my Weight Watchers meeting, the leader discussed ‘the ripple effect’ and I was pretty sure she was going to show a video of me running. (She didn’t. Thank goodness.) Because there is a lot of…movement… that occurs when I run. In Zumba class, everything is supposed to be shaking, so it doesn’t feel quite so obvious. But on a run? It feels very obvious. I know that no one is watching me run, and that no one cares what I look like while I’m running. But still.

Anne – There’s nothing quite like feeling your every step reverberate through your entire body to add a little spice to a workout. I tend to lead with my jiggly bits, so I imagine that seeing me run from the front looks like a grown-up version of the Truffle Shuffle. I’ve embraced the jiggle, for the most part. Maybe it burns more calories?

Extra weight

Bec – I read something, probably on twitter, that said for every pound of extra weight on your body, it’s like 4 extra pounds on your knees and 8 extra pounds on your back. Which, I’ll admit, I thought had to be bull. But, I did some research… and it looks like it’s true. This article provides data on Osteoarthritis and knee pain and the links to obesity, and this article  relates obesity to back pain. We are by no means giving out medical advice here, but to me, this makes sense and helps to explain why I hobble down my stairs in the morning.

So, if day to day living with extra pounds is painful, think about working out while carrying the physical weight of two people. It hurts. Everything hurts. And when things hurt? They don’t feel good.

Anne – Personally, I’m pretty pain-avoidant. So when I’m doing something that hurts, I’m already going against my natural instincts. But when I’m doing something that I know will continue to make me hurt for a few more days? I’m basically turning off every survival instinct I have.

Post workout

Swoob

Bec – I didn’t even know this was a term until a few weeks ago when a girlfriend of mine, rather gifted in the boobage area herself, told me about a product she had tried that was amazing for ‘swoob’. I didn’t need an explanation, certainly I’m no stranger to boob sweat, but it did make me giggle. Swoob sounded almost cute.

It’s not cute, of course. Boob sweat is gross, as are its friends, Swass and Swelly. I know swoob isn’t just a fat girl issue. I’m sure that most female athletes get the swoob. I just feel like I probably get more, and that I am swoobtastic earlier on in my workout.

Anne – Oh, Sweaty Underboob, we truly have a love/hate relationship. On the one hand, if I’m that sweaty, I must have been working hard, right? That’s a good thing! On the other hand, there is really no delicate way to sop up swoob, you guys. I mean, sure, when Bec and I get our half-marathon on, I’m sure I’ll have no problem re-adjusting the girls and getting rid of the excess sweat in front of her. At a 5K I’m running with male co-workers? Probably not my best plan. The kicker is, when I do a 5K with friends, we tend to bundle it with a breakfast after. So while we’re sitting around the table, laughing and basking in the glow of a race well-run, I am also marinating in a sea of funk. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried to air things out in a cramped restaurant bathroom stall.
Chub Rub

Anne – For a fat girl, I have really good legs. I credit this to my dad, who also has great legs. Sadly, I will never be found zipping along a race route in one of those cute running skirts. If you were horrified at the idea of having to air out my upper bits post-run, you would be absolutely scandalized at the sight of me icing down my inner thighs to ease the burn of Chub Rub. The nice thing about Chub Rub is that it is the gift that keeps on giving. Swoob I can sop up and move on with my day. Chub Rub burns for days.

Bec – Ouch.

So listen. If you’re obese and trying to change that and you’ve faced some of these challenges, we feel you. I don’t think we have anything unique to offer in terms of advice, but we feel your pain.

And here’s the thing. All of those things that make it difficult to work out when you’re fat? We’ve got to suck them up and work out anyway.

If the extra weight and jiggle are problematic for you, find a local pool. Water workouts are effective, easy on the joints, and no one can see what’s shaking underwater.

Wear two sports bras if you have to. Rock those ugly sweatpants and too big tshirt until something cuter fits. Know that the reason they don’t make a ton of plus sized workout clothes is because most people assume that fat chicks don’t exercise. Prove them wrong.

Get yourself some anti-chafing products for the rub and some anti moisture products for the swoob. Or don’t. Be sweaty. Be funky and jiggly and dripping sweat and proud. Because in spite of the obstacles, you’re doing it. You are bettering yourself.

