Get Well Gabby

Confession time: accountability is the new word, right?

I woke up at six this morning because Libby, as tiny as she is, needed my space on the bed and kicked me out. My breakfast, shamefully, became cheese curls, trail mix, and a glass of Coke. Not my finest moment. This morning marked Day 90 on the countdown, and I was off to a terrible start. Cranky from lack of sleep, I settled into a guilty pleasure marathon of the ABC Family program Make It or Break It. Trust me, the irony is not lost.

Thankfully, I made the best "mistake" ever the night before.

First, let's rewind: I work at the YMCA teaching elementary school students how to write and produce their own play. I get free membership and the students are always awesome. If it were full-time, it would be the best full-time gig in the history of full-time jobs. Along with the perks of the job, we also get inside information about events that the Y is hosting. That's when I found out about a two-hour beat class (two hours of ten minute samplings of every cardio class the Y has to offer) fundraiser for a little girl named Gabby.

I had absolutely no intention to participate. I had not been in a cardio class since 2009, and this would surely kick my behind if I even attempted to go. Then, last night, I read Gabby's blog: GetWellGabby.org. Five minutes later, my emotions took over my initial resistance and I told Matt that I wanted to go to the fundraiser with Harrison so he could participate in the kids event that coincided with the adult workout.

Fast forward back to my grouchy morning, terrible breakfast, and escapism into the world of Payson and Emily--and Harrison bounding up to remind me about our morning event. Crap.

I sullenly shut down my Netflix streaming, stalked into the shower, and rummaged for suitable workout attire. I was trapped by my son's infectious enthusiasm. I couldn't let him down. I couldn't let Gabby down. I had to go.

So we went. We raced around the track because we were early, and we had fun. The two hours of cardio did kick my ass, but it revitalized my belief that I can do this. I made it through and I had a great time doing it. I can do this.

To Hope,
Cheers,
Katy

If Ifs and Buts Were Candy and Nuts...

The thought of shedding the poundage and releasing the "hottie" within, however pleasing, is also terrifying. I spent 10 years building this fleshy coat of armor. The questions that keep resurfacing are these: What if I fail? What if this body really is who I am and who I am meant to be? What if I can not let go of this illness that has held me captive for so long. What if...

But then again... If ifs and buts were candy and nuts; we'd all have a Merry Christmas.
Trying not to psych myself out of a healthy mentality,
Katy

T-minus 90

So I have 90 days until my thirtieth birthday. But who's counting... right? Eh. Whatever.

I have decided to feed my neurosis with a countdown clock that ticks away the seconds, minutes, hours, and days on the bottom left of my computer screen. Right now: 90 days, 2 hours, 51 minutes, and 54 seconds. This can not be good for me.

My goal is a simple one developed into three simple parts:
Part 1: no longer will I focus on the scale as a determining factor for my goal (i.e. I'm letting go of the goal to lose 100 pounds; instead, I will focus on physical goals like running a mile or actively participating in ultimate Frisbee again.)
Part 2: no longer will I over-analyze and criticize myself
Part 3: I will regard my body as the Temple it was designed to be.

Okay, so the goals are simple written down. They are simple to say. They are also simple to ignore and forget. I need accountability here, so my other goal is to post something everyday for 90 days.

I spent my twenties in a body that weighed me down and took away possibilities. As I say goodbye to this decade of my life, I also want to say "Goodbye" to the unhealthy lifestyle that dominated these past 10 years as well.

To accountability,
Cheers,
Katy

Hello again.

Whoa. What to say?

My last post featured my excitement and my new job teaching 9th grade English to repeating freshmen. Since then I have taught and I have learned. I taught multiple subjects during my brief occupation with the District-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Despite the prevalent course of study: How to Survive 101, I also discovered the pleasure of placing the students above the priority of politics, the ability to see the forest and the trees, to find diamonds in the rough. I loved my time teaching. I loved the people I worked with and the students I had the honor to teach and mentor. However, I'm back at the starting line. My school is closed, I am laid off, and my weight has more or less returned to the place I hoped to never see again.

The stress of losing students of whom I had grown so fond and the uncertainty of my career tossed my emotions onto a whirlwind roller coaster, and my weight seemed to go on for the ride. I spent nights without sleep and skipped meals so I could balance family life and get my work done. The numbers on the scale would plunge. I would eat junk food and pump my bloodstream with sugar and caffeine to stay wake during the hour commute home. The numbers on the scale would shoot up. Off and on. High and low. Decrease and increase. I was a mess. Emotionally and physically.

But now, I am starting to heal. I'm looking for a new job with new perspective. I am no longer the naive little girl giddy about her big job in the city. However, I still have Hope. No challenge, no matter how rocky the course, will ever take my Hope away.

To a new day,
Cheers,
Katy