The Mood It Changes Like The Wind, Hard To Control When It Begins

I've probably donated blood a total of 15 (or so) times by now. It seems like such a small thing to do that can so greatly help someone, someone you'll never know, but someone that basically gets to live because people were willing to spend an hour and give something so easily. It's a good feeling.

However, it would seem that my veins don't always want to cooperate, and the last few times I had gone to give blood weren't exactly successful for me. At first it meant I just walked out well-bandaged, and had massive bruises (and looked like a junkie) for a few days. But then I had a couple of times where I was ill afterwards, and once I was basically out of commission for 3 days. I couldn't afford to miss days of work over blood donation, not to mention that it wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. So a little bit of fear kept me away for a while.

But I knew in the back of my mind that I should do it. I'm capable, and it could mean someone else's life. And that's why it made it on to my goal list.

Surprisingly, I had no trouble with my 3 visits. Whatever the issue was seems to have passed. Although it's a little trickier to do it regularly since we moved (there's no permanent clinic here, just a pop-up every two months), I'm sure I can now go in feeling a lot less apprehensive.

Oh and the bus was awesome.

Did You Bring Anything That You Made Yourself

Don't I look fancy?

The thought of having a tire blow on the highway when I am driving by myself was a little nerve-wrecking, especially since my commute to work is usually 30-45 minutes one way and on major highways. I figured I should stop being so girly and suck it up and learn how to change a tire.

I'm still not sure I could do it by myself, although I don't feel completely clueless anymore. I'm pretty sure that realistically I would call Nick and wait until he could come save me (sad, I know). I think I could maneuver fine in a pinch though, the only thing I worry about is actually having the strength to unlock the nuts. If they are air drill tight instead of finger tight, I don't stand a chance.

Either way, I won't feel quite as damsel-in-distress should anything happen to my tires.

Tell Me Baby What's Your Story

I pretty much stick to books I know I'm going to like. When I find an author I enjoy, that's all I want to read. I typically like fairly light reading, pure entertainment; Robin Cook, John Grisham, chick lit (and I don't mean Harlequin). Many of my reading goals were in an effort to branch out, and I don't know that I had ever read a biography before, except maybe for a high school project.

I didn't really have any people specifically in mind to read about; sadly it seems like there are more books written about actors and musicians than anyone else. I don't particularly enjoy politics and history either, so my options were limited (but really, who else is there that's famous and would have a book written about them).

I wanted a variety, and I think I got that with Marilyn Munroe, Michael Moore, and Oprah Winfrey. Only Moore's was an autobiography, which I discovered to be much better an option. The one on Marilyn was written by her semi-estranged sister so it wasn't too bad, but the one on Oprah, although interesting (despite the random and lengthy chapters devoted to TV syndication of the era just to provide an excessive amount of background information) still had a more than slight tabloid slant to it.

I think my final conclusion cannot be a sweeping statement about biographies, it completely depends on the author; obviously autobiographical is ideal (if not overly selective about what was included) but factual stuff can get really dry. I would read more, if ever there was a compelling person I wanted to learn about. Sadly most of the info could probably be gleaned from Wikipedia. I don't know if that's a good thing or not.

And The Night Goes By So Very Slow

Although it's been a while, my goal list has not disappeared, nor is all hope lost. There is a plan in place, and I can still get it all done. There's been some modifications of course, but I still think it will be a success come February 27th. And of course there will be many blog posts coming in the next little while, since I have some catching up to do.

Things that will become clear very soon:
1) the changes to my goal list and how I will manage to get it all done in just a little over a month,
2) how my weight loss is going (in short: good so far this year), and
3) updates on goals I have long since completed but have yet to write about.

Thing that needs to become clear ASAP:
1) why I am sitting alone on the floor in a closed room with a cat and a bunny trying not to cry more than I already have.

Ok, so the cat and bunny are irrelevant to the story. The bunny gets time out of the cage every day, and she seems to like the cat, so here we all are.

 Husbands are frustrating. I guess that's the short version of why I'm sitting where I am. 66666666666666666668 (Numbers courtesy of the bunny. Seriously.)

