Losing Myself Part 2 - The Good

This post is a little uncomfortable to write because I hate sounding like I am patting myself on the back for my accomplishments.  The truth is my health is a gift from God and if this experience has taught me anything, it is to be grateful for what I have...even on the days I experience pain.

Speaking of pain, before I had back surgery, I lived on narcotics.  It was the only way to survive.  I am grateful for a successful surgery and recovery and for the progress I have made with my weight loss/strength gain because now, I can knock out the nerve pain with an ibuprofen.  And I really only need to do that about once a week or so.  I've learned it's all about stretching and staying loose through consistent exercise.

But I'll back up....Get it?  "BACK up"?  Never mind. Jordan would be rolling his eyes at me right now.

I was post-surgery and after a brief couple of great weeks, I started experiencing continued pain.  I was scared and frustrated that my entire life could consist of this level of pain.  I also began to fear the degenerated discs I have and the possibility of future surgeries, even more invasive than what I had gone through.

I went to Physical Therapy where I learned how to stretch well.  I learned what muscles lay on top of the damaged nerve and how to take care of them.  I learned safe ways to do things like pick up things off the ground without bending.  I finally started to feel better and a tad more confident about my future.

I also learned how weak I was...Everything that supports my spine (from my rear to my abs) was pathetic and possibly non-existent.  So, I decided to go back to the gym.

Thankfully, my gym had recently opened a Kids Club, so I dragged two year old Jordan and little baby Marcus and left them with the sweet workers and hoped for the best.  We had some rough days, but now, my kids walk in there like they own the place.  They pretty much do...we are there four days a week!

I went straight to my safe place...the elliptical in the dark Cardio Cinema room.  I focused on the formula...counting my calorie intake and burning what I needed to.  But I knew I had to add strength training at some point...I just wanted to get skinnier and stronger before I tried it!

Well, somehow I ended up trying the Body Pump class and God blessed me with an instructor who had the exact same surgery I did 16 years before me!  She was able to walk me through the lifts and help me modify to meet my needs.  I started with the teeny tiny weights and have gone to this class for 2 1/2 years and am much stronger.  In fact, I'm the strongest I've ever been in my life...and this includes the teenage sports-playing years.  In those days of yore, I only did pushups if my coach yelled at me to.  I kind of wish I could go back and show 17 year old me how to do a real pushup, but I guess it's not possible. :)

So, for me, strength training is the key.  Low weight, a million reps over years has resulted in much more muscle tone than if I had pushed myself hard and injured myself.  I've even been able to build enough that I can do SOME higher impact things like box jumps...mostly because I can control the landing.

I still have many limitations...I always joke that the teachers should pay me to be the "Modify Girl" if they ever make a video.  I can't (and won't) do dead lifts except with an empty bar.  No jumping jacks or double-leg jump roping.  My abs are still needing a lot of work, especially the ones responsible for twisting because when I try to twist intentionally, they fight back.  They have been trained so well to never twist, that they resist.

But, the biggest blessing of the whole "getting stronger" experience other than the getting stronger and being a much more fun and health mom part...is my gym family.  God has blessed me with many teachers, trainers, and fellow exercisers who push me, but understand my limitations and don't make me feel like I have to keep up.  They even caution me at times to rethink something...which competitive me doesn't always enjoy.  ("Hey Carol, you know if you squat with no weight, you can actually do the whole movement which will work the muscles you want to work instead of not really doing anything beneficial at all...")  But they have blessed me beyond measure by their support!

OK, so there's the secret to my weight loss...strength training and burning more calories than I took in.  You might be saying "Duh! That's not a secret".  You're right.  It's not.  Actually, I've left one thing out...the real key to everything.

Remember in Part 1?  That whole issue of slavery to food?  Well, going to the gym didn't fix that problem.  The problem of sin having a hold on my life.  The problem of self-control.  The really fierce, ugly battle I had to fight with sin.  I'll share more about that in Part 3.  That's not only the key to my weight loss, but my victory I've had over that master in my life.  It's a battle I continue to fight every day and will fight every day for the rest of my life.

