Tag Archives: self-improvement

Hypnosis and Nail Biting: An Experiment

29 May

You know, after trying over fifty new things last year, sometimes I wonder how I’ll continue to find fresh and interesting things to try as I maintain my Lollipop Tuesday series.  Luckily, there are a variety of daily deal companies that are happy to litter my inbox with wacky shit to try for a cheap price.  This week, it was hypnosis.  Because nothing says “hey, this is creepy and uncomfortable” like a Daily Deal Voucher for Hypnotherapy.

Happy Lollipop Tuesday, ladies and gentlemen.

As far as Lollipop Tuesday adventures go, on a scale of 1 to awkward, hypnosis ranked somewhere beyond the meter.  It was a prime example of an instance in which I could be murdered (as are almost all instances of leaving the house).  The idea of lone wolfing it into a strange office with a couch to talk about my feelings, get put into a trance by a watch, and to cluck like a chicken is, in my opinion, a likely murder scenario.  Because if someone is willing to do all of those things, they’re also probably willing to go out back to the shed and dig their own grave for you to bury them in.  

Anyway, I spent quite a great deal of time leading up to my appointment by strengthening my mind to oppose any ideas that might lead to my own murder while under hypnosis.  It was a lot like Harry Potter being trained for Occlumency, except I played the parts of both Snape and Harry.

I had no idea what to expect.   I was really hoping it would be like Office Space. 35 dollars for an experience that would result in my complete apathy toward work-related things, a loaded bank account from a scheme that I don’t go to jail for, and a coworker burning down my place of business is a great daily deal voucher indeed.   What I didn’t expect is to be asked what I was coming in for.  I told the hypnotherapist (let’s call him Skip) that I wanted to try something new.  He told me that he likes to focus on something for the sessions and that he would like to know what I struggle with.

That’s a little personal, but hey: I’ll roll.

As many avid readers know, I tend to take out my nervousness, boredom and/or general mood swings on my fingers.  It’s not just my nails; in fact, now it’s all cuticles.  I go at them with the vigor of a rabid mongoose as if in a trance and when I come to, I’m staring at something from Grindhouse.

Skip seemed happy to address my nail biting issue but the gravity of my scenario didn’t seem to hit him until I was on the couch in his office and he was talking to me about my “feelings”.  I didn’t really anticipate the couch treatment.  I don’t know why, but I thought we would just casually chat and then he’d put me in a trance.  Instead, he asked me about my history with my hands and when it started.  I told him I can’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t do it.

He got real serious on me then.

He started asking me how I feel when I do it, what the scenarios are that make me do it.  I told him I’ll revert to it when I’m bored.  If I’m forced out in social situations and I don’t want to be there, I’ll often just take out my angst on my hands.  Skip asked me what I meant by angst.  I explained that I didn’t really like to be around people.  He asked me what I do to cope and I said sometimes I’ll put on a character to just get through the night and pretend I like it.  I started to explain the concept of Mindee when I realized something very serious about myself:

I sound like an effing loon.

Really, I sound like I should be institutionalized.  I don’t like to leave my apartment because the idea of running into people I know or being forced into social situations with people I even call my friends makes me so angsty and upset that I often put on a character in order to cope? 

Suddenly, the nails don’t seem to be the problem.

I tried to casually wrap up conversation on the crazy nesting in my head and he said “I think I’ve got a good amount to work with here” and told me I could have a seat in the enormous  La-Z-Boy to his left.   Skip explained that the session would consist of an active relaxation technique in which he would guide me through a visualization using repetition and reaffirming statements. I would close my eyes but I would not sleep.  By the way, there were no watches involved.

Sounded simple to me.  You do a lot of strange things in theater school and lying on the floor, pretending to be somewhere else while music played in the background was certainly one of the tamer ones.  I told myself the worst part of the session was over.  I can do visualization.  I’ve rolled around on the floor in front of twenty of my peers using only the terms ‘glitter’ and ‘kitten’ as my guide; I can take a mental walk with a Hypnotherapist as my forest guide.

