The Poor Man's Exercise Room: Maybe It's Not About the Happy Ending; Maybe It's About the Story

It's the poor man's exercise room. It used to look like this, when the twins lived here. Now it looks like the second pic.  There is also an elliptical machine opposite the treadmill. And a large exercise ball rolling around, in the way, mostly.

This is the repurposed baby dresser. It now holds hand weights, running clothes and fans.

This is my view in the early morning from the treadmill. Kind of dreary. Not long after I took this pic, a runner went gliding by.

The bulletin board beside the treadmill is for motivational sayings and photos I'd like to put up. Right now, the phrase is, "Maybe it's not about the happy ending. Maybe it's about the story." I wrote that there after the twins were taken by their mom. I've been thinking the phrase doesn't apply well to running, but maybe it does. I'll never finish fast or with flash (the perfect happy ending). But it's more about the race itself, the journey, the obstacles and small victories (the story). And a happy ending doesn't have to be a "perfect" one.

So I'll never have a awesome space for working out. I'll never break a record, probably not even my personal best. I'll never have a stride and pace like the guy who ran past as I stepped on the treadmill. But I'm committed. I'm achieving. I'm overcoming. I'm moving. I'm challenging myself. I'm growing. I'm learning. And those are all important facets of a really good story. 

2nd Cup Remix, Life Remix (Resolutions)

Re: your comments on what I'm calling my "2nd Cup of Coffee Remix" post (shot in the arm, resurrection post) was heartwarming and overwhelming. Thank you for all of the niceness you bestowed upon me. Humbled!

As I write this, it is January the twoth, and so far, so good on a couple of resolutions.

First of all, I'm on my 2nd day of reading the Bible in a year. I've accomplished this once before, but not in 2010, so I thought I'd give it a go. Today, in the OT, Eve got into trouble, and in the NT, Herod killed a bunch of innocent babies. Wow, with summaries like that, you don't even need to crack your Bible if you're considering this plan.

(Why did I say "innocent babies" above? Are there evil babies? No. Not even the sibling in this, one of my favorite pics of all time, is evil. She's just having an Evil-Genius Power Trip moment. So scratch that redundant adjective.)

Fellow Losties will understand when I say I envisioned the Smoke Monster starring in the role of Satan in both stories. Anyway, I hope to keep this "reading the Bible" performance up because, as you know, being a Christian is all about performance. JUST KIDDING. I'm just proud of myself for doing something two days in a row besides breathing and eating.

Secondly, I'm already on my 2nd day of being a vegetarian. I know; My iron will is amazing. I warned you this was coming, but I only decided a few days ago to start Jan. 1. Honestly, I don't know if this will last. Today the family ate ziti that I had prepared, but I opted for a mix of rice, black beans, pepper jack cheese, a dash of hot sauce and one and a half eggs stirred up in a little skillet. I LOVED it. We'll see what happens when a pepperoni pizza comes waltzing by me on some lonely evening. I may succumb to temptation.

Thirdly, I'm on an exercising roll. My daughter's wedding is June 18, and as I have reminded myself and many others: There's a frumpy Mother-of-the-Bride dress out there waiting for me. My fear is that the only non-frumpy ones will be sleeveless (EEEEK). So I'm on a mission to tone up the wings.

So those are a few of my resolutions. Not revolutionary resolutions, I admit, but still, good ones.

I know, I know. You don't make resolutions. Hardly anyone does anymore. I don't think I did for the last couple of years. Some desire to do so kicked up in me over the last few days, and I just decided to go for it. We'll see what happens ... now that I've said them out loud, GULP, I feel a little more accountable!

If you have new beginnings, let me know!

Getting on the Ball

My weight loss project has not turned out the way I had hoped many weeks ago.

That is, I haven't lost any weight.

I. KNOW.

As Ed once told Mama and Eunice, "Why don't you just tattoo it across my forehead: F-A-Y-L-U-R."

And this last week of chaos at work wreaked havoc on my eating plans. I started the week with a bang and ended with a whimper. And with a couple of hot dogs, which I haven't enjoyed so much in a long time.

But then I had to face the music, otherwise known as the owner of the gym.

Who decided it was time to use the calipers on me to see why I'm not losing on the scale, in the hopes that I'm losing fat while gaining muscle which doesn't necessarily show up on the scale.

Turns out, not so much positive news.

And then he cocks his head and says in the most earnest, gentle way: "You've gotta get on the ball."

[Insert Law & Order gavel sound.]

So at 7:00 pm, I laced up my tennis shoes and took off in the neighborhood, aiming for 45 minutes of jogging.

Did I mention 7 pm, after a long day of work and chores and meals?

So I took off and began the masochism.

It hit 90* in Indiana today, so 20 minutes into the run, I was hearing the lyrics "Been through the desert on a horse with no name ..." because I was hallucinating about the Lab who ran across my path.

But then I had that Jillian mirage, where she always says, "If you're not fainting, vomiting or dying, keep going."

So I think the horse with no name is really named Jillian.

That's when a neighbor threw up a wave at me and yelled, "Hey, Linda. It's 90*!"

Thanks, Neighbor. I wasn't sure I was dying, but now I am.

So then I slogged all the way home and wrote this just to document to the gym owner: "I got on the ball. With no name. It felt good to be out of the rain. When you're slogging, you can't remember your name, until your neighbor calls it out and causes you pain."

The Gastro-Inflated Pooch, It is Ginormous

We are in ACT III of Phase 4, if you didn't know. No, I didn't actually break this phase down into dramatic acts, but believe me, I have had some drama since Phase 4 began on May 26.

Gee, May 26 sounds like such a long time ago, like maybe May 26 was when the first monkey (Monknik?) was launched into space or something. I think it sounds so long ago because I've been so busy with life and with exercise and diet plans and Zoe peeing in brand new spots and my daughter moving back in and work gearing up for our biggest week of the year. So please excuse me while I take a breath to catch up.

I have indeed been faithful to the ol' 30 x 5 scheme since last I posted about it. According to Phase 4, I have been switching up my exercise routine and eating regimen almost continually. Right now, I'm back to slogging outside again and working with weights on the off days, and I'm getting a really good mix of fiber, fruits, veggies, water and protein. It sounds so perfect, and yet it has been oh so wrong.

My incredible struggle lately has been of the gastro-intestinal variety, which consists of my system taking on a life of its own and not cooperating with me at all.

It's like my bowels have said, "So. You're doing all of this new stuff. That's funny because I wasn't really planning on doing that at all. I planned on packing my suitcase and heading to Italy for a few weeks, you know, like a bowel sabbatical, if you will. Ciao, Baby."

And so, I feel like I've been carrying about eight baby kangaroos in my mid-section for about three weeks. I'm the Octo-roo Mom.

The gastro-inflated pooch, it is giNORmous, people. I literally feel like I'm housing a weather balloon. Perhaps I'll star in the sequel to Pixar's "UP" or as the middle aged Violet Beauregarde in the next Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.

So last night, after three weeks, I gave in and took a laxative. And that was when the real drama which I mentioned in paragraph one began.

And ... "That was all," she wrote. Or gurgled.

So how are you faring on Phase 4?