My First Blog

I'm sitting in my house on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, beating-myself-up for not making it to the gym this morning.  What a way to ruin a beautiful day! 

I have two small dogs bouncing around me, HINTING for me to take them for a walk.  We haven't had a very warm start to spring around here, so the weather is intoxicating.  Thus, more guilt.

I just finished my first three-day colon cleanse on Friday.  I used that as an excuse not to work out, as I was very tired, and headachey until today.  But c'mon.  Really?

The jury is still out on the colon cleanse.  The perpetrator, Derrick, was awesome.  Funny, New-Agey, very crunchy.  I liked him from the start.  But I CAN'T say that I miss having THAT intimate of a relationship with a  5/8" tube.  Nope!  Not pleasant.  In fact, the first time he inserted it, I stopped breathing.  Literally.  He knocked the wind out of me.  He had to scream "LOOK AT ME!" and when I finally made eye contact, he shrieked "BREATHE!" to get my heart started again.  Awful. 

The cleanse itself, once I was able to relax (and roll back onto my back!) was - interesting.  ALMOST pleasant.  There's a point when the water reached a certain level in my colon that I would begin to feel nauseated and uncomfortably "full."  But then - he would hit the release valve - AAAAAAAH.  That was nice. 

He asked why I had purchased three three-day Groupon, and I wasn't sure - I didn't have a good answer.  It wasn't until Day Two that I felt comfortable enough around Derrick to admit - I have the same fascination with poop that an eight year old boy might.  I was intrigued with being able to see it leave my colon through a tube.  With feeling "clean."  With the idea that poop DECADES old would be excavated.  And, let's be honest - every colon hydrotherapy website mentions the possibility of weight loss.  "EASY" weight loss, right?  Just lay there, and the water HOSES away the poundage.  Yeah.  I didn't see the scale budge.  NOR would I EVER trade a 5/8" in tube stuck you-know-where with a good boot camp class.  Exercise is HARD, but it never made me stop breathing! 

I didn't have any epiphanies, or weird dreams.  Well, ONE weird dream, where I was at work, basing all my work-related decisions on whether it would be a closed or open style cleanse... if you don't know what that means, it won't be nearly as funny.  But having a certified professional insert the tube inside you, and supervise your cleanse - controlling the water, pushing on your abdomen when necessary, is a "Closed System," and lying in a large, plastic toilet/bed, inserting the tube yourself, unchaperoned, and then having an endless flow of water run for an hour or so, is an "Open System."  Made me giggle when I woke up, as I troubleshoot software for a living.  "Should I use the Closed System, or..."  Never mind.  Maybe you had to be there.

No great weight loss, either.  But - it was something I had wanted to do, and that I ALMOST chickened-out from trying.  I researched the wrong website - SOMEHOW, I found a neighboring colon cleanse site (who knew we had so many?!) and researched that website, which was an Open System.  So I had come to accept the endless flow of water, and a much SMALLER tube... but mostly - I had anticipated PRIVACY.  So when I arrived at the WRONG place, and that owner, David, advised me I did NOT have an appointment - I panicked.  The RIGHT place was across town!  David took the advantage of having me there, and advised me my appointment was at a place that involved a "CLOSED System" and that "Maybe this was meant to be?"  He gave me a quick tour - the place reminded me of a renovated Tax Preparation office - closed half the year, so it smells musty, with outdated, stained carpeting, and faux wood paneling.  There were Scripture quotes on the walls.  He was very nice, and I was beginning to hyperventilate - should I SKIP the appointment across town with the Closed System?  By that point, I wasn't even sure what the Closed System entailed, except I remember reading something about "the tech remains in the room with you..." Wait.  Hold up.  Someone is IN THE ROOM WITH ME WHILE I EVACUATE MY BOWELS?!?!  I can't even pass gas in front of my boyfriend of almost FIVE years...

But - I had an appointment.  I figured - "this is research."  I'll honor my appointment, and if I FREAK OUT, I'll just forfeit my $39 Groupon, apologize to his face, and walk out with my head held high.  And maybe, just maybe - I'll head back to Mister Christian for an Open Cleanse.  His words "Maybe this was meant to be" rang in my head as I hustled across town.

