How many have had this sort of dialogue before? "Maybe if I wore clothes that fit, I wouldn't feel so fat." Well, you are not alone. Trust me! Like me, you are not the first, and like me, you won't be the last! It takes time, effort and dedication to change your lifestyle to one that is healthy. In reality, my lifestyle is really not that unhealthy. But of course, I do have some habits that put me in the place to be where I am today. Well, I would say I did pretty good this week making conscious decisions. I did learn one very important thing this week .... I need to go slow otherwise I will hurt myself. Giving your muscles time to wake up and recover is necessary and not the end of the world. At what time do I start counting the 21 days? Is it the day when I first start my plan? Or is it the day that I have incorporated all pieces to my plan? And what happens when I go off course? Do I start over again?
For example, phase I was the 3Ms. More sleep, more water and more movement. I needed to keep it simple just because of all the other stuff happening in my life. I gave myself 3 weeks (21 days) to meet this goal. I have met this goal but it doesn't mean that I no longer focus on these core things. Phase II? I haven't defined it to be honest. I guess Phase II can be ... being serious about my health. Being aware of my daily caloric intake and output. Remembering, it goes beyond thought. Action is required!
8 Comments
She sits on the couch sipping a hot cup of tea. She's immersed in a good book when a loud clap of thunder shakes her to the core. She jumps, spilling her tea. Getting up and putting her book onto the couch, she goes to the kitchen. Grabbing a tea towel, she wipes her book off then heads to her room to change. The hallway lights up as she walks towards her room. Just as she blinks, there is another loud clap. It is so close that she feels the floor shake. With a hand on her chest she takes a deep breath. 'I hope that doesn't wake the baby,' she thinks to herself. No sooner than she thinks it, the wailing begins. "Shoot," she breaths. She turns and goes to the baby's room, abandoning the idea of changing her shirt. If she calms the baby quickly enough she can make herself another tea and read her book. When she walks into the baby's room, the motion sensor turns on the soft night light so she can see where she is stepping. "Shhhh," she whispers, "hush now baby. Momma's here." She reaches over the crib railing and starts to rub the baby's hair and forehead. The baby whimpers in response. She smiles, pleased that she made it before it was too late and there would be no hope of comforting her baby boy. She knows not to leave too soon and starts to sing a lullaby. Suddenly the room lights up. She pauses, waiting, hoping that the clap of thunder is not so near or so loud. The storm must be right over the house because the thunder that follows only takes a moment and shakes the crib. Her baby boy opens his eyes wide with fear and takes a deep breath before letting it all out. A tear rolls down her cheek as she reaches in the crib to pick him up. There will be no putting him down in the crib again tonight. "It's ok my baby," she tries to soothe him. She rubs his tiny back and begins to pace the room. He gasps for air and quivers with each exhalation. The room lights again and clings her baby boy closer to her chest. The thunder continues to shake the house. Even her little house creaks under the pressure. When the next lightening strikes, so soon after, she hears crackling in another room of the house. She jumps, her heart racing. The thunder makes the house groan even louder. The baby starts screaming and her tears begin to flow. She leaves the baby's room in search of any damage. She is alone for the night and it is up to her to make sure that they will be safe. She goes to the kitchen in search of a flashlight, not wanting to risk turning on any lights in case there is a short in the house. She checks the kitchen first for any electrical fires or broken windows. Finding none, she moves to inspect the living room. The storm continues to strike with its wicked force and she tries to stay calm. To not jump with every clap of thunder. It is a battle she is not winning. Normally she loves storms, but to be home alone in one with a newborn babe is not nice at all. Curious, she draws back the drapes and looks outside. The sky is bright with purple streaks going in all directions. She has never seen anything like it before. The phone rings making her drop the drapes. She turns to go answer it and on the second ring lightening strikes again. The ring sounds funny, like it has fizzled out. Carefully, she lays her hand on the receiver and finds it hot. She puts her screaming baby in his bouncy chair and quickly runs to the kitchen to grab some silicone tongs to unplug