He guided me through relaxing all my muscles and thoughts and did the stereotypical “deeper and deeper” repetition to help get me into my happy place.  All I really did is go to my skeptical place, because in those theater classes in voiceover recordings and I was really unimpressed with his lack of vocal variety.

I imagined skeptical Jackie was not welcome on the forest walk so I tried to leave her behind and instead heard Skip reading aloud the Mad Lib we had created together earlier.   I was a wood nymph, headed to a pool of water on the forest floor and when I looked into the pond I saw someone with beautiful hands.  And that from then forward, I would feel (insert mad lib word from couch session) when I looked at my hands instead of (insert mad lib word from couch session).

It was kind of hard to get into it since his techniques were so obvious, but it was even harder when he kept accidentally incorporating cue words from a beach visualization into my sacred forest glade.

Apparently a lot of people order the beach for their getaway.

I wasn’t sure what the effects of bouncing between a beach and a forest would do to my inner psyche but I’m pretty protective of my napping hours and I don’t want Skip getting in there and messing things around.  I thanked him for his time, the recording, reassured him that the beach/forest mixup was no biggie, and went on my merry way.   He awkwardly wished me a happy future with beautiful hands.

Immediately after my session, I went to get a manicure.  All that talk about my ugly and/or beautiful hands made me want to spend twelve dollars on my digits.  And though I think it’s much more a result of paying so much attention to the issue and not so much the Hypnotherapy, I must admit that it’s been a week and I have yet to tear at myself so viciously.  Don’t get me wrong: I still do it every single day, but I’m sparing the nails now and only going for the cuticles and when I attack my fingers, I snap out of the daze and stop the violence a lot earlier.

I think that had a lot to do with Skip’s eye judgment and insinuation that I’m an addict out of control.  I didn’t like how quickly he made me feel like a lunatic with his hypnobabble mad libs and his alarm at my social anxiety.  I don’t want to say Hypnotherapy worked, but to be fair I have to admit that my nails look better this week than they have in quite some time.

I think my record for such achievements is two weeks.  In three, I’ll likely get a visit from my inner mongoose.  I’ll keep you posted. Until then, I’ll keep playing the voice of Skip walking me through the beach/forest and I’ll keep reimagining the rousing game of psychiatric mad libs on a leather couch.  

So far, so good.  Just don’t make me go back to the couch. 

Where’s My Fat Loss Hallelujah?

29 Feb

I really thought that when I reached my goal weight, it would be a little more like Jennifer Hudson with singing and magical fairies of fat loss and a little less oh, I don’t know – ordinary?

Mind you, I know not whether I’ve actually reached my goal weight.   It’s just that I’ve been jogging 2-3 times a week for about 5 months and I’m eating better and since I used to have macaroni and cheese and cheeseburgers twice a week and sat on my very cushioned tush every single day before that, logic dictates that I must have lost something. …Right?

The whole weighing-myself thing wasn’t going very well so I ditched it;  now I have The Naked System.  Instead of weighing myself, now I just stare at my pudge in the mirror every day.  I pinch it, I cradle it, I inspect it from all sides, and in the process determine my accomplishments.  If I’m overly soft, I get more motivated to eat and jog that day.  If I’m proud of myself, I decide it’s because I’ve been having pudgy naked time in the mirror every day and it’s working.  And if I stay the same, well, that’s because I check every single day and change is slow.

So I don’t have a number on the scale I’m looking for because I won’t let myself look.  I just know that 5 months ago I could take all the stomach fat in my hands and hold it in front of my body.  I was so married to it that I had considered a variety of Jackie Blog marketing tactics including a muppet, a voice, a variety show… But now the Pudge Muppet is gone.  I have forced my body to run against its will. It’s been months of jogging and eating better and having pudgy naked time and now when I wear my pants the second time after a wash, they scoot down my hips.