I believe in signs.  I'm not superstitious, but I like to trust my gut (ha-ha) and my instincts.  So when my GPS lead me PAST the right place, and down a dead-end road, I was really starting to panic.  Derrick called, wondering where I was, and he sounded PISSED.  He directed me back to his clinic, and I thought "He'll probably ask ME to cancel!"  But I was definitely adding to my own panic with, "the signs all point to this NOT being a good idea!"  First, I get lost, wait - TWICE!  And now the man who is supposed to be in the room with me while I poo is angry with me.  AWESOME.  Not a good sign. 

I finally arrived, and low and behold, one of the counselor's names on the door of the wellness clinic was a man I worked with in a volunteer capacity about eight years ago when I was focused on suicide prevention.  My affiliation with that volunteer organization did not end well - I had a personality conflict with the Director.  Bad juju.  And there was his name on the door.  SUPER.  Bad Sign Number Three.  Or are we up to Four?

I was hyperventilating, white-faced, and wide-eyed when I finally made it inside the clinic.  Derrick was waiting for me, and he didn't look or seem pissed at all!  (After three days with him, I learned he just has a very dry phone-voice!) 

A frantic scan around the lobby showed me a nice, crunchy, Sun Valley type clinic - with Tibetan prayer flags, candles, and wind chimes.  LOVED it.  Just my style.  And Derrick's office was more of the same - New Age music playing, incense, and a quote from Buddha on the wall: "A happy person is not a person in a certain set of circumstances, but rather a person with a certain set of attitudes." (Which I think I just learned should be attributed to Hugh Downs!)

I won't get into the nitty-gritty of the actual procedure, or... maybe I will later, but suffice it to say, it wasn't as bad as I had anticipated!  And I DID IT!  I faced my fear.  And I agree with David - all that running around WAS meant to be - I believe I was meant to see the first colon hydrotherapy place so I could compare it to the place I ended-up - the complete opposite, and much more to my taste.  Derrick's office was warm, inviting, COMPLETELY odorless, (other than some incense,) full of candles and Ganeshas, and completely inviting.  (And, let's face it?  There's no WAY I would have succeeded at inserting that tube all by myself!)

Someday I will analyze WHY I freak out so much - I definitely make things harder on myself.

And, Derrick DID say my body was out of homeostasis - the cleanse had thrown my colon, and therefore my body, out of equilibrium, so tiredness and headaches are to be expected.  But that was two days ago - time to get back into the swing of things!

I've been between 20 and 60 pounds over my goal weight since... 1992?  Somewhere around there.  I was never a TINY thing in high school or college, but I was fit and proportionate.  My fitness peak was around 1989/1990 - I was a basketball cheerleader my junior year of college.  I was 140 pounds, 5' 1", so naturally I was a base, but I was FIT, yo!  Compact.  "Built," my then boyfriend used to say!  It didn't bother me one bit to be in front of a bleacher full of fans in a tiny basketball cheerleading uniform - a vest and a skirt.  Then I spent my senior year in France.  Lyon - gorgeous.  What an amazing year. 

In America, I was considered "cute."  In France, the men are far less discerning - I was young - and that was all they needed.  I was basically HORRIFIED by the attention.   It felt - invasive.  Unwelcome.  Some of my classmates ate it up.  I pulled back into my shell.  I don't know why I couldn't just embrace the attention?  But it really bothered me - I felt self-conscious, and angry that I had lost my ability to be invisible.  I remember handing out ballots for Prom Queen in high school - I was the Student Body Parliamentarian - which was just a fancy title for "handling all/any election stuff."  I was in shop class, and the guys (sorry, but in 1986, it was still mostly guys!) didn't know who to vote for... I tossed out, casually, "Why not vote for me?"  They stared at me, jaws gaping, 'til one of them said, "We just never thought of YOU."  That was me - cute, smart, but invisible.  And until Lyon, I was okay with that.  Maybe I WASN'T, but I sure missed it when it was gone.  So - I started to eat. 

