Musings from My First Century Ride

Typically, writing posts comes fairly easy for me. This post is a bit different. I cannot begin to express how many times I've imagined what I would say in a post after completing my first century. The problem has been that I've struggled in the aftermath determining what it is I want to share, and perhaps even more so, what someone would want to read. I had a lot of self-reflection time during my many hours in the saddle, and it's almost as though I worked through things that I cannot describe in words. I cried (more than once), I laughed at things that seemed amusing, I buckled down and focused when needed, and actually enjoyed most of the ride. 

To some cyclists, perhaps a century ride has become of little significance, and to those people I can understand not wanting to read some random individuals' report on her first century. I can also appreciate that there are those who are waiting for the blow by blow recounting of what took place. I am quite certain I will be unable to please either side of the aisle, so I have decided to just go with what feels right. If you are up for reading through it, please feel free to do so, but I am writing this post for no one other than myself... mostly as a future reminder to self that I (spoiler alert for those continuing) was able to accomplish something I never truly thought I would or could do...

It was a beautifully clear, blue morning. Not a single cloud in the sky. On any other day I would have been rejoicing to see such a gorgeous summer morning, but this was one day I was hoping for cloud cover. I was already starting out an hour and some change later than originally planned, and the heat was making itself known. Not quite the hottest of summer days, but still warmer than I'd prefer (especially being somewhat heat sensitive).

The night prior, I had told myself the morning would bring the start of my first century ride. I didn't tell a soul. It's easier not to feel so bad if I couldn't actually complete the goal if no one knew about the plan at all. I told Sam and a couple of others that I was planning a "long training ride" the following day, but I knew I was gunning for the "big" goal. Perhaps it was a bit early in the training process. After all, the longest ride I'd been on to that point was just over 60 miles. Was it asking too much to jump to 100 so quickly? I was simply ready to get it "over with" and wanted to make it happen. In truth, I needed it to happen because it was causing undo stress to have this seemingly huge goal looming over me.  It's funny. When I say I'm going to do something, people seem to expect that I am going to complete it. It almost felt as though if I couldn't finish this I would be a complete failure in the eyes of all who were aware of the goal. In truth, I have no doubt everyone would be accepting of whatever reality came about, but I don't enjoy disappointing others (nor myself), so I began to feel manufactured stress from the situation. Finishing the 100-mile ride was no longer optional.

There were, of course, some issues throughout the day. It started with getting approximately three hours of sleep the night before. I woke feeling extremely sleep-deprived and my body was not doing well. My hip was aching from a kickboxing class a couple of days prior, my knee was throbbing, and I honestly wasn't feeling up to the ride. I continued to get things underway, however, and prepped what I'd need for the day. Wow! The day. Yes, this was going to take the day to complete.

Early on, I passed by the kickboxing studio - just as class was about to start. I considered not riding at all and instead stopping for class. I longingly looked at the window of the building, mentally waved to everyone, but kept pedaling. There are plenty of days to do kickboxing... this day was about accomplishing another goal.

Fairly flat for this portion (though that didn't last long)

If you read my early summer post about the plan to ride a century before the end of August, you may recall that I wanted to do a flat route. Living at the base of the Rocky Mountains, this is about the least likely scenario one can possibly imagine. Anywhere I ride, there would be climbing involved, but I hoped to keep it to a minimum. Not planning the route didn't exactly help this goal though. I am surprisingly adept (often without even trying) at figuring ways to keep climbs to a minimum, but today I told myself I was just going to go and deal with what arrived in front of me.

As I began to warm up, I felt a little better, but somewhere around mile 18, I began to second guess my decision to not stop at the kickboxing class. I was preparing to climb a small hill when all of a sudden my knee cap felt as though it might fall out (I realize this is highly unlikely - but it's the best way I can describe it). Unbelievable pain went shooting through my body. "Great," I actually spoke aloud. "Just what I need." I shifted to a super-spinning gear and made it up the brief climb. I was convinced I wouldn't make it to mile 25 at this point. The knee continued to ache for several miles, but I was going to keep going. I continued to repeat to myself on every climb, "Take it easy on the knee," meaning that I had to spin, whether I liked it or not.

