Two forty one
Saturday afternoon. OK, Blogger won't let me log in right now so I'm composing in WordPad and will post once they decide to let me in. I'm not going to let a little technological hiccup throw off my sunny day!
The Geneen Roth seminar that I went to talked a lot about being more present in our bodies, of not allowing ourselves to exist outside ourselves so that we can stuff ourselves full of food without feeling the pain that abuse brings. Since then, I've really been trying to force myself to be aware of the sensations in my body, both pleasant and otherwise, and it really is pretty amazing what you can feel when you are paying attention.
When I push myself hard during my walks, as I did last night, my calves burn and stretch, the front of my (muscular) thighs burn slightly, and my lungs struggle to get oxygen in and out. This is not an entirely pleasant sensation, so I just tell myself that each time I feel the pain or have to wipe away some icky sweat from my face it's because my body is burning up and carrying away all of the nasty, bad for me sugar in my blood stream. Just this simple visualization can keep me pushing just that little bit harder, as I try so hard to put this thing into a kind of remission and move on with my life as a healthy, whole person. (I do know that diabetes cannot, strictly speaking, be cured, but I've been told many times that, because of the way my body responds to reduced calories and increased activity, I could put it into remission either permanently or for a very long time, which is the prime motivator for the Ten Percent Challenge.)
Speaking of the TPC, I weighed on Wednesday and completely forgot to post it here. In case you were thinking that the title of the post was a reference to how many different ways I've tried to convince myself to give up and go back to eating massive quantities of junk food while never getting off of the couch, you would be both right (it's probably pretty close to that number) and wrong. I stepped on the scale thinking it would be half a pound or so lighter than the last time I weighed (246.2 a couple of weeks ago), and you could, literally, have heard my jaw hit the floor when I saw "241.0" staring back at me. That's over five pounds in about two weeks and eight percent lost from my original high weight. Eight percent! This is really working, folks. Even with the pretzels, even with my whining and griping and complaining about having to walk when I want to run, it's working. My blood sugar is still slightly above where it should be, but not high enough that any doctor in their right mind would put me on meds. I'm in the "watch your diet and exercise more" category now and that feels just amazing. My beautiful size 24 petite clothes that I bought from Talbots fit now, although the adorable sarong is still bunching up in the back a little across my hips, but they will all be comfortably wearable in a week or so.
Happy is a golden yellow color, radiating warmth and energy from my heart throughout my body, shining light into the dark, scary places and showing me that there's nothing to be afraid of, that I am strong and capable and I can take care of myself.
The Geneen Roth seminar that I went to talked a lot about being more present in our bodies, of not allowing ourselves to exist outside ourselves so that we can stuff ourselves full of food without feeling the pain that abuse brings. Since then, I've really been trying to force myself to be aware of the sensations in my body, both pleasant and otherwise, and it really is pretty amazing what you can feel when you are paying attention.
When I push myself hard during my walks, as I did last night, my calves burn and stretch, the front of my (muscular) thighs burn slightly, and my lungs struggle to get oxygen in and out. This is not an entirely pleasant sensation, so I just tell myself that each time I feel the pain or have to wipe away some icky sweat from my face it's because my body is burning up and carrying away all of the nasty, bad for me sugar in my blood stream. Just this simple visualization can keep me pushing just that little bit harder, as I try so hard to put this thing into a kind of remission and move on with my life as a healthy, whole person. (I do know that diabetes cannot, strictly speaking, be cured, but I've been told many times that, because of the way my body responds to reduced calories and increased activity, I could put it into remission either permanently or for a very long time, which is the prime motivator for the Ten Percent Challenge.)
Speaking of the TPC, I weighed on Wednesday and completely forgot to post it here. In case you were thinking that the title of the post was a reference to how many different ways I've tried to convince myself to give up and go back to eating massive quantities of junk food while never getting off of the couch, you would be both right (it's probably pretty close to that number) and wrong. I stepped on the scale thinking it would be half a pound or so lighter than the last time I weighed (246.2 a couple of weeks ago), and you could, literally, have heard my jaw hit the floor when I saw "241.0" staring back at me. That's over five pounds in about two weeks and eight percent lost from my original high weight. Eight percent! This is really working, folks. Even with the pretzels, even with my whining and griping and complaining about having to walk when I want to run, it's working. My blood sugar is still slightly above where it should be, but not high enough that any doctor in their right mind would put me on meds. I'm in the "watch your diet and exercise more" category now and that feels just amazing. My beautiful size 24 petite clothes that I bought from Talbots fit now, although the adorable sarong is still bunching up in the back a little across my hips, but they will all be comfortably wearable in a week or so.
Happy is a golden yellow color, radiating warmth and energy from my heart throughout my body, shining light into the dark, scary places and showing me that there's nothing to be afraid of, that I am strong and capable and I can take care of myself.
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