So, let’s all get out there and put the athlete in Fathlete! (Anne just rolled her eyes at me. And I totally deserved it).

The Power of Words

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Two weeks ago, I sat down and wrote a post. It was a candid, no holds barred look into my life as a morbidly obese woman. Those words were hard to write. Every one of them was a little piece of me, bared to the world, encapsulated on a screen. My fears. My regrets.

My weight.

Those words were meaningful to me, and based on the tremendous amount of supportive responses I got, they were meaningful to other people as well. I had to have Meri actually publish the post for fear I wouldn’t be able to hit the button. I wanted to erase the words, to take them back, as if doing so would make it less real, would make it all go away.

It wouldn’t have. Those realities don’t go away. They will change, when I change them, but they will never cease to be exactly where I was on that day.

The response was incredible. As soon as the post was published, my phone immediately starting buzzing. Tweets, emails, blog responses, Facebook notifications, texts, IMs from people in my office who I am FB friends with.

I couldn’t look right away. I didn’t know what the words coming in were, but I knew they would be too much. And when I did look? They were too much. Wonderful, kind, empathetic… but overwhelming. I cried more times than I can count. It took me days to fully process all of the messages, and days more to respond in a manner befitting the words that were given to me.

I’m so grateful to each one of you that reached out. I’m so touched that people found inspiration in that post, or solace at the idea that they were not the only one with those feelings. I’m so incredibly lucky to have such wonderful people in my world.

I gave myself a few more days to process how I was feeling, and then I started to ask myself some questions.

That is where I am, how do I get where I want to be?

I could sit here wishing I’d done things differently, wishing that I’d had the courage to face my demons years ago, but it wouldn’t change anything. I could blame the people in my life that failed me, blame the diet industry and the food industry for making me fat and keeping me that way, but it wouldn’t change anything. I could sit on my couch with my buddies, Ben and Jerry, crying about how hard it all is, but it really wouldn’t change anything.

Or I could build a bridge and get over it.

How am I going to change habits that are twenty eight years in the making?

I can change, but not without help. I am a prideful person, independent, and I hate needing help. But I need help. And my very wise lifelong best friend gave me some words this morning.

“If you need help, get help.” Right. I love you, Jen.

What diet do you try when you’ve tried every diet?

It doesn’t matter. Some are better than others, some are truly healthier than others, but at the end of the day, this isn’t about the diet. It’s about my commitment to doing what needs to be done, and about knowing that when something isn’t working, you find something else that will. It’s about me making the decision to change my life and my health. (I spent the better part of the last week trying to decide what was the best way to go about this, and I have a plan…you all know how I LOVE a plan. I’m not ready to talk about the plan just yet, but I have one.)

So, I’m going to  get help and work on forgiving  myself. I’ve made a commitment. And I’ve got a plan.

Where do I start? How? When? 

Old Chinese Proverb: The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago. The second best time is now.

Okay, then. Now works.

Pink Sweat

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I am such a girly girl. I love sparkle and shoes and bags and makeup. And I love PINK. Anything Pink. The first time I saw the #sweatpink hashtag over on Twitter, I thought ‘well, that sounds AMAZING.’

So now, I am delighted to tell you that the Scoot A Doot Chicks have been asked to be Sweat Pink Ambassadors. How cool is that?

Does this mean when we go bust our tails running or working out, our sweat is actually pink?

Sadly, no.

What it does mean is that the fine folks over at Fit Approach think we are a great representation of what it means to ‘sweat pink.’

On their Become a Sweat Pink Ambassador page, they ask the following questions:

Do you have a passion for inspiring others on their journeys to health? Do you believe that strong is the new skinny, pink is the new black, and that a positive attitude and whole foods are a healthier route to happiness than self-loathing and 100-calorie snack packs?

Yes. Yes! And YES!!

And this is their mission.

We believe that kicking ass is best done in pretty shoes. We’ve learned that real women sweat, and sweat hard. We know that assertiveness, strength, and ambition are the ultimate feminine qualities. We concede that sometimes it takes hours to get ready, but we’re also no strangers to just rolling out of bed and going. We’re convinced that we run faster in pink shoelaces. We believe in pushing ourselves, and we believe in giving ourselves a break, too. We’re all about the rush of endorphins and the thrill of the challenge. We’re all for looking great and feeling even better. We’re committed to finding our best fit, and making it stick.