the phone. From there she runs quickly to the breaker box and turns them all off. Wiping the tears from her eyes with the backs of her hand, she takes a deep breath and picks up her now hysterical baby. "I know baby," she whispers, "Momma is scared too." She takes a deep breath and walks back into the boy's room. Sitting in the rocking chair she tries to soothe her baby. After many stuttering breaths, he finally begins to settle and grasps at her, letting her know that he is hungry. "Of course baby," she whispers. Tears still rolling freely down her cheeks, wetting the baby's head. She opens her now tea stained blouse and feeds her baby. She continues to rock as he whimpers at her breast. She has blocked out the thunder. She closes her eyes. The baby falls asleep so she closes her blouse. Not ready to put him back in his crib she continues to rock him in her arms. The rocking eventually lulls her to sleep. "Hey babe," she hears his quiet voice and begins to stir. She opens her eyes slowly and sees her husband bending down in front of her. "Hi beautiful," he whispers before kissing her on the cheek. "Hi," she whispers back. The hint of fear still in her voice. He puts his hand on on the side of her face, tangling his fingers in her hair. His lips brush against hers and she breaths in the scent of him. He moves away from her slowly, rubbing his thumb on her bottom lip, biting his own bottom lip. She sighs. He bends down and kisses his baby boy on the forehead before scooping him out of her arms. "Time for you to go back to your bed little man." He looks his wife in the eyes. "Daddy needs to comfort your momma now." He winks at her and puts the baby in his crib. As he tucks the baby in, the baby lets out a comfortable sigh. "I don't know how you do that so easily," she whispers. "It's easy," he says playfully. "He doesn't want me as much as he wants you." He shrugs as she shakes her head. "He already knows a good thing when he sees it." He reaches a hand out to help her up and she takes it. He pulls her in close, holding her hand to his chest. He rubs his nose on hers. "You're simply irresistible." "You," she pokes his chest with her finger, "are a player." He shrugs, indifferent. "Then," he smiles, "I played my cards right." He runs his hands over her arms before grabbing them and wrapping them around his neck. "Cause, damn, I think I married the hottest woman in the world." She blushes. "And," he continues, proudly, "I can still make her blush." He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her in closer still. Leaning his head down he doesn't simply brush his lips against hers. She tightens her arms around his neck and she can feel him grin. "Come on beautiful," he whispers stepping away from her, "we don't want to wake the boy." He winks at her before leading her by the hand out of the baby's room. (c) Rachel Rennie 2015 As always, thank you for reading and your support.
Feel free to leave a comment below. Today my thoughts are with my dad. He is a stubborn Scottsman. He was born in the late 30's and therefore has a very old school and simple mind set. For him, the formula for life is very simple. Always do your best. You put yourself first before anyone else. When you make a mistake, you admit it, apologize for it, and learn from it. He may be in his 70s but people easily mistaken him for being in his 50s. He's got a whacky sense of humor that not many people get. But I get him. There was a time in my youth where we did not see eye to eye. Things happened and I left home at a very young age. As a young adult, my father decided he couldn't right his wromngs with me but he could apologize and then start over with a young new wife. I accepted his apology becausue at one point in my life, my dad was my best friend, my rock. And my dad did a pretty fine job with his new wife and their little boy. He even got a new daughter out of the deal and was given the chance to learn that not all teenage girls are the same. When I got married, my dad handed over the status of being my rock to my husband. But he always ensured I knew he was there to provide that extra support if I ever needed it. Sometime over the weekend my dad was rushed to the hospital. My little brother, who lives with our father, sent me a message to call him. I'm in great shape for the shape I'm not in. Sometime ago I had a falling out with the women in my family. Boundaries were over stepped and when I confronted them on it they were hurt and angry. Sadly, as a result, the way the women in my family deal with negative emotions is to run away and smile in the other direction. They do not confront or deal with a problem that may shed any darkness on them or may put them in a bad light. Unlike my noble father, there is no wrong to admit to because they are not capable of doing anything wrong.