Probably one of my worst decisions about this ride was that I had absolutely no idea where I was heading. I hadn't pre-mapped a route, so I figured I would just ride until I hit 100 miles. It seemed somewhat reasonable when I started, but as I continued, I realized how bad an idea this really was. I rarely know where I'm going when cycling alone, but I think on a ride of this length, it would've been a good idea to have an idea of some sort of direction. Ah, well... que sera sera.

Mentally dealing with the idea of the 100 miles seemed the biggest challenge. As I started out I was attempting to figure out how to break the ride down so I wouldn't be thinking the entire time, "I still have fill-in-the-blank miles left to go." I had decided I had two different break-downs: 10 mile increments and 25 mile increments. I also reminded myself that I could stop when I needed to and that there was no prize for finishing without stops. This would cause its own sort of battle toward the end of the ride, but it worked fairly well to keep me motivated.

My goal was to complete the ride in 10 hours. Ten hours seemed reasonable with climbs, and I knew I wouldn't be able to maintain any sort of speed, so the goal was simply to finish - even if it took longer than 10 hours. When I stopped at the 40-mile stop, I couldn't help but think another 7 hours on the bike might kill me. I had to remind myself that I was 2/5 of the way completed, and almost to the half way point, so there was no reason to get discouraged.

I continued to hold out hope for cloud cover. The weather forecasters had promised clouds and showers, but they never came. Early in the afternoon I started seeing big, white, cumulus clouds coming over the mountains, but somehow they never quite managed to cover the sun. As long as I kept moving though, the heat didn't really seem to be too much of a bother.

There was nothing horribly eventful to report until I hit just over 75 miles. I had done as large a distance as I could think of and was re-entering town. Now what? I still needed to complete nearly 25 miles. Should I just go to the local multi-use path and trudge back and forth until I had done the miles? I was starting to feel the tiredness sneaking in at this point, and I knew I needed to avoid severe climbs, but the idea of going back and forth on a trail system with people walking dogs, skating, running, and so on didn't appeal to me. Instead, I chose to take a loop route that I ride frequently. I knew it was only about 8-10 miles, but I thought I could probably complete it twice and be close to done. The ride home from the end would still be about 5 miles, so it was worth a go.

Fatigue was definitely setting in at this point. I found myself needing to stop more and more frequently. They weren't long stops, but they were becoming closer together which concerned me. Thinking back on it now, I believe it was more of a head game than an actual, physical tiredness taking place. Yes, I was tired, but I knew I had more in me.

Just as I came around the corner of a small climb, I had to stop. It just so happened to be directly in front of a small church. I couldn't help but say a silent prayer. All I wanted was to finish. My pace had slowed (I could feel it), and I knew my hands and feet were simply done, but I believed that there was nothing stopping me but my own mind. Truly, I was almost done anyway. I repeated that I could complete a 15 mile ride in my sleep, got back on the bike, and continued on.

I will admit, I cried for a brief moment when I saw the GPS turn to 100.00. I was almost home, but the emotion of realizing I had actually completed a goal that seemed so monumental was exciting and overwhelming. I had actually done it, crazy as it seemed just a few weeks prior. Even stranger still, I had done a century ride on an aluminum bicycle - again, something I never thought I would ever, ever be able to do.

I wish I could say this ride felt epic, or at least that it was so painful I would never want to do it again (I in fact uttered very similar words at one point toward the end of the ride, stating that I could not understand why anyone would do this more than once in their life). The reality is that the entire day felt pretty normal, and in the end, very anti-climactic. I left for the ride quietly, saying just a few words to our dogs who were lounging around the house. I returned to a quiet home and a very much appreciated cold bottle of water and a smile from Sam. It was as though I had gone to work for the day and returned home as normal and expected.