Totally rockin’.

I think it's clear which color station Bec liked best at last year's Color Me Rad.

I think it’s clear which color station Bec liked best at last year’s Color Me Rad.

And we’re tickled pink (insert cymbal crash) that they asked us to be part of their Ambassador crew, because all those things? That is what we’re about. Our resounding YES was a total no brainer.

This isn’t about being the strongest athlete in the world. It’s about being the kind of athlete each of us is, and pushing ourselves to be better.

This isn’t about being in the best shape. It’s about the journey we’re all taking to be in the best shape we can be.

This isn’t about being perfect when it comes to diet and exercise. It’s about being tireless in the pursuit of our own personal health and fitness goals.

And now, it’s about kicking butt in shoes laces up with pink shoelaces. (And for me, it’s about adding being able to fit into a Sweat Pink tank to my fitness bucket list… SO CUTE).

Sweaty in Pink!

Bec, sweaty in Pink!

So, our sincerest thanks to Fit Approach for selecting us to be ambassadors for your awesome mission. We think your fab, and we give you our biggest, sweatiest, PINKEST hugs of gratitude.

I am…

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Part of why I am a blogger, and a writer, in the first place is that having a forum to pour my emotions into, good or bad, helps me to process whatever I am going through or whatever I have going on. Regardless of how many people read, turning my feelings into words is cathartic.

And right now? I need some damn catharsis. Or something. I really need something. I need to vent and let it all hang out. 

Here at Scoot A Doot, we tend to keep the posts fairly light and positive. Sure, we talk about things like being busy moms trying to fit in exercise, or runs that we struggled through. But mostly, upbeat. And we’re generally a pretty perky bunch of chicks, so the positive nature of the posts is a natural extension of us.

This is not one of those posts. This post was hard to write, and will likely be hard to read. It’s raw and uncomfortable and uncensored and painful. And necessary, for me. So here goes…

I Am

I am… many things, to many people. I am a good listener. I am an amazing cook. I am a hard worker. I am funny. I am kind. I am generous.

I am… morbidly obese. I hate that phrase. It’s ugly and humiliating and harsh and accurate. I am literally so overweight that it’s killing me. Slowly, but still. The reality of my situation is that if I don’t change it, I will die younger than I should. I will rob my children of their mother, and my husband of his wife, far before I ever expected and far before I have a right to.

I am… sick. I have High Blood Pressure. My joints ache, all the time. My back hurts. I have trouble sleeping. I get winded walking up a flight of stairs. And when I work out or run? Everything hurts.

I am… tired. Truly exhausted. Physically and mentally, the act of carrying around this weight every day is so unbelievably tiring.

I am… angry. At myself. I know this serves no purpose, but I am so damn angry at myself for allowing this to happen. I am absolutely furious at myself for letting every ten-pound milestone that I swore I wouldn’t cross come and go.

I am… addicted. To food. I come from a long line of addicts. Drugs, alcohol, cigarettes. I’ve lost so many people far too early because they were ruled by their addictions. I have been fighting this addiction since I was ten years old.

I am… terrified. That I will join them. That I don’t have enough strength to conquer my own addiction. That I will fight my whole life, only to fail.

I am… sad. I am missing out on parts of my life that I will never get another shot at. I avoid air travel because I’m afraid I won’t be able to fit in the seat. I’ve flown once in the past twelve years, and had to ask for seat belt extenders. I was miserably uncomfortable and the thought of going through that is enough to make me never want to fly again.

I am… disappointed. In myself. I was supposed to be a better role model for my children. My son is now ten, and I see the beginnings of my battle in him every day. He is already struggling with weight. And food.

I am… ashamed. I feel weak. And small. I can’t look in the mirror without cringing.

I am… in pain. Physically, sometimes, but mentally, always. This hurts. On my best days, and believe me, I have great days, there is still some part of me, deep down, that is hurting.

I am… in a bad place right now. I have times when I feel like I have a handle on things. Lately, I don’t.

I am… struggling.

I am… lost.

I am…349 pounds. This is not my heaviest weight. I have weighed as much as 391 pounds. Typing that out is agony. Not erasing it is almost impossible. But putting that out there in the world doesn’t make it real. It’s already real.