My sister apparently has been with my father a lot during his hospital stay and the hospital transfers. But she did not feel the need to call me at all. Granted, my brother is there to fill me in, but when our father was taken from the community hospital to the one in the "city", she took over. Even my brother does not know what the full story is because he is not there. My mother is attempting to maintain somewhat of a relationship with me. So, last night my mom called me. What gets me is that she said she was told to call me to give me more info. First of all, why do they have to be told to call me? Secondly, is there not any more info you can give? I ask all of you out there in the world.... Remember to do what is right. Remember that sometimes you have to put your own feelings aside and think of the person that is hurting. And no, I am not talking about me but of my father. You need to remember that it isn't always about you. If you are going to go and toot the "I am a good Christian" horn, then you best step up to that plate and portray the love of God the way He would want you to. If my post offends you, you have two choices: 1. You can talk to me about it ... or ... 2. You can run away in the other direction and smile Honestly, I do not want to write this post. Writing this and SHARING it with all of my readers makes it real and I can’t go back. Once I put this out there, it is out there. In 2008, when I returned back to the workforce after having my fourth baby, I was at my biggest. For years I worked hard to get back my pre-baby body. My pre-baby body of four babies before. In 2012, I still had not reached that goal. I fought through depression with the realization…that pre-baby body was no longer mine to be had. I was a mother now and a mommy body is not only what I deserved, but what was rightfully mine. My body had been stretched to unimaginable proportions all for the status of “momma”. I should really embrace that. And so I did. My mindset was to be a sexy momma. My goals changed and I was feeling pretty good about myself. I was still eating well, or well enough, and I was still working out. I was rocking those HiiT workouts that found 20 some year olds struggling. At this point I probably was not getting smaller but I was definitely getting stronger. And my endurance was increasing. Growing up I had outright refused to run in gym class. I will never forget one conversation with my gym teacher. “What if someone held a gun to you and said run or I’ll shoot?” If only he could have seen me at my peak in 2012. I was almost doing the 9 minute mile. Running had become a part of my day, and the days that did not permit me to run were the days I was at my worst. I ran every week day at work and then followed it with a HiiT routine. I spent hours modifying my workouts and schedules and rotations of those workouts. On weekends I would do a mixed workout and have active play with my kids. And we walked everywhere (before we got our first vehicle in 2012). It took me five years to get here. But I forgot the most important part of it all. I still complained about how fat I was. How heavy I was. How I still gave in to my cravings. I forgot to look at how far I had come. How much weight I had lost overall, not just in the past month. How few and far between those cravings actually were. I forgot to look at the size of my clothes, which in fact, were the smallest I had ever worn since I had become an adult. I forgot to see how much longer I could play with the kids at the park. How I could keep pace when walking with my husband. I forgot to recognize that tummy as the honorable ownership of a mother. I earned my stripes and, unlike some women, I was happy to have those. But I forgot the stripes had to have a home. The tummy is where they belonged. And now I hang my head in shame. In despair. In 2014 I was in a major motor vehicle accident. I couldn’t look up or down or left or right. I would get dizzy spells that made me feel like my world was tilting or slanting. Then there were times when the dizzy spells would come without warning and I would simply fall over. I would wake in the middle of the night because I felt like I was falling through my bed. I couldn’t walk up or down stairs. I had to be very aware and proactive while driving; always getting in the lane I needed as soon as I could to minimize shoulder checking. Any jumping or running was a definite no go. Any sudden movements sent sharp pains through my head. My life had suddenly changed. My outlet for freedom, to de-stress, to feel good about me was taken away. My only comfort left to me was the one thing I needed to be cautious with. Food. At first I think I handled it well. But then, I noticed small changes. And with these changes, I needed more comfort. About eight months later I was cleared by my physician to get back to where I was. I wanted to scream at them. Did they realize it took me FIVE YEARS to get to where I was?! Hand me that tub of ice cream would you please. All I can do is sigh with a sad face as I put away my winter clothes and prepare for summer. There is nothing to pull out for summer. These clothes, they simply will not fit. And there is no amount of food that will make me feel better about that. In fact, food is the enemy. Today, I am at the biggest I have ever been in my life. But, I can’t get depressed about it. I will not let myself continue this vicious cycle of eating to help my sadness about my weight. That would be crazy. Instead, I will get angry and burn that negative by working out. So here I am. Back at the beginning. My supportive husband by my side telling me I CAN do this. I learned this week that I still can’t do any jumping or any cross body twisting (think roman twists or kettlebells), but low impact cardio and strength will do. So, I will do what I can and always challenge myself to do a little more. I am determined. The speed boat crashes against the waves making her squeal with delight. He laughs, pride swelling in his chest. He will have to remember to thank his brother for lending him the boat later.
