I mournfully sat on a closed toilet seat in my parents’ tiny apartment, thumbing away on my iTouch, whining about … them. Oh, there was so much more to come – drawers and drawers of stuff accumulated from less than a year in their little love nest needed to be sorted for their move back to Texas. Clothes had to be tossed because my mother lost so much weight after heart surgery and various complications. (She was always fearful of becoming skinny from cancer.) Books were to be donated. Hoarded food lined up to be trashed. Bills, bills, bills – who keeps every piece of paper for 10 months and still gets behind on payments? My father’s collection was not very extensive. In fact, there was a suitcase he had never unpacked from their previous move. Don’t even ask what my sister and I found in his sock drawer – they might read this one day. Let’s just say it’s difficult to think about your 80-year old parents’ sex life.
Reinforcements arrived to facilitate packing because my sister and I intermittently were too busy laughing at the situation or paralyzed from the emotional and physical enormity of THE MOVE. Too numerous to count hefty bags of clothes were sent to charitable organizations. An equal number of containers of junk flew to the dumpster with such efficiency that Mom’s wallet and cell phone were never located. (I’ll tell you the secret of getting by TSA without ID if you really want to know.) We crammed luggage for the plane (thank goodness for the generosity of first class tickets), strapped together 10+ boxes containing warm weather clothes, books, and papers for FedEx then I got the hell out of cold, damp Oregon (redundant?) leaving my sister to mop up and get them to the airport.
We are all safely in our own homes, and only now am I starting to write again.
Back to more weighty issues… During the 3 weeks surrounding the time with my folks, my weight stayed exactly the same. After a 50 pound drop, the inevitable plateau was upon me. I fretted; I moaned; I bitched; I screamed at the scale (see previous post on not using the scale as a measure of worth, cough); I walked more; I hurt my knee. I went back and looked at my behavior change list. The only thing different was that some nights I ate later than 7 pm. My meticulous food diary showed a steady 1300-1500 kcal intake. I read on the 3FC forums over and over about plateaus, reassuring myself that this was normal, it would pass, it was better than gaining. Disillusioned? You betcha. Then 10 pounds dropped off in less than 2 weeks even though nothing changed, and I had to stop walking because of my knee injury. I can’t even drive across town without knee pain, sigh.
All of this rambling to say that I survived the time with my parents, and my quest to eat healthy continues even though my exercise routine is a bit squelched.
My goal for this blog, however, is in flux. “Writing to Wellness” is not just about blogging a journey of weight loss – it is about writing as a process in the quest for overall health. I have decided that posts will range farther afield than weight loss but will be clearly categorized so readers can choose topics of interest. I need to write more and write it here alongside the changes that are occurring in my body. I maintain the commitment that this will NOT be a journal for any emotional incontinence.
Hopefully my blogging skills will improve; the site become more interesting; and I will have fun.
Input is always welcome.