Photo borrowed from the magical fat fairy celebration parade.

I thought that was the sign.  I thought something epic like pants scooting down hips meant that  a fat version of me would burst out of the closet singing about the woman I used to be.  Then I could endorse a food establishment of my choosing and get a book deal and go on talk shows discussing the secret to how I changed my entire life and have nothing more important in my character than my ability to be fit.  Maybe I could even get my own google doodle.  (The o’s would obviously compose my former marshmallowy bottom).

But I even put on my skinny jeans the other day and there was no doppelganger bursting forth from the closet to sing a duet with me.  It was just me, singing in the mirror.  Naked.

It’s times like those that I’m glad my cats can’t talk.

I had sincerely hoped that by now people would start to notice, but the only one who’s said anything at all is the cleaning lady at work.  Either she’s  just trying to make me feel better or she’s the only one who I encounter in my daily life.  Neither is a preferable truth.

Maybe the change has to be more drastic.  Maybe I just need to get some better fitting clothes instead of walking around in my former fat suits.  Or maybe Angelina Jolie’s emaciated limbs at the Oscars made it impossible for anyone to look worthy of a fat loss hallelujah session.

I should probably just call JHud myself and see what it is that made her former fatty burst forth in vocal glory.   I want my nationally televised self-duet.

Until then, I’ll just keep rehearsing in the mirror. 

The Final Post: A Postaday 2011 Conclusion

31 Dec

I don't get to cross an actual finish line, but I can stare at this and pretend.

This is my 365th post in a row and the final in my postaday2011 challenge.

When I started a 365 project, I started writing this blog  because I didn’t know what else to do.  I had a blog back in 2004 that I infrequently updated for a few years and thought I could take it out and dust it off to see what came of it.  I wanted to know how it would feel to dedicate myself to a journaled, daily experience every day for an entire year.

The answer is that it’s pretty mind-blowing.  At the risk of sounding life a Lifetime television special, I’d certainly say I learned a lot about myself and my process for achieving something that doesn’t have room for small failures.  You either post every day, or you don’t. There’s no room for anything in between: no ideas to write about, people to see, things to do, sleep to catch up on, a project due… the list of obstacles go on but they’re simply that – obstacles.  In the end, it’s as easy as answering the question of whether you did what you set out to do or not.

This is a powerful concept for me.  I suppose that’s silly since our lives are littered with tiny advertising mantras (e.g. No Excuses, Just Do It).  But repeating a few small words to yourself and actually carrying them out are drastically different things.  I learn by doing, and so now I have truly learned.

I know this is powerful because for the past 5 weeks, I have been carrying out the Couch to 5K running program.  Five weeks ago I decided that I would apply the same concept to running as I applied to my blog.  As a natural-born couch potato, I couldn’t imagine me following through on my most hated activity: running. But this morning I ran for 20 minutes straight and graduated to the 6th week of the 9-week program.   It’s incredibly close to being a success story.

The idea that I can look back on 2011 and know that I have documented every day, accomplished the goal of breaking out of my shell and trying new things with my Lollipop Tuesday series, and have become a better writer by forcing myself to write and post it on a public forum every single day of the year is awesome.  I have never completed a New Year’s Resolution before and it feels incredible to have documented proof of achieving my goal this year.

I would encourage everyone to attempt a 365 Project for 2012.  You can do anything, but make it daily and document it somehow.  Take a picture, draw something, cook something, write something, go somewhere, create  something, exercise, try a new food – no goal is too big or too small.  No matter what you choose, you’ll be better at it and be so much more knowledgeable after 365 days of practice and next year at this time you can look back and know that you bettered yourself as a person and grew in whichever area you chose.  You can assure that you don’t sleep through another year with the same old drudgery.  You can point to something very concrete and say you did it.  You learned, you grew, you conquered.