“Look over there,” he yells, pointing at an outcropping in the rocks. She shields her eyes from the sun with her hand. “What is it?” “There’s a dark, mystical cave in there.” He pulls the boat up on the beach and cuts the engine. “Just a minute,” he says as he jumps out to tie down the boat. Once he’s confident it’s secured, he reaches a hand out to her. “Why, thank you sir,” she says playfully. He winks, the corner of his mouth up in a smirk. Hand in hand they run off to the cave. “Oh, it’s misty in here,” she takes a deep breath. “There’s a hot spring in the back.” The cold air from the ocean mixes with the heat from the hot springs making the air humid. His fingers tangle in her knotted, frizzy hair. Their bodies quickly covered in mist. “How’d you find this place?” She looks around, amazed. “It’s my secret,” he tries to charm her by claiming the magnificent cave. Again he tries to pull her in for a kiss. Just as he leans in, she turns away to run to the hot springs. “Hey,” he yells after her, “wait up. It’s dark. You need the light to see where you’re going. There are…” “Ouch,” her screams interrupt him. She sits and grabs her foot, her bikini barely hanging on. Quickly he runs to her and bends down at her side, “are you ok? Let me look.” He grabs her foot and shines a flashlight on it to see a deep cut on the side. “I didn’t know the rocks were so sharp.” She tries to fight the tears that are threatening to spill over. Her foot is throbbing in pain. “Let’s go wash it in the hot springs.” He helps her up, keeping a hold of her, he helps her sit on a smooth rock at the edge of the pool. “It is pretty hot, so put your foot in slowly.” She nods and does as he says. The water feels soft. It wraps around her foot like velvet. She eases her foot into the water feeling immediately comforted by it. “Does that feel okay?” “Mmmm-hhmmm,” she moans. He sits down beside her, smiling. She looks so serene; all he wants is to kiss her. He brushes her hair away from her neck and leans closer. He can taste the salt on her skin, his lips brushing lightly on her neck. “Mmmmm,” she moans again. Taking her moaning as approval to his advancements, he kisses her neck moving up to her jaw bone. He kisses her slowly, making his way to her lips. He is curious if they are as soft as they look. He looks up at her. From the corner of his eye, he sees something moving in the water. Not sure what it is, he turns slowly to look at the water. He shakes her arm to get her attention, but she doesn’t move. He looks at her again and sees her eyes are still closed. “Maia,” he shouts. She only moans in response. He looks at her, confused, before looking again at the water. The stuff in the water is black and has wrapped around her foot. “Maia,” he shouts again, panic in his voice. She sways as if in a trance. He grabs her arm putting it around his shoulder to try and lift her out of the water. The black stuff begins to move up her leg slowly. He pulls on her with all of his strength but the black stuff holds her in its grip. He reaches behind him for where he’s dropped his emergency pack. “Shit,” he mumbles, stretching as much as he can to reach it. “Maia, please,” he pleads with her, “please wake up.” The water begins to sparkle and the black liquid moves more quickly up Maia’s leg, now up to her thigh. He takes her arm off his shoulder and holds her hand. It is enough that he is able to reach his pack. He fumbles through it until he finds his fishing knife. “Maia,” he whispers in her ear, “Wake up Maia. Please wake up.” He pleads, shaking her only just slightly. “Arrggg,” he groans in frustration when she gives no response. He holds the knife tight, knowing he must get the black stuff off of her. He looks at it closely and sees that it has attached itself to Maia’s cut foot. He takes a deep breath to steady himself. “Okay, okay. Cut it, grab her and run.” He wipes the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. He stabs at the black liquid three times. Moving quickly, he wraps his arms around her waist and tries to pick her up. He falls to his knees as the liquid holds strong. The liquid, now up to her waist, touches his arm and he screams out in pain. “No, no, no,” he screams. He stabs at the black liquid over and over again. “Let her go.” He yells desperately. The liquid moves quickly, now up to Maia’s breasts. Frantically he stabs at the water. Tears fill his eyes, making it hard to see. He loses his footing and falls into the water. His arms begin flailing trying desperately to break the surface. He can see Maia sitting on the edge, the black liquid up to her jaw. She opens her eyes and looks down at him beneath the water. Her eyes seem to sparkle and she smiles. Slowly, she slides into the water. He flails and kicks, his lungs running out of air. His pleading eyes stare into hers as she brings her face close to his. She is completely covered in the black liquid, her body sleek and smooth with it. She holds his face and brings her lips to his. Without hesitating, he parts his lips for her. She sucks out the last of his air; his eyes open wide in shock. She can see the fear in his eyes. “Don’t be afraid Dylan,” she caresses him with her voice. “I am Maia, Goddess of water.” She smiles at him sweetly. “Thank you for