But…

I am… a good person. A good mother. A good wife. A good friend.

I am… trying. To get better. To feel better. To be better.

I am… strong. When I put my mind to it, I can do amazing things. I can do anything. I can do this.

I am… hopeful. I have seen people change their lives. I know that is it possible. I still have hope that I will be one of them.

I am… talking about it. Because no one wants to talk about what it’s like to be morbidly obese. Especially people that are morbidly obese. But not talking about it, making it a dirty, ugly, fat secret? That doesn’t help.

I am… determined. To keep trying. To keep going. Because the other option is letting myself be beaten by my own addiction. That is not an option.

I am…not done fighting. Ever. I may never win, but I will never quit.

I am… morbidly obese. But I don’t have to be.

I am… ready. For change. For hard work. For whatever it takes.

I am ready.

What About ME?

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Like all of the Scoot a Doot chicks, I’ve got a ridiculously busy schedule. NOT like all of the Scoot a Doot chicks, I’m a ridiculous slacker. If we were Smurfs, I’d be Lazy Smurf. Or at very least, Whiny Smurf.

But, you guys, I’m SO busy.

As I sat typing out our family Summer Calendar today, there were a lot of notes about doctor’s appointments (those darn physicals just come around every year, huh) and daycare arrangements and kid’s soccer practices and family vacation plans and so on and so on.

But there wasn’t any me time. A lot of US time, and a super lot of THEM time (the younglings – and as my fellow moms know, their time and my time are completely locked together), but no ME time.

I like me time. I miss me time.

I realize what has happened. My ME time, formerly filled with mani/pedis or movies or laying like a vegetable on my couch, is now spent doing things like trying to fit in a run or trying to make it to the gym or trying to get to the Zumba class I haven’t been to in months.

Did you catch that word I just used? Trying.

When it was mani/pedis, I made gosh darn sure those happened. It’s not like it’s hard to find the motivation to drive over to the nail salon and sit in a chair reading People and having someone massage your tootsies.

My runs? Or even my walks? They aren’t happening with any regularity at this point.

And that doesn’t make sense. Because I want to get in better shape and I’m really focused on weight loss and I know that a run or a Zumba class would certainly help those efforts and I would definitely feel better afterwards but IT DOESN’T FEEL LIKE ME TIME.

It feels like work. It should. It is work. But I think, subconsciously, I’ve been struggling a little with taking the little free time I have and using it to go get sweaty and gross instead of polished and girly.

And it’s got to stop. Because while it’s all well and good to have pretty toes, I think it’s more important at this point in my life to be able to reach my toes.

I need to make activity a priority. And I want to, I really, really do. I just… sometimes, I miss being a bum, you know? And lately, when I’ve got one hour left of a hectic day, I’m much more apt to return to bum mode and watch So You Think You Can Dance instead of, oh, I don’t know, actually dancing.

Help? HELP!

For those of you that share my ridiculously small amount of time for ourselves, how do you reconcile it in your brain to spend it on those things that make us better as opposed to those things that only make us look better or feel better temporarily? How do you make yourself pull on your sneakers and just hit it at the end of a long day? In short, how the heck do I get out of my own way?

Bec is busy. Really busy. And whiny. Really whiny. Any tips for a super busy mom trying to fit in working out and having some girly girl time? Because she’s got a half marathon that is getting closer by the day and we’d like her not to die on the Atlantic City boardwalk! 

 

Throwing Down

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You guys, I’ve been struggling. A lot.

Just over a month ago, I posted about my potential attempt at a (mostly) vegan lifestyle.  I gave up meat and dairy, and within a couple weeks, I was feeling amazing. My weight was dropping, my eczema cleared up and things were… regular (sorry).

And then cheese. Because it’s cheese. Actually, it was a cheese factory. Or, The Cheesecake Factory, to be more specific.

I went out for a girl’s night with my bffl and thought ‘I can relax for one night and get back on tomorrow.’

Tomorrow didn’t come. Well, it came, but it came with ALL THE DAIRY.

And with all the dairy (and meat and overeating and slacking and CHEESE – hello, vicious cycle), came the weight right back on and the general feeling of grossness.

NOT OKAY.

So, as of today, I threw down the gauntlet with myself. 30 days. Full accountability to diet, exercise, tracking my food and making healthy choices for thirty days. No bullpuckey. (Look Mer, no cursing!)