Somehow, I kept climbing fairly low considering the terrain in this area - I ended at just under 2,000 ft climbed

Frankly, I'm not sure what I expected. Balloons? A banner and giant megaphone announcing my success? A confetti-filled parade? I suppose I hadn't really thought that far ahead, but it really did feel like any other day. In the end, I can say my body wasn't really hurting - at least not in the ways I anticipated. I expected my backside would be in dire straits and that my legs would be completely worthless, but both areas were actually fine. I was experiencing fatigue and some numbness in my hands, as well as soreness in my feet (it was only the second time I had worn new cycling shoes - Note to self: BAD IDEA!), but overall, I didn't feel miserable. I definitely didn't want to be on the bike anymore that day, but I certainly didn't hate cycling at the completion.

True, it was not the prettiest, the best, or the fastest century ever, and I had many thoughts throughout during which I believed I should have pushed myself to go a bit faster or harder, but for a first round attempt, I do think it was respectable. I had the opportunity to see what I am capable of accomplishing and to have yet another realization that I actually am stronger and more capable than I often believe. Perhaps it could have been more enjoyable to ride with another person or group of people, but I think this was the perfect way for me to experience my first 100-mile ride.

450 Push-ups

What does one do in the middle of a cold, snowy Sunday afternoon? Why 450 push-ups, of course! Perhaps a bit of back story is in order first though.

I could totally look like her, right? Okay, maybe not.

I have had a rough few weeks with focusing on working out. I've gone to all the kickboxing classes, and on the surface it seems as though I'm continuing on with my grand plan, but I know that I've not been doing my best. I've requested a kick in the rear from my instructors, but I also know that they are nice people and probably won't be too keen on the idea, but I knew I needed something to get me back in the game.

So, this afternoon I decided I was going to see how many push-ups I could do. At the start, my back was in pain and I figured I might not make it very far, but the stubborn girl within broke through and I was determined to do at least 200. When I got to 200, I decided 300 was possible, and so on. At 450, I knew that I needed to stop, even though a part of me wanted to continue on. Unfortunately, I do have to function tomorrow, so I called it quits, but I was so excited to be able to accomplish such a goal. This, from the woman who just 8 months ago couldn't do 5 push-ups (really, I couldn't do one, if I'm honest). So crazy what half a year can do for a person!!

Face Changes

Today, while looking for some progress pictures of Sam, I happened upon some photos of myself that were not so fabulous. It's funny to me the feelings I had just a few months ago about seeing images of just my face, let alone a full body shot. While I still don't enjoy seeing photos of myself, I remember a very specific photo that I took in January of this year. I had been trying to find ways to get better angles with the camera so as to avoid looking overly fat. Let's face it though, when a person is fat, s/he is fat, and there's no hiding it.

This isn't the photo I was so upset about, but it's an interesting comparison as well.

On this January day, I decided that I was just going to take as straight on a photo as I could without too much adjusting to simply see what I looked like. The result? I wasn't happy.  I realized that I was becoming quite a behemoth individual and truly didn't like it. That said, I also didn't seem ready to take those feelings and do anything about it. Sure, I signed up for an online tracking system, but I wasn't using it. It was as though I was taking the first steps, but I just couldn't seem to commit to anything quite yet.

So, on to the photo. I specifically remember this photo because I was alone, at home, feeling pretty crappy about myself and just had to see - for the first time in a long time - what I had been doing to myself. I have far worse photos of myself, but something about this one just made me cry. I felt like a huge, round bowling ball. How could I have let this happen? I'm not sure... but I did. Then, yesterday, I was out working in my studio and took a picture of myself (actually because I was testing out the camera phone to see what it looked like - I'm in the process of documenting some things). As grumpy as I looked (and felt), it's as though my face got longer somehow. No more round head... it's sort of oval-ish now.

There is hope... some day, it will be even better - I hope!

All of this to say that I'm making progress. It doesn't always show up on the scale, but I'll take the small victories where I can get them. I feel better now, and that's what really matters.

