Workout post ad naseum

Swing night - I really wanted to walk, because a.) we're having wonderful weather and b.) I am totally in love with my ugly ass shoes. I absolutely heart them, with a big fuzzy, pink heart dotting the 'I'. So anyhoo, decided to test them with a KB workout. Perfect, loved it, as I had suspected I would. Here's the other thing with them, my feet don't get too hot or sweaty. I am a very sweaty foot girl, and that's one of the first things I look at in a shoe, is what the foot bed is made of. Shoes that are vinyl-y or slick looking are a no-no, especially in something without a sock. Another reason I love to go barefoot, no sweaty feet! I ran errands all day, and wore them for about 4 hours, and when I took them off, realized my feet were totally dry. Am I seriously talking about foot sweat this much? I have really GOT to get out more often!

Okay, so Kettlebells: 600 reps (!!!) Gymboss one minute on, one off. Amy, I took your advice and mixed the weights in each set - about half (20) with the 16 and another half (another 20) with the 12. I did a few sets of those, then alternated full one minute sets of the 12, then the 16. Yowch. I did, I think, 2 sets of C&P (double 8) and 2 sets (or was it 3?) snatches. I think I average 20 reps per minute with each of those. Last 150 swings were all 12kg. I have been experimenting with how it feels to swing two handed vs. one handed, singles transfers vs. swinging 5 or 10 reps per arm before transferring. Also, the 2 8kg are (obviously) the same weight as the one 16kg, but the weight is distributed differently. I'm starting to notice how my body works differently and other, subtle muscles I may not have been aware of (or had!) are used, depending on weight, number of reps, which arm, how long, etc. I'm feeling a stronger connectedness with my body that I haven't felt in a long time. I think being comfortable in your own skin is a really difficult point to reach. I have struggled for years with feeling not good enough, strong enough, smart enough, pretty enough. It's only been in these last few months of Dad being sick that has brought me to a deeper understanding of who I am.

I'm not talking the attitude one gets when they feel they don't belong, so they say 'well, screw all of them!' I mean a true level of acceptance that not everyone has to like you. All that matters is that YOU like you! Maybe it's my reprioritizing with having a parent with cancer. Maybe it's the wisdom of getting older. But I find lately, that despite the emotional hurricane I have been struggling with, I feel a certain amount of peace. People don't call me, I don't see anyone, nothing has changed in that regard, but what HAS changed is how I see it. I spend a lot of my free time with my Dad, and that's the most important thing right now.

 

What other people are seeing as anti-social behavior, or me being pissy and uncooperative, I know it's me being healthy and looking out for me. I can't keep putting myself last on the list of priorities. I have to start saying 'no' to some people, so I can say 'yes' to me.

I felt such overwhelming relief last night. I turned down doing the big Progressive Dinner this fall, I severed a few ties that were unhealthy, and I just felt like a weight was gone. I took a long walk, listened to the new NIN album, and looked at the moon. It was low and hazy, and Vega was visible just above it, a brilliant glistening blue-white. There's something so peaceful walking in the dark, observing the creatures that come out: slugs, opossums, grey foxes, bats, frogs, spiders spinning webs down from street lamps. Down by the creek, I can hear crickets and bullfrogs. There's no one out, just me. I felt so at peace. I thought 'I can't change who I am, any more than I can change who anyone else is.' I feel like the last year has been like playing dress up as a little girl: trying something new on for size, seeing if it worked, if it fit. If these types of people were true and loyal and friends. But it was just a masque, just play acting, just make believe. And the oddest part is: I don't feel sad. I don't feel like I've lost anything. You can't lose something you never had to begin with. So I just sighed and breathed, listen to more music, and looked at the moon.

.Did you think that your feet had been bound 
By what gravity brings to the ground? 
Did you feel you were tricked 
By the future you picked? 
Well, come on down 

All those rules don’t apply 
When you’re high in the sky 
So, come on down 
Come on down 

Where I go to therapy and have a breakdown, and a breakthrough

"I was taught to desire nothing, to swallow other people's misery, and to eat my own bitterness. And even though I taught my daughter the opposite, still she came out the same way. Maybe it is because she was born to me and she was born a girl, and I was born to my mother and I was born a girl, all of us like stairs, one step after another, going up, going down, but always going the same way. No, this cannot be, this not knowing what you're worth, this not begin with you. My mother not know her worth until too late - too late for her, but not for me. Now we will see if not too late for you, hmm?"

I thought of this quote from the Joy Luck Club while I was talking to my shrink today. I had an immense breakthrough in regards to me having no self worth, no self esteem. I never feel that my love, or friendship, or anything is as good as everyone else's. I don't know why. Maybe it's because my mother was the same. No matter how fast I run, how I high I jump, how perfect I try to be, I will fail. I do so much for people who don't deserve it, in hopes of being loved, being admired, being cherished as a friend. I do nothing for me. I don't typically see myself as having any worth at all. At what point do I walk away from the bullshit of my childhood and say 'enough'? Because I think I'm there. I think I'm done feeling like this. 

