The Weight of the World ... or just my ass

Weigh-in day. Scared and excited. The result?

220.

That's right, folks - I have lost a total of esaaaaaaaactly 20 pounds in 11 weeks. While I would love to turn out Biggest Loser-esque numbers, I'm losing at a rate that averages 1.8 pounds per week. Pretty damn good, in my opinion.

And I guarantee I've actually lost more fat than that, because I know I've built muscle. I haven't felt this physcially strong in ... well ... ever.

I'm four pounds away from my first 10 percent. When I hit 216, I get a pedicure. Good thing that didn't happen this week, because I can't afford it right now. But in a couple of weeks? Sign me up.

Anyhoo, it hasn't been easy. Taking on this weightloss challenge while also taking up running is probably the single most daring thing I have done in my adult life. Except maybe getting married, and I am pretty sure the weightloss thing is gonna have a better result than the marriage.

I ran last night, with my friend Linda. We completed a neighborhood 5k. It hurt.

Moving 220 pounds through the world is not easy. By mile two, my hips were killing me. My breathing was labored. My brain wanted to shut off. But I kept going. I felt kinda bad, because Linda is capable of running faster and longer than I am, but she's also a generous soul, and she kept my pace, and walked with me when I needed to. It mattered a great deal, and we made it. 3.14 miles in 51 minutes. Yeah, I rock a 17-minute mile.

So that's it for running, until the race on Saturday. Tonight it's salsa/funk with MaryAnn, and tomorrow is a night off, as I'll be heading into the city to stay with Diane prior to race day. I'm nervous and excited. And at the moment, still sore.

Meanwhile, at the gym ...

A great workout last night. Pam is teaching Strictly Strength on Tuesday nights through November, and she's a real butt-kicker. It hurts, in the most delicious way. I may never be able to perform every move with the grace and dexterity she does, but she keeps me trying anyway. And this morning, I'm a little ouchy. No, make that a lot.

Between Strictly Strength and Salsa/Funk, workout friend Jill came up to me and said, "You've lost a lot of weight!" To which I replied, "Yes; 18 and a half pounds to be exact." She went on to say that I'm looking great, and I began to explain how it's really nothing because there is so much more work to be done.

Well, bullshit. Yes, there is more to be done. I have 50 more to go (70, if you take the "recommended weight" for my frame, but I'll be pleased at 50.) But I need to cut myself some slack. 18.5 is an accomplishment. Every day that I don't stray too far from my calorie count, every day I get in a good workout ... it's all an accomplishment. It matters.

So after Salsa/Funk, when Lesley (who hadn't seen me in three weeks) commented on my weight loss, I simply accepted it. Thank you, I said. There is more to be done, and it's hard, work, but I'm pleased to have accomplished what I have.

It matters. Little changes make for a big life.

I'm already nervous

So, the Hot Chocolate 5k is this Saturday. My goal is to run it all. I am not going to be able to do that.

To be fair, I wasn't terribly sure I would be able to from the beginning. But it's good to have a goal, right?

It's a little depressing to be as slow at running as I am. It just ... is. Nothing I can do except keep trying, right?

On Saturday, I completed a treadmill 5k with my friend Linda. Run three minutes, walk two, for 3.1 miles. It was rather exhausting, and it took me almost an hour to complete it. Of course that was with a five-minute warm up and cool down ... but still. I worry that I will be the slowest, fattest runner in the entire race. And I may well be. And that is going to be fine.

I will finish. I will eat chocolate at the end. That is all I need to know.

For the love of my legs

All my life, I have had a love/hate relationship with my legs. It's hard to grow up with a brother who can't walk and not appreciate your legs' ability to take you from place to place. My legs do things my brother can't even imagine. That has never been lost on me.

However, my legs are not now, nor have they ever been, my favorite feature. I carry a lot of weight (and by weight I mean cellulite, fat, jiggle, cottage cheese) in my thighs. So much so that pants shopping is a chore. (Thank God for Maurice's Orchid Boot Cut Jeans!) My legs are (can I type this out loud?) ugly. My calves are thick (making it difficult to indulge my love of boots) and my knees are literally a pain.

But these legs are mine, and I choose to love them. Sometimes when I'm doing my post-workout stretching, I look down at my knees and I literally say "thank you" to them, for holding me up through the exercises. I think they appreciate it.

The thing is, my legs are strong. They are capable. They do so many amazing things for me, just because I ask them to. They do things I didn't think were possible! They run. They kick. They dance. Soon, they will climb walls. They make it possible for me to get through each day. They are not perfect, but they work perfectly. They allow me to end a day with thoughts of, "I'll be damned, look at what my body did for me today!"

Food, Glorious Food

Today was all about food.