50 Pounds Lost {Happy Dance!}

For the last few weeks, I have been fighting with the same few pounds. Up and down, up and down. I desperately wanted to reach the 50 pounds lost mile marker on the first of this month, but it just didn't happen. A few days later though... here I am! While it wasn't the easiest thing to accomplish, it did happen, and I continue to remind myself that this is a life-long change, and if it comes off slower than I'd prefer, I'm really okay with that reality. However, this was a major mile-marker I wanted to reach, and while it seems arbitrary to pick a number out of the sky, when I first started, I believed that when I reached this point, I would really feel as though I was doing what I had set out to do.

*Image from Pinterest

And you know, I do feel like I'm doing what I should be doing. There are rough days when I question everything, but honestly, I don't know what I would change. I know that my daily weight will fluctuate, and it will likely go back up before it comes back down, but to be able to reach this 50 pound marker is amazing to me.

That said, I'm also a bit terrified of reaching this point. It's been almost exactly 6 months (just a few days shy, actually) since I began this journey, and it's also the time marker at which I start to give up on myself historically. When I start to have excitement about losses, I start slacking in areas, thinking that I have everything under control. Logically, I know I don't have it under control, and I have to continue to track everything, work out, and realize that this is a forever change, not a short term "fix." Six months, is generally the point when I start to gain again - and I don't want that to be the reality with this go at it. The benefit to me during this round is that I'm aware of what happens to me at about this point in the journey, and hopefully I can nip it early and just keep moving forward. The other benefit is that I'm not starving myself as I normally would, and I've truly tried to make this a lifestyle change.

I'm so happy to have reached this marker, and I look forward to moving on to the next one. The next goal? I'm not quite sure just yet. I don't know if I want to set a long term weight loss goal at this point because it takes me a bit of time and it can become discouraging, but perhaps I will just focus on the next 5-10 pounds and see where it takes me before focusing on another huge chunk of weight. For now, I'm enjoying this moment and acknowledging that I am capable of anything I set my mind to do.

The Week in Brief Review

I had a really cool little moment this morning, but first, I will go back to discuss the last week or so of happenings.  I have been doing my double ups on kickboxing, and getting in training rides for the event next weekend, and it's been exhausting... good, but very tiring. I find that I like working hard, pushing myself, and just trying to see what I can ultimately accomplish. However, at some point my body becomes uncooperative, which I suppose is to be expected. I am slowly learning to allow my body to rest once in awhile, as I know that nothing good comes from constantly pushing without allowing recovery. I think the extra pushing comes in when I have too many things that I want to get done in a short period of time, but I also think that over a short term period, it won't kill me to work a little harder than normal.

Throughout this past week, I have realized that I am so much stronger than I was six months ago - heck, even 3-4 months ago - so much stronger. At the beginning of this year, I would have stated that I did plenty physically; even knowing that it wasn't true. I enjoy the moments when I believe that I cannot go any more, and then somehow manage to do it. It makes me wonder where the ultimate limits actually are for me. Are there limits at all? Perhaps only in my mind.  I was able to get in some longer rides this week, which was important to me because I am concerned about a 51 mile ride, knowing that my wrists have a difficult time in the saddle. I rode 41 miles yesterday (the longest ride I've done in quite some time, actually), and just allowed myself to take a few minute stop every 8-10 miles. It seemed to do the trick with helping to keep my hands from completely dying. I did it without gloves, but I am considering wearing or at least taking some to help out with the situation next Sunday.

*Image found here

As for weight loss... it is back to being uncooperative, but I believe it will ultimately have no choice but to come off. I am doing my best not to concern myself with the daily losses/gains, but rather focus on what I'm doing to make me stronger overall. That is really all that I have control over. I am learning more and more that it's not just how much of something or the number of calories in the food that is important, but what my body can actually use from those calories. I knew that it was important before, but I think with all that I'm trying to do physically right now, I am becoming more aware of the importance of the type of fuel being put in.