By the way, I'm a nicer and more fun Mom now!  I am not in pain all of the time, so I'm less cranky.  And when the boys want to do something active...I can say "Yes!  I'll chase you all over the OU campus!" when they want to ride their bikes.

"Every good gift is from above..."

If you missed part one...

https://livinglindley.blogspot.com/2017/10/losing-myself-part-1-bad.html

Losing Myself Part 1 - The Bad

I have lost 30 pounds in 3 years.  It does not sound like a huge number, especially in a Biggest Loser world where we see people drop a hundred pounds in a few months on a reality show where they are completely isolated from their family, their temptations, their reality...but that's another story, right?  I have had many people ask me how I did it.  So, I thought I would share my journey to this point...but it's a road I will walk for the rest of my life.  It's not a quick fix.  It's been about much more than diet and exercise. 

So, in this first post, I'll go back to where I was 3 years ago...weighing over 200 pounds and in horrific, debilitating pain from a ruptured disc.  Waiting for surgery to "fix" it so I could "fix" myself.  But that wasn't really the beginning.

My food issues have existed a lot longer than my weight issues have existed.  My weight issues began to happen towards the end of college and only increased in severity as I got older. My food issues boil down to this: I. Love. Food.  I do...I love it.  I love to eat good food.  I love to eat dessert.  I love fudge at Christmas time.  I love chocolate chip cookies.  I love to go to a Mexican restaurant and devour chips and queso.  And then devour a chimichanga.  And then a sopapilla.  I love Chinese buffets and the plethora of deliciousness there.  I love Italian restaurants and eating more than my share of bread dipped in olive oil.  And then finishing off pasta with some sort of cheesy white sauce.  I love food.

It probably sounds crazy to confess this, because who doesn't love delicious food?  But seriously, I LOVE food.  More than I should.  I remember one time, I told Blake "I think I'm a slave to food."  He agreed, which of course immediately hurt my feelings.  I knew I was in a bad place by the time I turned 30 and was mom of two little bitty boys.  But I didn't know what to do about it.

So I just tried harder.  I've been on so many diets.  In college, I did the South Beach Diet.  I lost six pounds in two weeks.  It was amazing.  And then I gained it back plus more because I was so hungry.  I tried Weight Watchers.  Nope.  I tried the "Don't Eat Until You Are Really Hungry" diet.  Fail.  I tried counting calories.  Cue obnoxious buzzer sound.  I couldn't overcome my gluttony.  So, I would quit until I moved up a size of pants again.  And I'd try something else.

What about exercise?  Yes.  I did some.  I played 3 sports in high school which hid my food problem.  I worked out some in college, but not enough to fully hide that Freshman Fifteen.  I still played soccer on a rec team, so I burned some calories.  But the weight kept adding up in small amounts.  I started running and training for a 5K.  I'm competitive so I got into it for a while.

In my late 20's, I had a group of other moms who did a points challenge.  I finally found something that motivated me and got me to the gym and to control what I ate.  I earned points and hopefully money at the end of each challenge so I did what I needed to do and lost a noticeable amount of weight.  It was accountability but I depended completely on other people and what they did to be successful.  When they dropped out of the challenge, I stopped.

And then I got pregnant.  I was super excited and didn't gain a ton because I was sick.  I stopped exercising because I was sick and had a two year old.  I had a baby and thought "Alright, now I'm going to lose this and be the fit and trim mom I've always wanted to be."

Cue the back pain.  And the MRI.  The PT.  The meetings with the neurosurgeon.  The surgery.  The recovery.  And the limitations.  No running.  No treadmills on inclines.  No bending at the waist.  No twisting.  No jumping.  No high impact workout.  Did I mentioned degenerated discs to worry about?  And I still loved food.

Thankfully, God did not leave me in a hopeless place.  He took me on a journey of learning to be strong and disciplined and a journey of dying to myself.  I'll save that for part 2.