I was an au pair, and the French family I lived with could have made it on the Housewives of Tassin La Demi Lune, had reality shows existed in 1990.  Lots of drama - I didn't understand all of it, but I made friends with a neighbor married to an ex-pat who took pity on me, and she filled me in on some of the marital gossip.  I wouldn't be surprised at all to learn they ultimately divorced. 

I was much more reclusive than they anticipated Americans to be - my French was coming along, but slowly, and I wasn't the chatterbox they had hoped I would be to entice their three children: Theodore, 9, Eleanore, 6 and Eduard, 3, to practice their English.  Also, I don't think the English Language has the equivalent to the French Impératif.  So as my French improved, I heard "rangez votre chambre" as a "command," not necessarily as a "request," and I balked.  So - lots of tense dinners.

Then there's the whole French way of eating - which works GREAT, if you aren't ALSO eating like an American!  It only really works to eat lots of high-fat food, drink lots of wine and eat lots of bread, if you are also eating a tiny breakfast, a big lunch, a small dinner, and, once you're over the age of nine, avoiding snacking of ANY kind.  Yeah, well... I was bridging BOTH cultures!  I was eating a healthy American breakfast of pastries and coffee, a large lunch with my French classmates, a small, (stressful!) dinner with my French family with plenty of wine, and to soothe my nerves, plenty of snacks snuck into my private room in the attic.  (Yes, I felt like Sara Crewe from "A Little Princess!")  I ate to soothe myself - I think it might have been the first time I remember using food as comfort. 

So the weight crept on.  I was around 155 when I left France.  I got DOWN to 170 when I joined the Peace Corps in 1995... well, maybe 170 by the time I left in 1997 - I do remember that first year in Belize being MISERABLE due to the heat/humidity, and the following years not as rough.  I think my max was 220 right around the time of my divorce in 1998.  And for the past fifteen years, I have fluctuated between 190 and 210.  There you go.  The numbers - never fun to share.  But it's time to face it - to be transparent.  Honest with myself.  And who knows if anyone will ever read my blog!  So why not?  Really, I just need to share that I'm scared.  Scared that - if I haven't seen the 180's in FIFTEEN years, what are my chances of EVER getting back to my goal weight of 140?  At MY age?  It's only getting harder.  (In fact, I think I only JUST realized that it's been fifteen years NOW, having written it!) 

I've tried it all.  Weight Watchers, colon cleanses, phentermine, Paleo, Atkins, Boot Camp competitions: "make all 6 sessions a week for 8 weeks, and win the free t-shirt!" etc.  (We former Peace Corps Volunteers will do ANYTHING for a free t-shirt!)  Next week, I'm registered for a hypnotherapy session!  I get hopeful with each new "possibility," but on beautiful Sunday afternoons like this, I start to get nervous.  That maybe, just maybe - nothing will EVER work. 

At 43, believe me - I AM more secure in my own skin now than I used to be...  I used to FANTASIZE about getting into a car accident JUST bad enough to require my mouth to be wired shut.  Healthy, huh?  I don't get that upset any more - I have a nice wardrobe, (meaning I put some pride into my appearance,) I coach with Girls on the Run, I have a loving boyfriend, and I'm very active: I use my gym membership, I make friends in my zumba and boot camp classes, I meet running goals that I set for myself to prep for the bi-annual Girls on the Run 5k's.  I ride my bike to work occasionally - a nice three mile ride with a couple of hills.  I hike with friends.  I'm OUT there.  Living life. 

But sometimes... when I'm down... the weight can hold me back.  I'll have to psych-myself up to get dressed-up to go Downtown.  Or, I'll dread an upcoming choir performance - knowing our outfits make me look "frumpy."  My favorite band will come to town, and I know they invite people on stage, but I know - I could never go up there.  Not now.  Not looking like this.  That's REALLY not okay with me!

I'm an active member of some other blogs, like Mamavation and the Sisterhood of the Shrinking Jeans, and their support helps.  So, I thought - maybe it's time I started my own!  I like to write, and if ONE person out there can relate to what I am saying, and maybe set down the glass of chardonnay and go for a walk this afternoon because something I wrote resonated with him or her, then - RIGHT ON!  That would rock!