After saying that, I will share that I went to bed last night desperately wanting pancakes and bacon. Mind you, I am not much of a meat eater (and honestly, I don't even remember the last time I ate pancakes either), but after the ride yesterday and doing kickboxing, I just wanted something horribly fatty.  When we woke up, I was so hungry and still wanting this food that I knew wouldn't be of any real benefit to my body. So, I caved and we went out for breakfast. As we sat down, I was glancing outside and saw a woman I know who I haven't seen since the end of last year. I told Sam I needed to run out and say hello. As I got outside and waved at her, she kind of looked at me as though she was a tad confused, but after a brief moment, waved back. She said, "Oh my goodness! You look amazing - just wonderful!! What have you been doing?" I have to say, it felt great to know that someone could see the difference in me physically over the past several months, particularly when I don't always see it myself.

All in all, it's been a productive week, and I am finding some calmness about the upcoming ride. There's no reason to worry about it because it will be what it is, and fretting about it beforehand isn't bringing anything of value to my life.

Test Time {Yes, Again}

Tomorrow, I test again for my next level belt in kickboxing. If it seems incredibly fast it is because, well, it was fast.  I have been on a mission to get enough classes in time to test in July. It probably seems more than a little odd that the person who just a month ago was stating that I wasn't going to test and was almost arguing with the instructor about taking the test, is now fighting to get to the next level... but that's the sort of wacky person I am, I suppose. Over the last 19 days (of which, the studio was closed for 4 of those), I have attended 22 classes (so, really in 15 days). I share this not to brag or because I think I'm super awesome (okay, maybe I think I'm a little bit awesome), but because I kind of need to see it in black and white for myself because I'm having a difficult time understanding how I've managed to get this done, let alone function as a human on a daily basis.

I have enjoyed the mission of getting to the next level in a short period of time, and honestly, I intend to keep at it to see how many classes I can complete in four weeks time. I am definitely motivated by short-term, easy-to-see, but not-so-easy-to-do kinds of challenges, so perhaps this is a good way to keep me moving forward... or, perhaps I will kill myself trying to keep up a pace that is probably a bit much over the long term. Either way, we shall see what happens, but in the mean time, I'm just trying to take it all day by day and enjoy the small rewards.

Grateful

It's not easy to lose weight. Many have said it and experienced it, but never in my life have I believed it more than now. While I'm not suffering (well, at times I am in pain - but it's good pain), I know that I work very hard every day in an attempt to transform myself. On occasion, I find myself whining more than I would prefer about said topic, and while I cannot promise that it will come to a halt completely, I wanted to take a moment simply to be thankful for what I do have and the things that I am seeing transform.

*Image found here

The other day, Sam and I were talking about some individuals who have lost limbs and are competing in olympic events. One man has lost both his left arm and leg, and yet he races on a bicycle. It's quite incredible, and when I see this I can't help but think that I have absolutely no reason not to achieve what I set out to do, nor to complain about a bit of pain after working out. I am seeing progress in the things I am able to do, even if I don't have a shrinking waist line. I am getting stronger - which is my number one goal.

Today, I am taking a moment to be grateful... grateful that I can work out to the point of exhaustion, grateful that I am strong, grateful that I have a supportive partner in life, and grateful simply for every moment of life.

Getting Busted

Confession time: I've been avoiding testing for my next level belt in kickboxing. Why? Well, I've had it in my head that I wanted to be able to complete 10 pushups without having to rest in between each one. After each class, the instructor gives out a "stripe" (which is a piece of electrical tape) that gets wrapped around the belt. After so many are obtained, the belt holder tests for the next belt. So, in order to avoid testing, I have managed to disappear before picking up stripes by sneaking out of class. I was supposed to attend 24 classes before testing for my next belt. I've attended 50 as of this morning. Here's where the "busted" part comes in.

Image found here

As I enter the facility, Chris (instructor) states, "So, you're testing today, right?"

I respond with, "No," as a slight smile eeks through (I can't help it - I'm a horrible liar and really hate keeping things from anyone).

"You tested last month, right?" Chris asks.

"Um, no," I utter quietly.

"Oh, you're testing today then," is the response that comes out of instructor Chris' mouth. "How many stripes do you have?"

"Sixteen," I say. It's not a lie... I just haven't been getting the stripes.

"I want to see your belt," he retorts.

"But, I don't have it with me today. I forgot it at home."

His response, "Oh, you are going to test today."