Here are the rules:

No Dairy – That means no cheese, no ice cream, no Pinkberry, no cheese, no butter, no yogurt, no CHEESE.

No ‘meat’ – Eliminating beef, pork and poultry. Still eating fish and eggs. Let’s not even talk about bacon.

No heavily processed foods – I say heavily processed because some of my staples, like almond milk, tofu and whole grain pasta are definitely ‘processed’. Basically, cutting out things with ingredients that sound like things from a 10th grade chemistry textbook.  And keeping things like pre-made veggie burgers/meat replacement products limited. No take out/fast food/convenience food. Note, this doesn’t mean no going out to eat. Just not at any place that only serves crap.

Water – 8 cups a day BARE MINIMUM.

Exercise – 5 times a week, 3 of them being good, fast walks. Not focusing on running right now. I know I have a half marathon to train for, and I have a plan for that. But for now, in the ridiculous heat, I’m going to work on bringing up my walking pace so that when I do start running again, I’ll be ready for it (as opposed to now where I just sort of jog slowly and wheeze). The other two workouts are for strength training or Zumba classes. Or swimming. Or whatever way I feel like moving my body. Just moving it. Period.

Tracking on My Fitness Pal – Every day. Every bite. Every lick.

No alcohol – I know. I KNOW.

No excuses – None. At all. These are the rules, and they will be followed. For 30 days. Because while all of that is a lot, none of it has to be forever. Once I complete this personal challenge, I’ll see where I am and decide what I want to do from there.

Because it’s only 30 days. (Please remind me of this when you see me in the cheese aisle at Trader Joe’s).

So, tell me folks, what could you commit to for 30 days? What is that one thing that you let get in your way? What’s your weakness, and would you be willing to hold yourself accountable to turning it into a strength for a month?

If you think you can do it, and you want to join me in this 30 day throwdown, DO IT. And if you think you can’t do it… well, then, you’re right.

Keep Bec company?  Challenge yourself? Please, tell her in the comments below that you want to join her crazy train. She really likes company. And, apparently, cheese. 

In or Out

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From the moment I sent off my lottery entry for the Falmouth Road Race, I basically thought of nothing else. I mean, I didn’t sit by my computer, clicking the refresh button on my email like a lab rat trying to get a treat. I wanted to. Believe me, I wanted to. But this job and these kids and this life had demands on me, and I shoved the lottery as far back in my mind as I could.

It wasn’t very far.

In quiet moments, I would think about whether or not I’d get in… sometimes hoping against hope that I’d get picked and sometimes wondering what on Earth had compelled me to enter in the first place and praying they’d pass on me.

The closer it got, the more I panicked. What if I got in? That heat… all those people… THOSE HILLS.

So, by the time the 23rd rolled around, I had myself pretty worked up about the idea of getting in. I sent my friend Anne many texts about how scared I was, which she returned, because she’s good like that.

And then, I got a text from her. “Falmouth doesn’t want us.”

I checked my email. Nothing. We were registered as a team, so if she wasn’t in, I wasn’t in. But without an official “sorry, better luck next time” email, I couldn’t process it. What if it was a mistake? What if somehow they didn’t have us as a team and she didn’t get in and I did??

What if I had to run this alone? WHAT IF I HAD TO RUN THIS PERIOD?

I was beyond freaking out at this point. I am in no shape to be running that far, in that competitive a race, in the next 80 days. And the idea of getting in became more petrifying by the second.

And then I got the email.

Falmouth

And then I cried. Like, legit cried, right at my desk at work.

I’m still not sure if it was relief or disappointment that had me in tears. Probably some of both.

I didn’t realize until I truly wasn’t in, just how much I wanted to be. In the days between registration and rejection, I’d gotten attached to the idea of running this race. And suddenly, it was just… over.

I know it’s not personal. I know I wasn’t rejected based on my merits. I know so many other people got that email that day.

Still, it stung.

With some time to process, I’ve gotten okay with it. Because there are other races. Because I think it would have been a physical challenge beyond my capability right now. BECAUSE THOSE HILLS. DAMN.

And because there’s always next year. If I chose to enter, that is.

(I’m totally entering).