bringing me home.” His kicks are futile. He has no air or strength left. The hot water relaxes his muscles despite the screaming in his brain. “And you Dylan,” she taps him on the tip of his nose, “Will be the God of water.” The light around them starts to fade as Maia pulls Dylan into the depths of the hot springs. Going deeper than he would have ever imagined; to a secret world beneath the cave. (c) Rachel Rennie 2015 My day started the same as every week day does. With my alarm rudely interrupting my sleep at 545 am. But after the 6 am reminder that I need to get up now, things changed for me today. Last night I made a conscious decision that I am done being unhappy about my figure and I am done with doing nothing about it. Being in a car accident limited me which depressed me. Looking in my closet as the clothes seemed to get smaller was also depressing. For a long time I gave in to that depression and openend up that bag of chips and shared the minimum amount so as to not call myself a piggy. When I was given approval from my physician to start with my workouts again, my symptoms returned and I stopped. I vowed to start slow. To focus on three things. More sleep. More water. And more movement. Well, that more, it is simply not enough. This morning, after fifteen minutes of pleading with the clock, I reluctantly rolled out of bed. I remembered the promise I had made to myself. As a blogger friend said, "Every day is the first day." And today was the first day of keeping my promises to me. This morning, I got my sweat on with Shelly Dose, who I stumbled upon on Google+. Check out her YouTube channel. A little while later, my daughter and I went to the library to return some books that were due. I swore that I took three steps to get up to the drop off box. But for some odd reason there were only two to come down. Even more odd was the fact that the pavement was marked for a step that was not there. My brain did not comprehend this and I took a step down only to find my footing off and my foot "stuck" to the pavement. Being my daughter, she laughed with me about my near fall all the way across the parking lot. She wished she had captured the moment on camera. It must have been a sight to see. Thankfully for me, we do not allow our children to have cell phones until a much later age. This afternoon we have a couple more appointments. Before which, I have promised my "curly hairs" that I would transfer them to match their "straight hair" siblings. I keep telling them how much I envy their curls. But they do not care. They want me to do their hair for them. How is your day going? What are your plans? A little taste of poetry from me.... Her name is Rachel. Just like me. She tries to talk to her mom. We’re in a loud gym. The mom says she can't hear her. Rachel repeats herself a little louder. But not too loud. It's private and there are lots of people here. No sooner does she start and the mom turns away from her. Rachel puts her feet on her chair, pulling her knees to her chest to hide her crying. But, I see it. Mom turns to whisper yell at her to put her feet down. With a little defiance she does as she's told. Mom doesn't acknowledge the tears still fresh on her cheeks. Again Rachel speaks. Again she is ignored. And again she raises her knees. Feet on the chair. When mom turns to whisper yell, the feet go down with a bang. Rachel tries to speak. Mom makes a face. Feet go up. More whisper yells. Another bang. Mom turns to dad to take Rachel out of the room The good husband obeys. Mom laughs about it to the friend. Dad returns with Rachel. Rachel hugs her mom and is told to have a seat. Tears run down Rachel’s cheeks. She no longer tries to hide them. Tapping moms arm to speak. Mom glances and turns away. Once. Twice. Third time she speaks. Rachel goes unheard. Just like me. I am fascinated by the moon. I'm not really sure why and I know I am not the only one. Perhaps it is the mystery that surrounds the moon that fascinates me so. Or maybe, the romance. Perhaps the stories of creatures that only come out during a full moon that piques my imagination. One thing I miss about my youth is sitting in the yard staring at the sky. The city has its advantages, but living out of the city and the light pollution, I am looking forward to better photo opportunities of the moon. And then of course, there is the sun. The sun that brightens every day, even if it has to fight with the clouds it still manages to give us "daylight". The sun that warms our faces, gives us hope of new life. Sun rise or sun set, both are equally beautiful.
We have had a wonderful spring so far with temperatures always in the mid 20s (degrees celcius).
Last night I got to sit on my deck with my lovely husband and enjoy the cloudy skies. We didn't last long out there in the chilly, blowing rain, and quickly came back in! However quick our moment was, it was peaceful and simply beautiful. Our moment to quietly reconnect and take joy in where we are. My hope is that wherever you are in this world and in your life, whether you are with yourself or with another, that you take these moments every day to reflect. Find your joy and embrace it. Life simply goes by way too fast to not have that special moment for yourself everyday. Much love. R |