When I woke up, I went to the grocery store. I got all the ingredients I'd need for breakfast, lunch and dinner for the week. Then it was home to prep apricot chicken in the crockpot for dinner, curry chicken salad to go in wraps for lunch, and make pumpkin muffins for breakfast.

There's something really nice about looking into the refrigerator and see a bunch of delicious, healthy food in there. Here's what dinner ended up looking like:
That's apricot chicken, half a cup of couscous with roasted pine nuts, and romaine with fat free French dressing.

As for the workout, today was a day of rest. Which is a good thing, because yesterday's workout was mighty tough. Strength training with Pam, and spin with Nicole. After which I needed a three-hour nap. Oy!

But at any rate, I am prepared to head into work and begin what will absolutely be a better week than last week. (Of course, that won't take much!) If nothing else, there will be good food to go with whatever comes.

Just Do It

"We must do the things we think we cannot do."
-Eleanor Roosevelt

With apologies to the fine people at Nike, "Just Do It" is great advice, and it has served me well in 2010. (Which, by the way, was christened "the year of the Maggie" back in January. Accurate? Perhaps.) This has been a year of doing things I never even considered before. That's an amazing thing.

It all began with the Muddy Buddy race in August. I remember standing there, waiting for our wave to begin, with my friend Mike and his wife Emily. I was petrified. What if I failed? What if I couldn't finish? So many what ifs! But I did it. I completed a course of running (or in my case, walking), biking and obstacles, something I decided to do just because it sounded like fun. Never in my life have I felt the adrenaline of finishing something I wasn't quite sure I could do. And that's what challenge is all about: trying something, being willing to fail, just because you might be able to say, "I did it."

And there have been more challenges. Relay for Life, the Blackhawks 5k, and - coming soon to a city park near you - the Hot Chocolate 5k. My only goal is to finish, and maybe shave a minute or two off my time. But success to me is simply defined by finishing.

Who is this woman who keeps trying new things? What happened to the couch potato? And furthermore ... what's next?

A Tale of Two Buttcheeks

I didn't realize how much you use your gluteal muscles when running. Or walking. Or any of the mundane tasks one does throughout one's day-to-day activities. Well, you do. And the day after a run, they talk to you.

So do your quads. And your shoulders. Yes, running works it all, and over the days that follow, your muscles let you know. Sometimes, loudly.

It's been a good week, all things considered. Sure, I almost had a meltdown earlier this week when I shamefully got on the scale on a day other than Thursday. Sure, I had a margarita last weekend. But I didn't fall off the wagon. I didn't even really lose my footing. Wagon and I, securely together.

I weighed in today, and came in at 221.5. This is the lowest number my scale has seen in at least eight years. I am proud. That number represents a total of 18.5 pounds (or 74 "knee pounds") lost since I got back on track on August 24. (My sister and father remind me now and then that every pound lost is four pounds of pressure off my knees, so "knee pounds" ... like "dog years.") This also puts me at 5.5 pounds away from my first reward, because at 216 I will have lost 10 percent of my weight. Rock on!

Just Because You Can Zip Them Doesn't Mean They Fit
I have this gorgeous pair of black pants in my closet. They have been there for three years. Wide-leg trousers, crafted of a fabric that feels very expensive, although the pants really weren't. Anyway, they've been there, waiting for me, for literally years. I put them on this morning, just to gauge my progress.

I pulled them all the way up, and I zipped them.

Now, I looked a little bit like a moose wearing a banana peel, but the point is I got them on. This is cause for celebration, no?

Did She Just Say "Skinny"?
At the gym on Tuesday night, I saw my friend Jennifer. She's awesome. About five-foot-nothin', and totally sweet. She's an athlete and a dancer, and I just love her. She hasn't been at the gym much lately, because she's on a softball team and that takes up a lot of her evening workout time. Well, she walks up behind me prior to class, peers at my face and says, "Oh my God, that is you!" And I'm like, well, duh, and she says, "When did you get so skinny? I didn't even recognize you!"

Shocked, I was. But so totally gratified! I mean, I have a long way to go, but it felt so good to have someone refer to me as "skinny", even if it was just by comparison.

That's What it's All About
No, not the hokey pokey. Variety. I love that I am getting such an awesome variety of activity into my life these days. There's running mixed with walking, there's walking on my lunch hour, there's the elliptical trainer after work, there's salsa/funk, there's weight training ... it's cross-training at its best. I realize that if I focused a little more on running, I would probably be better at it, and maybe I'd be able to run the whole race. But here's the thing: I love the variety. It really does keep me engaged, and happy with the routine. Probably because it's anything but routine.

And there's variety in the diet, too. From other people's leftovers (blissful fajitas!) to homemade soup (I am a good cook!) I'm getting a lot of color in my food, and a lot of really delicious, nutritious food. As long as it keeps working, I'm totally fine with that!