So what will you make 2012 about?  I made 2011 about being a better writer and being more openminded.  It was difficult.  There were days I didn’t want to post, days I had a thousand things to do, days I was embarrassed of what I had to offer but had no other choice to offer it, and days that I hated myself for doing something so public and grandiose.  This isn’t about a New Year’s Resolution.  This is about a 365 Project. It’s about discipline and dedication.  It’s about putting your year to good use and remembering to take time for a passion.

Thank you all so very much for joining me on my journey.  I’m overwhelmed by the amount of support I had along the way from people I’ve never even met.  I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to read, especially on the days that were less than inspired.

Who knows? I might miss posting tomorrow and not be able to resist the urge.  Or I might stick to my guns and reduce my posts to once a week. At any rate, it’s been one heck of a ride and I’m so grateful that you took it with me.

Thank you all and Happy New Year.  May we all put it to most excellent use. 

2011: The Year I Sucked at Lots of Things

27 Dec

You know that moment when you’re watching a television show and you realize that the entire episode is going to be a flashback/homage to past episodes?

Then you know what today’s Lollipop Tuesday will feel like.

Happy Lollipop Tuesday, folks.  It’s the last of the year.  The last – the final – the end of the road!  In my ideal world, I would have written this post from a hot air balloon ride – the perfect cherry on my Lollipop Tuesday sundae a year in the making.  But I didn’t go on a hot air balloon ride.  It turns out they don’t do amateur blogger discounts.

So it’s all over. Man, what will I do with all the time I used to scour the local paper for listings or drive hours outside the city to explore some strange activity?  Maybe I’ll miss it so much that I’ll continue in 2012.  Maybe I’ll give up on it entirely and look back at 2011 fondly as the year I tried a bunch of things that made me want to vomit from anxiety.  I’m betting on the latter.

At any rate, it’s been a heckuva ride.  When I started Lollipop Tuesdays this year, I had two goals in mind.  One was to break up the monotony of postaday by having a weekly series that folks could tune into if they didn’t care for the ranting and raving of my borderline psychotic mind on other days of the week.  The other was to challenge myself in a way that would force me to grow, whether I liked the journey or not.  The concept was simple: seek out something new that I would inevitably suck at (hence the lollipop/sucker reference in the term). 

I remember after a few Lollipop Tuesday adventures, I began to hate the fact that I ever started them.  I think it was right around the time that I said yes to taking a pole-dancing class and then realized I had no way to get out of it.  Sometimes I really despised conquering the unknown, seeking out locations posted on flyers and wandering into places having no idea what to expect or what would be asked of me. 

But that was the entire point.

I’ve convinced myself I hate movies that I never actually sat down to watch.  I’ve waited so long to try new things that they build up in my head as insurmountable.  For a long time, I was content to note that I’m awkward and inwardly and have no interest in anything that makes me uncomfortable.   So 2010 Jackie saw to it that 2011 Jackie would be forced to change.  

I’d like to think that I have.  I’d like to think that these experiences have helped my anxiety and attitude toward new experiences and that I’m a more open-minded and daring person than I was before.  I don’t know if any of that is necessarily true – I suppose it comes down to what I do and how I react when I’m not held accountable to post about it later on.

One thing I have definitely begun to stew on is the idea of a Bucket List (a list of things you want to do before you kick the bucket).  I think Bucket Lists are fantastic in theory, but in action I don’t really know too many folks who are actively seeking to accomplish the things on them.   There isn’t much point in keeping track of a bunch of good intentions that you hope to cash in on when you’re too old and penniless to make it happen.  I think Bucket Lists should be more like To Do lists – we should set out to accomplish them as soon as we are able.  

If everyone just committed to a Lollipop Tuesday every so often, they might look back when they’re old and penniless and realize that they don’t have a whole lot left that they haven’t already tried.  Maybe in time, Lollipop Tuesdays can push out the idea of the Bucket List and we can be people who are constantly trying new things, not people who hope to someday accomplish them.