"But, I'm not ready. We can talk about it after class," I seem to be pleading. "Look, I'm not trying to mess with you or the system, but I just want to be able to do proper pushups."

Chris walks away. I know he's upset, but it's not like I'm cheating to get ahead... I just want to know that I am properly doing what is being asked of me. We go through a 30 minute "warm up" after which he asks all belt testers to come to the front of the class. I do not go to the front of the class. Chris tells one of the other instructors that I am testing. I repeatedly state that I am not. I don't want to be stubborn, but seriously, I just want to do things properly before being rewarded with another level.

Everyone partners up, and we start off with pushups. I do about 35 (I lost count due to the reason about to be explained), as the official testers are getting through however many reps they need to do for their next level. As I'm doing the pushups, Chris comes over to stand beside me.

"I don't understand what you're expecting from yourself? You're already doing pushups better than most of the class," he says.

"I just want to be able to come back up straight... I just can't do that," is my reply.

He responds with, "You're doing them just fine. I'd really like you to test." He walks away.

We move on to other items. Static wall sits, medicine ball jump squats, and situps are next. Chris comes over to do the sit ups with me.

"I really wish you'd just test. You've already done more than what is required for this belt," he says.

I am quiet. What can I really say? I know they're not what I'm expecting, but that doesn't seem to matter to him...And why does he want me to test so badly anyway?

At some point, Chris comes over to me and says that I have been to 50 classes. In my mind I know exactly how many I've been to, but I can see the surprise/disappointment on his face. It's almost as though he's angry/hurt, and I guess I can't really blame him. It wasn't about that though in my mind. I simply wanted to be able to prove to myself that I could do proper pushups - properly.

He finally states that he'll respect my wishes, but he really thinks I should just move up to the next level. I think I'm out of the woods as he walks away again. The group continues on to the end of class at which point we sit with our eyes shut, legs crossed, trying to catch our breath again.

"I can feel you there," I say suddenly, knowing that Chris has sat down next to me.

"I know." He whispers, trying not to disturb others around us. "I really wish you'd let me give you the next belt. You've done the work, and you're an inspiration to so many people here. You have plenty of time to work on whatever you think is wrong with the pushups. It's not as though you're never going to do them again."

Really? This is how he's going to get me? {sigh} I'm a sucker for guilt, I suppose. I don't feel like an inspiration, nor do I feel worthy of the next belt, but he's gone to so much work just to get me to take the thing that now I feel bad.

"Fine. You can give me the belt," finally comes out of my mouth.

"Really?" He asks.

"Yes." I respond.

And with that, somehow I was not only busted, but moved into the next belt level. I guess I'm no longer flying under the radar. Somehow, I think Monday's class will be quite painful for me when he dishes out revenge. {sigh} I suppose I had it coming.

I Am a Rockstar: 200 Burpees

Last night, I completed 200 burpees in kickboxing. I should say that the 200 burpees were in fact the kickboxing class. I should also clarify that they weren't exactly the burpees illustrated in the link above as I'm still struggling to hop up on my weight, but they were more of lay down stand up and jump kind of repetitions. Regardless of semantics, here is how it went down.

As I arrived for my second round of butt-kicking fun, I was told that I would be doing something different from the class tonight. Okay? I could hear the whispers going around. "What did she do?" and "Why is she being punished?" were spreading like wildfire as instructor Chris set me up. He stated that all I was going to do during the class was 100 burpees. He didn't care how long it took or if I needed to stop for water, and I could break them down any way I would like, but that was going to be my class.

"I can do that," was my reply. To which he said, "I know you can."

With about 20-25 minutes left of class, I had reached 100 reps. What was I going to do? I certainly couldn't just sit down and watch the rest of class. Should I get up and just join them as they finished off? I decided that I would go for "extra credit" and do a few more while I waited for class to end. Unfortunately for me, Chris took notice of this and exclaimed that I could get to 200. Wait, what? I'm just doing extra credit here man... not looking to double what you asked me to do. I mean, I'm an over-achiever, but I don't want to die.

