After having a good workout last night, I woke up a little stiff this morning. My muscles are all fine, but my knees are feeling old and rusty. I imagine that I can hear them creak like noisy hinges, though all they really do is crackle when I walk up and down stairs.
I had a rough night last night, as my sleep was buggered up with a bad dream. I blame it all on a book I was reading before bed last night. In the book, they were talking about war, and it carried over into my nighttime thoughts, apparently. So, I wasn't feel stellar as I stepped onto the scale this morning, but I perked up a little bit to see the number a 1/2 pound smaller. Hopefully, I can hold onto that through the week.
Sometimes I get a little disappointed by the fact that I am having to lose all of this weight all over again. I keep thinking that if I had just been "good", then I would be very near my goal right now. Instead, I am just getting back to the weight that I was before Ezra died...and then there was the time when I went a little crazy. I hate to even say it, because it sounds like an excuse. However, my grief had some strong affects on me. First, I tried to jump right back into my fitness routine, and I used my food and exercise as a distraction. It seemed that if I only concentrated on recording my food and exercising, I might get by with minimal scarring. I found out quickly that my body wasn't ready for all of that though, and I felt sick, and even walking sent shooting pains through my abdomen.
With my appetite and stomach all out of whack, and exercising being terribly painful, it left me a lot of time to sit and think- the one thing I was avoiding. Without anything to distract me, I became overwhelmed. God and I were not on good speaking terms during that time. He is a patient Father, let me tell ya. He put up with my griping without knocking me down a few notches. I didn't want to talk to Him at all. I was angry and hurt, and I hoped that He hurt with me for as much as my heart was breaking. I wanted to lash out, but the whole time I just kept saying that even while it felt like He was killing me, I loved Him anyway. It didn't feel like He loved me, but I refused to let my pain tear apart our relationship completely. In that haze of grief, I stopped caring about what I ate. There was just too much on my mind already.
Thankfully, I eventually healed enough to gain a peace once more. I am damaged deeply, but God can work on me in His time. I will have a great number of questions answered when I die, but in the meantime I trust in Him for the only thing that matters- relationship. I trust that He meant what He said about taking on the wages of my sin upon Himself, and dying in my stead. I have faith and believe that when I die, I will be with Him in heaven, along with the rest of my in-Christ relations. What I don't trust is that I ever actually know or understand what God has in store for me. It may rob me of a lot of opportunities, but I have no faith that I understand the urging of the Holy Spirit, nor that I ever truly hear God in that still small voice. I guess we have more of a letter relationship, not so much a telephone relationship... if that makes any sense.
For my insecurities, I am at least healed enough that I can put my mind on other things and not be crushed by my fear of the Lord. I can journal my food intake and exercise with a bit of focus, and they mean something to me now. I would like to be healthier so I can enjoy life a little more. Pumpkin likes to play soccer, but I have a hard time kicking the ball around with her because I'm not in good shape. I'd like for that to be a little easier to do, regardless of my arthritis and knee pain. I could grit through that for a time, so long as I was healthy enough to move and breathe at the same time. lol
Maybe it isn't something that I should ever write about, but I'd love to lose weight for more intimate reasons also. I would love for my husband to really enjoy looking at me. I know that he loves me, and he desires me regardless of how squishy I may be. There is something to be said for wanting to evoke some plain and simple lust in a man though. I don't desire that any other men ever look at me, just that this one man find me irresistible and exciting.
I am learning all about that aspect of things, from the other side. Since I've begun exercising regularly and lifting weights, my husband has begun to do the same. I don't think that he liked the idea of me being stronger than he is. His male ego could not tolerate such a thing, and I think it is adorable. My thoughts aren't cute and fuzzy when I see the new definition through his arms, shoulders, and back though. I giggle about the big "manly men" at the gym with their man-boobies, but I certainly don't giggle when it comes to my husband's physique. I think that I just want to tear his clothes off in a very frantic way. I've always thought he was gorgeous though, so I guess it isn't much of a change. I just hope that he doesn't decide to actively put on a bunch of muscle, because I love the sleek lines of his body. To me, he is a work of art in lean muscle.
With my husband making a point to eat healthier foods and exercise, it is so much easier for me to stay "on plan". He encourages me to visit the gym, so I feel good about the time I spend there. If he were to pout at me whenever I left, I think I would be utterly miserable. I don't want to be away from him, but I need the motivation of other hard-working people to keep me moving. Competing with my sister is good for me. True, she can run much longer than I can, but I actually think that I may be more physically fit than she is. My mind has a hard time making sense of that, as I am easily 20+ pounds heavier than she is. It could just be that I have worked harder with the weights, and am physically stronger. While she may jog for 5 minutes, I am hiking on the treadmill at 3mph on the highest incline. If it weren't for my bad knees, I feel like I could blast through this weight barrier and run right out of my extra fat. I am strong, but no one can see that for my "spare tire" around my lower abdomen/hips region. Oh, to be a pear-shaped woman.
Still, for all of my grumpiness about losing this same weight over again, at least I am losing it. It is coming off a little bit at a time. Sis says that she can see a definite change in my body. Since I see myself all of the time, I don't really notice it that much. That is why I need to keep small clothing around, just so I can tell the difference. Now, my mantra is simply, "Thirteen more pounds. Just thirteen." It seems like a lot, until I realize that I've lost twice that amount already. Then it sounds easy. I am going to fight to be under the 200 pound mark by the end of this year. If I can do that, then I will feel perfectly comfortable with taking a few months off during the winter, and using them to maintain my weight. I would still exercise and watch what I eat, but would stop trying to lose more weight. I'd prefer to try tackling that when spring comes and I would have more freedom of movement. If I started losing again in March, I could feel pretty comfortable with summer clothing. If I only lost 7 lbs. per month, I would still be very near my goal weight by summer. By this time next year, I could possibly need a whole new wardrobe, which would help me to not gain weight back. I'm going to just take it one week at a time though. I would be incredibly happy if I could get down to 220 this week. I am just itching to get out of these 20's and into the 10's. I was 209 lbs. when I got pregnant with Ezzie, and that actually didn't look too bad on my frame. I'm a pretty solid girl. Everything smaller than that will be like cool-whip on a cupcake- oh so yummy.