Therapy

Therapy. Everyone needs a little every once in awhile. My therapy used to be writing. I have kept a journal since age 10. Now I am 30 and it still seems like good therapy. There is no way my 2011 can be summed up into a little blog. Therapy. I tried the old fashioned kind where you talk to someone about your problems, but at the end of the day I felt silly closing my eyes and thinking of a place where I could feel peace. I felt like a total failure explaining all my shortcomings in life, marriage, and parenthood to a complete stranger who was young, beautiful and seemingly happily married. So, I stopped going. Good or bad choice? I am not completely sure. But if you aren't comfortable opening up to someone, how can this type of therapy work? I swear I am  not a pessimist though! :) Therapy. Punching a bag, kicking a bag...HARD. Fitness kickboxing is indeed therapy. In between my huffing and puffing (and occasional hit off my Albuterol inhaler) I punch, I kick, I de-stress. Therapy. Food. My enemy. Stupid bodily need to eat and drink. But I think many can attest to the powers of food related to stress...I mean studies have been done right? I am, no doubt, a stress eater. I envy those who actually lose their appetite when the stress is maxed. Me, my appetite doubles. Nothing...no one...makes me feel like food does when I am stressed out. Stupid best friend.

Funny though, when all hell broke loose in my life I didn't turn to my best therapy. I guess I had already started myself on a new and improved health pattern in my life. I took up running in February of 2010, and kept it up until September of that year. I ran more than a handful of 5k's that summer, eventually scoring a free 10 week session to an extreme fitness place that September. Back to February. Let me tell you, February was a TOUGH beginning. Summer of 2009 was a stark revelation that opened my eyes. I can't even remember what event my ex-husband and I were heading to but I needed a new pair of "dress" shorts. So, off I went shopping. Shopping when you are chubby is not fun, let me just say that. I had been a solid size 18 for quite awhile now, 16 if I didn't eat for a couple days. Many stores later, after all kinds of trying to squeeze into an 18, I bought a size 20. Holy. Crap. A T-W-E-N-T-Y. I stared at the tag and didn't know whether to cry or laugh. So, I cut the tag out. No one needed to see what size it was. I knew, and I never had been so ashamed in my life. All the crappy eating, non existent working out was catching up to me. I could no longer blame it on "oh I just had a baby" because my "baby" was 2 years old. That Christmas I bought a dress. It was basically a sweater sack. I bought cute tights and those fake furry boot things...I could barely wear those because my calves were so big. I was uncomfortable the ENTIRE time in church...things needed to change. The first pic is Sept. 2009 and the second pic is August 2008. In both pics I am wearing a size 1X shirt. Actually the jacket in the second pic is a maternity jacket. eek.

February of 2010 I weighed 235 lbs. I am 5'4". There is no reason I need to be this weight...my frame was not made to support that! So, for seriously like the 4th or 5th time I joined Weight Watchers. I ran. I ate well. Sure didn't wear those 20's for long! So long bitch!! March, April, May...lost lost lost. May. Ugh May. My marriage had undoubtedly begun to unravel at this point. I fought for my marriage...but harder for my new body. I was finally giving myself something, something no one could ever give me or take from me. This was all me baby. I did this. I won't talk much about my marriage and eventual divorce on this blog by the way....no need to be angry while I type. :) By August I had gotten into a solid 16 and was down 35 lbs or so. I was hovering around 200lbs SO anxious to break into the "100s". Then my grandpa died. All I did for 2-3 weeks straight around his death was eat. Stress. Therapy. Food. Ahhh. Felt like home. My best friend helped me once again through all my grief. No shock that I put back on 15lbs or so. Damn.

September 25, 2010 arrived. This was my "D-Day". I arrived to Farrell's VERY unsure of myself. Could I really handle what the title says "Farrell's Extreme Body Shaping"??? Extreme? Sure, I had been running but this? Eesh. Watching all the people file in the building was intimidating to say the least. So many in shape people. What in all that is holy are these people doing here?? You are already skinny. I put my fears aside and found my name on a notebook, found my team and sat down. We were all inspecting each other, sizing one another up...wondering who we would partner with on our first kickboxing day. Testing. Oh my. Testing was insane. My numbers were crazy low. Testing involved how many sit ups and push ups you can do in one minute, sit and reach, one mile run (which mine was high time, not low) and then...your picture. You, in a sports bra and shorts....and a fully dressed stranger with a camera. Humiliating. 200 lbs to start. Here are my beginner pictures. They look worse in person.

For 6 days a week I kickboxed, strength trained, ate protein, drank water and most of all, didn't cheat! It. Felt. Amazing. I could feel the change in my clothes. I could feel the increase in energy. It was insane!! Your body treats you so well when you treat it well. (I already knew quite the opposite was true.) I had an amazing coach, a partner in crime to kickbox with and just an all around great support group. December 4th came. The moment of truth. It was a repeat of the first day...nerves again. But, ALL my numbers improved! I had dropped a minute off my mile, increased in both my situps, pushups and sit and reach, but most importantly (to me) I had lost close to 20 lbs! I weighed in at 180 lbs. Hot damn! That night, for the celebration dinner I bought a size 12. Yessssss. A 12. They were tight but they were a 12! Finally that 2 was in the second place, not the first. I think my shirt was even a large. Wow. Here are my after pictures:
 
So, why does this matter Abby? Why are you blogging about this?? Well, it all comes back to therapy. An outlet. I don't care who reads this. Sure, I hope some do...I hope I can inspire some and vice versa. But basically, as I sit here on this New Year's Day, I am back to my old tricks. My old best friend has creeped its way back into my life. During this blog post I have eaten an entire box of Hot Tamales. I ate pop tarts for breakfast. Pizza for dinner. I have MAYBE had 2 glasses of water today and double that in Diet Mountain Dew. So to me, it does matter. July of 2011 I got to my lowest weight. 166 lbs. I fit comfortably into a size 10. I shopped in the juniors section. I wore medium and small shirts. I wore tank tops and shorts (gasp!) for the first time in probably 5 years. Today, I am at 176 (ok maybe 180) pounds. My size 10s? Yeah, they don't fit. 12's are getting tight. I am back to hiding in my clothes rather than dressing up my body. I don't want to be here. I hate it. January 7th Farrell's has the new 10 week session starting. I am now a FIT member and will be competing in this new challenge as well. My motivation: health and wellness. I do not feel healthy. I do not feel well. I feel disgusting most days. The old adage "you are what you eat" is certainly true. While I may not look like a donut (which is a solid comfort food for me, curse you maple donuts) I definitely feel its greasy effects. God it feels amazing when you eat that little O of fat and sugar...but after I just feel eater's remorse. So, I am going to blog. Write. Therapy baby. Somethin's gotta give. Before I know it I will be back to that 18-pushing-20. Just the thought of that makes my heart skip a beat. I never want to be that Abby again. I am shooting for this again:

Minus the hideous hair and the sweatiness. Or maybe I will keep the sweat. It means you did something. Either way, I am writing. Raw. Unapologetic. My personal struggle. Read it or not, it will be here as an outlet...and as a reminder to me to keep going. Work hard. Do it. Only I have control over this. Hard to remember when you feel totally controlled by one of your forms of therapy.

Therapy. Everyone needs a little once in awhile.