So, to my fellow Falmouth rejects, let’s hug it out. And to those that got in, go kick a little Cape Cod butt! I’ll be cheering you on. From my couch. Don’t hate.

So, lotteries. What do you think? And please feel free to give Bec your recs for a 10-15K type race sometime this fall, because she’s got a half to train for and if she thinks that Meri is going to let her rest on her…laurels… she’s got another thing coming. 

Whole Lotta Waiting Going On

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Waiting…sucks. I tried to think of a way to put it nicely, but really, it just sucks. I know, patience is a virtue, yada yada. I have no patience. None. I don’t enter contests. I don’t know what date movies are scheduled to come out. I don’t play the lottery. I’m an immediate gratification kind of girl and I DO NOT like to wait.

Yet, here, I am, impatiently waiting.

For what? Why, I’m waiting to for the chance to run seven miles, of course.

With hills, of course.

In August, OF COURSE.

Speaking of the course…

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=52wRx7DkjS0&w=560&h=315]

Yeah, those were hills you just saw.

Including this one, right at the end.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnBG-VNIZww&w=560&h=315]

I’m officially entered into the lottery for the 2013 Falmouth Road Race. And clearly, I’m insane because I’m actually hoping to get in.

I entered on the opening day of the lottery, which was a week ago, May 8th. They will notified the people that got in on May 24th.

I’ll do the math for you. That’s sixteen days of pulling my hair out. I’m going to (maybe) run (run/walk, let’s not kid ourselves) this thing bald at this rate.

This is my first lottery, and I kind of love/hate it. I know that there’s a good chance I won’t get in, being that it’s my first year and all. And I hate that, because I’m already attached to the race, in a way. But, IF I do get in, that’s going to feel so cool. And scary. Scarycool.  Still, there’s a lot of ‘if’.

BUT…

IF I get in, my girl Anne is going to come run with me. (We registered as a team, so it both of us or neither of us). She has plans to time her collapse on Ben Affleck’s lawn. Clearly, she is the brains of this operation.

IF I get in, I’m going to have to train all summer. In the disgusting humidity instead of my air conditioned gym.

IF I get in, I’m probably going to have a full blown panic attack and wish it had gone the other way, at least for a couple of minutes.

But IF I get in, I’m going to run Falmouth, one of this country’s premier races, which since its initial run in 1973 with 100 people, has grown to over 10,000 runners per year.

And I might be one of them. That’s nuts.

Since I’m a total newb at race lotteries, I asked a couple of my fellow Scooters about their experience with them.

Vic: More often than not, I’m a lottery loser. I’ve thrown my hat in the ring at least half a dozen times and was only accepted once (thank you Broad Street Run for picking me so I don’t have a complete complex). But New York City Marathon rejected me three straight years. The only positive from that denial was that it ultimately gave me guaranteed entry to the road race this year.

I’m not a fan of lotteries because they toy with my emotions. Lotteries build me up and fill me with hope, then usually dash my dreams and continue to send me charity and race emails to mock me.

Yep. I’d rather just register.

Meri: Generally speaking, I’m not a huge fan of lotteries. A dollar and a dream? How about work hard and get things done! I’m not a gambling type of girl so I have a love/hate relationship with running lotteries. I love them when I get in (Broad Street Run). I hate them when I don’t (Nike Women’s Half DC). 

I understand that lotteries even the playing field for runners who are unable to sign up at a specific date and time but I suppose since I’m always able to make that happen with other races, I just feel bitter and resentful when I don’t get into a race via lottery.

Also, I don’t like waiting. I need instant gratification. Don’t toy with my emotions, running lotteries!

I think Meri is my spirit animal. And clearly, Vic and Meri have both been through this enough to make an informed opinion. I still have that babe-in-the-woods, hearts and flowers, ‘of course I’ll get in and I’ll finish in amazing time and I won’t even break a sweat’ newbie hope. Ask me how I feel if I don’t get in. (Don’t ask unless you want to hear curse words).

So, if you need me for the next 9 days, I’ll be sitting here wringing my hands, hoping the running gods smile down and let me in.

What shall I do to pass the time?

Freaking out will work quite nicely, I think.

Have you ever entered a race lottery? Did you get in? Did the waiting nearly kill you? Are you in the lottery for Falmouth this year? Tell us about it!