Here’s to 2012 and whatever new adventures it brings.  May we be open to the daring and unknown. ◊

Have you seen all fifty Lollipop Tuesday posts?  If not (or if you’d like to brush up for old time’s sake), check out the “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?” header at the top of this page.  Or just click here

Run, Jackie, Run.

15 Dec

I’ve actually begun to kind of look forward to running.

I can’t believe I just wrote that.  But there it is.  Just, you know, sitting there.  

For those of you who don’t have a feeding tube inserted from my blog to your brain, 1) button’s on the right and 2) let’s debrief.  I started this program called Couch to 5K in an attempt to truly test the psychology that has (so far) successfully propelled me through posting each and every day in 2011.  The idea is that I take the same no-excuses attitude, publicize it so people hold me accountable, and try to tackle the thing I hate most in the entire world: running.

One of the things that drew me to Couch to 5K is that it advises you not to do any more than it calls for, even if you think you can.  Since it’s built for couch potatoes, it doesn’t want you to get burned out and quit.   But earlier this week, I was sincerely pondering breaking the rules.  I just wanted to feel good about the fact that I ran that day.  I wasn’t in the mood to run, per se… I just wanted to be proud of myself and imagine my kangaroo pouch shrinking while I was huffing and puffing.

I’m using it for some serious storage.

Perhaps some psychoevaluation is in order.  It appears to be a classic case of Stockholm Syndrome.  With no choice but to continue on in the program I’ve so widely publicized and rooted in an activity I so deeply despise, I’ve begun to accept my position as captive and am starting to empathize with my captor.

Never, ever, in my life did I think this would be true.  Of course, I’ve only almost finished week three of a nine-week program.  Next week I could be cursing and devising new and exciting ways to break my foot so I can cop out.  But what if I just keep…liking it? What if I turn into some kind of crazy running beast that can’t be stopped?

Well, the asthma will get me eventually.  But after near-death and a puff of that inhaler: BEAST.

I’m on to something here.  I’m going to unlock and entire world of psychoanalysis discovery.  I can hear the news anchors now: “Postadayer turned marathon runner? How this awkward hermit girl became the Forrest Gump of our time.”  I’ll write memoirs and I’ll get shoe endorsements and I’ll take the world by storm.

But first: week four. 

A View from the Fence

14 Dec

I’m afraid that I’m spending my time in the present telling myself that it won’t be my future and that in the future I’ll look around and realize it’s still my present.

Isn’t that what we’re all afraid of? I’m squishy, I bite my nails, I’m a slave to the corporate machine, I want to go to grad school, I want to travel somewhere fantastical, and I want to accomplish something truly amazing in my lifetime.  I drug myself through my everyday experiences by telling myself that someday, these things will change.  

On a small scale, I’m working on them.  A few of them.  Truly working.  But I’ve worked on them before and failed, which is why I’m working on them now.  And so every day I have this tiny little voice in the bottom of my toes that cries up to my tiny heart and says go do something drastic.  Just go.  The Appalachian Trail, backpacking in Europe, starting my own business, walking to California, writing a novel – the voice has had a lot of time to think up suggestions.  And my brain follows right behind, touting that the important things in life are experiences and that there is no point to paying bills and having a roof over my head and fulfilling traditional adult expectations if I’m not doing those things in order to fuel a passion or fulfill a purpose.  It whispers real-life examples.  People who throw away everything normal about their lives to fulfill a dream or take an epic adventure or start a journey they feared they’d never plunge into unless they jumped on the spark in their stomachs. 

And then it tells me to get serious and that I can’t spend my life as a dirty, starving hippie, wandering the earth without a clear cause.

Sometimes I think the plan is to, well, plan.  For x amount of years, I’ll try such and such.  For y amount of years, I’ll do this and see if it works out.  By [insert year here] I will accomplish the things on this list I put somewhere but never look at.

Other times I think I’m making it all too complicated and that I need to just keep an open mind and take opportunities as they come, constantly being sure to simultaneously seek them out. 