Where I nut up and soldier on

I saw a couple of Moms from Henry's school at the pool yesterday. One of them I hadn't seen since school ended. The other I've only seen a few times. These are people I have reached out to. I brought one a pie last week. But they pointedly ignored me and moved to the other side of the pool. I suppose those needier than me would have lap-dogged it over and kissed ass: "love me! Be my friend! Validate my existence!" But that sort of behavior really chaps my ass, and I refuse. If you can't even muster up a 'How's your Dad' because it makes you so uncomfortable to talk about someone who is dying and tragedy touching your perfect little world, than FUCK YOU BOTH.

I came home and took a shower and cried. Today, I am trying to shake off the shitty feeling of worthlessness that's clinging to me. I don't know why I let people get to me like this. I normally don't care quite this much. I think I just thought that what I'm going through would bring out the best in those I know. But the reality is, it brings out the worst. It shows everyone's true colors, glaring weaknesses and an astounding lack of moral compass. So onward I go, trying not to whine, trying not to care that I feel so alone. There are good people and friends in my life, I don't know why I have to let a few selfish tools weigh so heavily on me.

Dad was doing really well for a few days - he was back on high dose steroids, and he was like a different person. But he's been tapered off, and feels shitty again. It's heartbreaking to witness - because he knows he's not as sharp. He knows his energy level is down. It's been rough.

On the fitness front: I no longer care what I eat. Because for every bowl of ice cream I eat, there's a day where I eat nothing. I have a couple dresses that were tight on me last summer, that are falling off me now. I haven't done any swinging in what seems like forever. Or walking. I just don't eat and don't care and watch the scale slowly creep down. Whoopity do. Does it matter? No, my Dad is still dying.

Pity, party of moi

As much as I think I could do Anne Sexton better than Anne Sexton (or Sylvia Plath), no I have not taken a handful of pills and sat in my garage with the engine running. My van wouldn't even fit, the garage is too small. I kid, I kid. Dark, ominous, inappropriate kidding. 

Not that I am not in a horrible place, and think bad things. But they're just thoughts, and trust me, I have had my hand on the phone off and on today, thinking "is it time for that 3 day stay at the psych ward?" But I'm not there yet. I am however, taking a wee break from my Dad, who is being incredibly douchy and pissy. My kids have had a craptastic summer, and I have to get them out of the house and to the pool. To expect them to sit in a dark house while my father sleeps off and on and listen to his nonstop criticism of them.... it's just unacceptable. Henry said to me today "Apaa rolls his eyes at you a lot." Yeah, kid, I know. I know. 

It's incredibly hard to go through this. Even more so, alone. I cannot paint a smile on anymore. I cannot be perky for acquaintances who can't handle the truth. And if one more asshole says "he seems FINE!", I am going to cut a bitch. Fer reals, y'all. 

In other news, I let Henry get a mohawk. Well, more of a fauxhawk, but he wears it better than that Maddox Jolie-Pitt kid could any day of the week.

Double angry Henry, looking like the badass he is:

*and thank you all for the comments, I read them and appreciate anyone that take the time to read my crap and write to me. I heart you all.

Where I feel incredibly lonely

I do, y'all. It's not for lack of people who care, or a support system, it's just this pervasive feeling of utter loneliness. People ask all the time what I need, what they can do for me, and I usually smile brightly and say I'm doing fine, I don't need anything, but the truth is, I just want people to talk to. People to listen to me. To not have to put on a happy face all the time. Granted, the drugs make it a hell of a lot easier to mask how I really feel, but the true feelings, they're still there. 

I can't even put my finger on it, really. I'm very busy, I have a lot going on, every day. I barely have time to keep these 2 blogs going.... but here I am, feeling sad and small. 

I finished the cake itself - tomorrow I'll frost it. It's for a friend of the family who has always been there for us. In fact, she was the first person I called after I got the news about Dad. I remember sitting in my car, thinking, 'who can I call?' And I immediately dialed Diana's number. She's about my Mom's age, and is one of the kindest, sweetest, most supportive people I know. And she just listen to me sob and babble incoherently, and somehow, managed to calm me down. Last year for her birthday, she told her husband ALL she wanted was one of my cakes. I was too busy with a big wedding order than, so I figure better late than never. It's my super-duper awesome tropical carrot cake. It rocks the house, I tell you. The cake itself has crystallized ginger and macadamia nuts that are ground up with the flour, and the frosting has cream of coconut and cream cheese. Mmmmmm.

I also baked about 7 dozen sugar cookies. Half in the 'awareness ribbon' shape for Dad to take to the Cancer Center, and half in summery shapes (dolphins, seahorses, starfish) to take to Addie's end of school picnic. I spent the better part of the day in the kitchen. Now I'm chilling for a few before I have to go start dinner: steaks, golden beets, and beet greens. Too bad I have to appetite, but I am going to choke this one down, my body needs it.