I'm at that point in my (current) weight loss journey where I drop the ball. I've been doing great since the new year (again, more on that later), and joined a DietBet (which maybe wasn't a totally smart idea in terms of my psychological perspective on my weight loss success). There is 8 days left to the end of the bet; I put in $30 and if I've lost 4% of my original weight, I win, and split the pot with other players that also met the goal. I'm 0.8 lbs (plus the weight of clothes) away from that. And I can honestly say that I have worked really hard since the bet started, haven't slipped or cheated even once. But with the deadline approaching, I'm afraid that despite my absolute best, I won't get there. And then I'm afraid that that thought will spurn me to sabotage myself to lose, so I don't have to face the possibility of failing with a truly sincere effort. That's always been my coping mechanism it seems; if I'm about to fail, just let go so there's a reason why I failed beyond the fact that my best just wasn't good enough.

So I'm on a precipice of sorts, that point where I either make it through, or I fall back into my old patterns. And with all of my weight loss attempts in the past, I've obviously yet to make it through to the other side. I've never been able to accept that it's ok to fail, even if you tried really hard. I have never let myself get to that point. But it's quickly approaching.

Anyway, that's no reason to cry, but I have been trying very hard today to keep myself away from overeating. I came home from work, did my sets of situps (I'm in the midst of the 200 Situp Challenge), then did one of my exercise videos (also on the 101 list) and noticed that while I was stretching during the cooldown that I could touch my toes.

I. Touched. My Toes. I figured it was a fluke. It was seated, which means I probably couldn't actually do it standing, right? Or my knees weren't really locked, they must have been bent. But once the video was over, I stood up and tried it. And I touched them again. And again. And again. I had to keep doing it because I was completely baffled and confused. Here's why:

a) It's on my list because my flexibility has always been brutal. Throughout all of my ups and downs of running spurts, I always stretched afterwards, and I always tried to reach for my toes after every run. When I was consistent, I actually did get closer and closer. At one point, I could skim the top of my running shoes, but that still meant I had a way to go. But I never quite got there. With just 5 weeks until my deadline, I wasn't sure it was going to happen, and I kept meaning to get started so I could stretch daily and hopefully get there in time. So ultimately, I've actually tried before to work up to touching my toes, and it never quite happened: reason one for being surprised.

b) I haven't been working out at all lately! I'm at a really high weight (211 lbs), and have probably worked out 5 times since September. I figured I wouldn't even be able to bend around my giant stomach, let alone be flexible enough to do it.

So I was floored. Completely. And confused because it made no sense, but also completely thrilled. It was the kind of surprising boost I needed to keep me motivated through this DietBet and on to the next steps of my weight loss journey, one that would continue to be successful until I reached my goal weight.

Ok, so still no reason to cry. Nick got home about 10 minutes after this mini-miracle of hope, and I was just exploding, so eager to share with him what happened, knowing that only he would understand how something so completely mundane could mean so much to me.

I started my story. I explained that something wild and baffling had just happened, and I re-iterated my past history of toe-touching as a build up to la pièce de resistance. I hadn't really gotten to the meat of the story yet (although I thought the build-up had made it pretty clear that I had some exciting news) when Nick's phone rang. He said a friend of ours had been trying to call him all day, saw it was him and answered.

*About the friend, Dave: He is in the military and had called us a few times over the last week because he is in the midst of getting posted somewhere new. He is currently about 4 hours from here, and the big news last week was that he was set to move out of province, about 24 hours away. He'd called a second time to say they were trying to get him posted somewhere in-province (since it was an error that had him being sent so far away and he was NOT thrilled about it). I figured it was pretty safe to say that today's call was going to be another update.

I felt shattered. I had news. Dave had news. Nick chose Dave to listen to first.

I guess I'm making a mountain of a molehill (or any other similar cliché), but I was crushed. If he had been calling all day, couldn't he have waited another 3 minutes? (Despite the repeated calls, it was clear it wasn't actually urgent, he just wanted to talk).

And that's when I cried. I feel completely unimportant and second rate. Nick got off the phone pretty quick (Dave did get a closer posting, only an hour away) but I was utterly deflated by that point and didn't have the enthusiasm or excitement to tell my story anymore. Besides, who cares about something as insignificant as touching your toes over where your best friend is going to spend the next 10 years?

Dave's news was important, it was. But my news was important to me, in that moment. And right about now I'm feeling even crappier about myself than I was before I did my workout. If this stuff is unimportant to Nick, then who do I have to share it with?

I feel pretty alone right now... Even the bunny and the cat have each other.