There’s something inside me that won’t allow me to live an average life.  I don’t want to spend it in a slumber.  I don’t want to have a steady, predictable job so that I can buy a place to put the things I buy in and then invite everyone over and show them my place where I put my things and give birth to little versions of me who grow up to learn that jobs and places to put your things are what life is about.

Have you ever thought about how little of the world you’ll see in your lifetime? You can travel all you want, but there are so many places to go.  The world is so huge and the experiences it has to offer are so numerous.  There are going to be things you never see, places you never step foot in, and adventures you never embark on. 

I just can’t figure out if that means that I should go do as many of them as possible or that it’s just reality and we live where we live in the means that are allowed us, and we must make small adventures into big ones.  If I pick either and dedicate myself fully to it, as I am wont to do, I could make a huge mistake taking either path.  With one, I risk spending my life in a slumber; with the other, I risk throwing away everything to go on a journey that fails miserably and makes everyone think I’ve lost all shreds of sanity.

Or, I could live a life on the fence where I am currently perched: not willing to choose a side but not wanting to look back at a life that was lived just on the cusp of a decision. 

That’s surely no life at all. 

A Need Tae Practice Ma Scots

13 Dec

Hey, look at that: It’s Lollipop Tuesday!

What’s Lollipop Tuesday, you ask? The same thing it’s been for the last fifty weeks – which is why if you’re a noob, you can check out the link at the top of this page that says “What’s Lollipop Tuesday?” and see all the social-anxiety-inducing adventures I’ve had this year.  There are only two left  after today, y’all.  TWO.  Which is why I had to make this week good.

So I went Scottish Country Dancing.

To be honest, I had no idea what on God’s green earth Scottish Country Dancing  was.  But sometimes when I get desperate for Lollipop Tuesday ideas, I check the listings in my local paper for what kind of wacky groups are taking visitors.  Last time it was the Competitive Scrabble Club, and as many of you know, that didn’t go so great.  This time, it was the Scottish Country Dance Society.  So I hauled my jiggly butt off the couch and off to an Episcopalian church full of some eager dancing beavers.

I had a lot of reservations about this experience before going into it.  As Dave, Marvin, and I climbed the mountain to the location, Dave and I both talked about how much we didn’t want to go.  Me, because I was by no means equipped for dancing of any sort. Dave,  because he has a long, sordid history of dating Irish competitive dancers – and while Scottish and Irish are not the same, he has a visceral nausea at the thought of returning anywhere near to that land.  

I couldn't blame Dave. Frightening, no?

When we got to the church, we were warmly greeted by everyone and then they got right to business.  After a short warmup, the leader announced that we would not dance with partners our same level – which meant that Dave and I couldn’t just fumble around like morons together: I actually had to try.  That’s when the head hauncho looked my way and took me as his lass.

Super.

I think he smelled my fear because after a brief demonstration, I was passed off to a soft, older gentleman (let’s call him Morrie) who seemed somewhat amused by my absolute lack of skill and was happy to herd me to where I needed to be, point directly at me when I was supposed to be flailing in his general direction, and was incredibly understanding of the fact that though I was in a relatively small space with only 8 people to navigate, I was completely incapable of staying on course.

Quickly, my embarrassment dissipated and instead focused on the realization that everyone around me was at least 20 years (and some 40) my elder and all were outperforming me aerobically.  After two dances I was reminding myself to control my breathing and Morrie looked like he could have Scottish hopped his way through a 2 mile relay race.  

It’s moments like these that I regret the existence of both Ben and Jerry.

Kilts were not required but I wouldn't have been opposed to the idea.

But I powered through.  I told myself it was because I ran right before I came (true, but sad nonetheless) and tried to focus more on being embarrassed from not being able to hold 32 counts in my head at the same time.  With all that skipping and jumping and partner changing, I tend to get distracted from the matter at hand.