As my body slowed and my breathing intensified, I told Chris I didn't think I could make it to 200 by the end of class. He told me not to worry that he would stay after so that I could complete them. Good lord... I don't want to get to 200 - except that, part of me did want to get there. By the time the class had finished, I had 11 reps left to complete. I was exhausted and sweating like the little piggy I am. The rest of the class joined me as I finished off (quite slowly) the remaining "burpees," after which Chris exclaimed, "You are a rockstar!"

And for a brief moment, I did feel like a rockstar.

It was no small feat for me to complete these. I have a hard time doing 5 of them during regular classes and I just did 200. I should've been completely proud of myself and rejoicing that I didn't keel over, but as soon as I started to allow myself to feel any sort of pride, the whispering demons snuck in to my head.

"You didn't really do burpees. You were merely laying down and standing up with a hop at the end."

"You could have done them so much faster. Why did you keep taking breaks? Too much resting!"

"Why didn't you do 250? If you weren't going to do them properly, you could've at least done more reps."

If it had been anyone other then myself, I would've been cheering them on, telling them they were doing an awesome job, and truly thinking that they were in fact a rockstar. Why can't I just allow myself to be happy and proud, instead of finding reasons to discount what I have accomplished? I just doubled what I was asked to do, and yet, somehow that still isn't good enough in my mind.

This is really something that I need to explore more deeply because it is a definite character flaw. While pushing ones self is important, I also have to be able to enjoy the moment of success, rather than beating myself up for what I have just completed. I honestly don't know how to repair it, other than to force myself into saying that I did a good job and working on believing it.

For now, I am trying to appreciate what I did last night, and allow my bruised knees and skinless toes to recover before I return tomorrow for the next round.

Pausing to Enjoy Accomplishments

As of this morning, I have lost a total of 28 pounds. Not too shabby, considering that for a month and a half of the last 11 weeks I fought with the same 3 pounds. I have a long, long way to go, but for once in my life, I want to stop and appreciate what I have accomplished instead of longing for something more or something different.

I had hoped by this point in the journey to have lost around 35-40 pounds, so one might think that I would be disappointed. On some level I suppose that is true, but I am also incredibly proud of myself for sticking to something, even when the weight loss wasn't happening. I am encouraged that I have been able to stick to "2-a-day" kickboxing workouts twice a week, and still continue to participate in other activities throughout the week as well. I have adjusted when needed, instead of being hard-headed. Honestly, I think I am pretty awesome.

In a few days, I will have been at this for three months. It's a very short amount of time in the grand scheme of life, but I think the short journey thus far is teaching me lessons every single day. I am grateful for the strong body developing under all the layers, and am looking forward to the successes ahead.

That Was Fast

In 11 days, I have lost 10 pounds. I made a promise to myself that I would not remove my workout clothes (except for bed time/shower time) until I lost that amount of weight. It happened so swiftly that I almost think I should extend the goal. Perhaps not being able to wear "real" clothes was more motivating than even I thought it would be? Regardless, it's nice to have a few pounds off and see that there is potential for light at the end of the tunnel. I can't see the light just yet, but at least there is a tunnel, and how long can a tunnel really be after all? Maybe no one should answer that question as it could be discouraging.

We are slated to visit relatives in California in mid-August and I am hoping that I will be able to drop a significant amount of weight by that time. The biggest struggle is that I am aware of how my body works and although I have lost this initial weight quite quickly, it will slow down dramatically I am quite certain from this point forward. Still... we all must have goals to accomplish, and seeing judgmental relatives might just be the motivation I need. Ahh, judgmental relatives... motivating even the unmotivatable <-- Is that a word?

Fortunately, there is really only one judgmental relative, and unfortunately, it is my relative. I do my best to avoid topics that I know will start us down the path of judgment, but it's almost inevitable that within a relatively short span of time, I will either be 1) angry and defensive, or 2) in tears. Isn't that what vacation is really about - or maybe those are just my vacations.

On the up side, I have started my way down a healthier path and I've hit a marker that is a good start. Now, I just have to keep that motivation going and know that the rest will ultimately go as well.