In spite of how incredibly out of shape I am and the reminder that I cannot dance well with even the most straightforward and considerate instruction, I actually had a nice time.  Because despite being the same demographic as the Competetive Scrabble Club, these people were nice.  They were forgiving and accepting and actually meant “beginners welcome”.   It surprises me how many groups I’ve visited that have such a sense of exclusivity when they clearly state that they welcome visitors.  Most of them are dirty, rotten liars.  And even if they’re open to the idea of noobs, once they find out that you’re just there to have an experience and write a blog, sometimes they get a little funny on you.  But not these folks.  In fact, Dave and I so appreciated how they smiled warmly when I was going the wrong direction and making it look more like an inebriated dance than a social one that on the way home we said we were happily surprised and might even return someday.

Before that time, it’d be great if I could get hooked up with right foot and a greater lung capacity. 

Psst: If you happen to be near my corner of the world, check out the Pittsburgh Scottish Country Dance Society here and consider dropping in on one of their classes.  If I can do it, you certainly can.  Plus, Morrie is adorable.

Cracking the Fit Club Code

9 Dec

 

I tried to make this image smaller but it was being rude. So I relented out of frustration. All hail the enormous stick figure runner. DIE IN A FIRE, PICTURE.

I’m having a hard time gathering enough stomach fat to hold it in my hands in front of me now.

That’s radical.

There were really only two times in my life that I’ve been able to say that.  The first is when I was a vegetarian (8 months, Thanksgiving turkey got me), and the second is when I had mono.  So unless I’m starving myself or my body is starving itself, I’ve been fat.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m still totally fat.  But yesterday I put on a pair of pants I haven’t worn in forever because I feel distinctly like I have two sausage link for legs when I’m in them.  And when I sat in my office chair, the waist of the pants didn’t even cut into my stomach and make me feel like I was being stabbed to death by a rubber knife.

I’ve only been running for two weeks, so I’m not really sure how I can lose so much in so little time but that’s pretty darn exciting.  I did three weeks of P90X and didn’t notice any change at all.  This seems strange to me – as if I’ve entered some sort of dimensional fold that is quickly rewarding me for doing something I absolutely hate.  How is it that working out for 1.5 hours 6 days a week got me nowhere fast and interval running for 30 minutes 3 days a week is beginning to make my body stop jiggling furiously while I brush my teeth?

That’s a serious fat girl problem, people.  No joke.

Now, I don’t want to go all life lesson preacher on you because it’s only been two weeks and I seriously can’t even imagine graduating to the 3rd, 4th, and 5th weeks of this program, let alone ever actually running a 5K.  That sounds like crazy talk to me.  But right now, at this point in time, I’m succeeding.  And I think I’m having an epiphany.  My entire life, I assumed that there were people who liked to work out and people who didn’t like to work out and I was one of the latter which is why it never stuck.  And while I’m sure there may be people in this world who like to work out, I think it’s only a very small percentage of humans.  I don’t think they’re doing it because they like it.  I think they’re doing it because they like it more than the alternative.  It feels better to wreck yourself for an hour or less than spend an entire day feeling like a fat turd.

I think I cracked the code.   Listen: I don’t like running.  I’ve been very honest about the fact that I’m doing this as an experiment on how far I can take this whole “no excuses” psychology by doing something I absolutely hate.  But what I do like is finally shaking that feeling that “I should really try to get healthy”.  I’m not walking around with this huge sack of shoulds on my shoulders and it’s awesome.  If I hate myself and what I’m doing for 30 minutes straight, I can spend the other 23.5 hours in the day not thinking about how out of shape I am, how bad my skin looks, or how I should make more of an effort.

Is this obvious? I don’t feel like it’s obvious.  I feel like things are presented to us in terms of people who enjoy working out and people who enjoy sitting on their pillowy bottoms, eating comfort food, and watching television.  You figure out which one you are, and you stay there.  Or you spend all your time trying to jump from one bowl to the other.  

Listen: it’s a myth.  No one likes exercising.  They just like it more than not exercising.  

Now: let’s hope that stays crystal clear when I’m halfway through Couch to 5K and I want to kill myself. 

My Plan for World Domination

5 Dec

My butt hurts.

And my thighs.  And my arms.  And my lack of abs.

Yeah, I didn’t think that a lack of something could hurt either, but that was until I started running.

For those of you not pumping my blog posts right into your veins every day, I should probably note here my most recent undertaking: Couch to 5K.  That’s a term for transforming one’s self from a sad, flabby couch potato into a lean, mean running machine.  This is an experiment for me in whether the psychology lesson I learned from blogging every day is applicable to other areas of life.  Areas I really hate that make me want to die.  Like exercising.  

Specifically, running.

The concept is simply no excuses.  I decided to do something, so I’m doing it.  One day at a time, without looking at the end product.  

I'm sorry but it was really hard to tell the search engine the difference between domination, and well, "domination". So you get the latter. Maybe it will inspire you to do Couch to 5K too. Or vomit. Sorry if it's just vomit.

This is the ultimate test of the postaday psychology because every time I think about running a 5K, I vomit in my mouth a little bit from fear.  So it’s important to focus on one day at a time.

I’m doing all right so far.  I mean, I’m only one week two.  But I’m still doing it-  I still run when the voice on my iPod tells me to run, and I (gladly and with much thanks to God in Heaven) walk when it tells me to walk.  But oh my good grief my fat does not take kindly to the flogging.  I went up a flight of stairs today and my thighs questioned me.  I had to talk them into it.  The sad part is that I’m not really even running yet. I’m just, like, jogging for a bit and then walking for a bit.  Interval stuff.  It’s just that I haven’t done anything active whatsoever with my body in so long that telling me to run for a minute and a half straight, giving me two minutes to question if I want to end my life or keep going, and then telling me to run for another minute and a half again is. so. hard. 

I’d like to mention here that I have asthma, so as to help the judging ease itself ever so slightly.  That’s right: I’m pulling the asthma card *pushes up glasses*.  Actually, I make Dave go with me so he can coach the breathing part.  Left to my own devices, I will haunch over and hyperventilate myself into an all out wheeze-fest.  It’s more like an exercise in breathing than an exercise in running.  

I’m hanging in there.  Ever so slightly.  I have to admit that the knowledge that in two weeks I will be expected to run for five minutes straight has me approaching paralysis.  I haven’t run for five minutes straight since I was in 9th grade soccer.  Even then it wasn’t pretty.

You know what I really can’t get over? That I do this crap at 6 in the morning.  SIX IN THE MORNING.  Because if I don’t get up and do it then, I’ll dread it all day.  It’s like knowing I have to get punched in the face eventually.  I can either spend my day working myself up to it and freaking out, or I can just take a slug right at the top of the morning. So far it’s been effective.

What if I unlock a whole key to psychology here? What if I begin to take on one unfathomable concept at a time until I have become a guru at life-changing and mind-altering? That’s my claim to fame, folks.  And you saw it all start here, on the Jackie Blog.

Now go share my Facebook page and Twitter with all your friends so you can be a cool hipster and say you read me when I was fat and unmotivated.

Does Anyone Actually Accomplish New Year’s Resolutions?

27 Nov

I’m running out of time to accomplish my New Year Resolutions.

Remember those old things? Way back from 1/1/11. I don’t even know what mine were.  I’m sure there was something to do with my nails and something to do with my weight.  That’s usually how it goes.  Oh, and I was going to do a 365 blog.

I guess I’ve almost locked in that last one, but by golly if I could trade the blog for looking bangin’ in a swimsuit and having a good set of talons, I probably would.  It’s nothing against you guys.  You guys are great.  It’s just that if I keep going on like this, I’ll need a Hover Round just to lug around all this blubber.

I wonder if there are people out there who really set up for themselves and then accomplish resolutions.  I don’t mean goals throughout the year – I’ve got those and I whoop them appropriately.  I mean the things we tell ourselves on January 1st.  Does anyone actually do those things?  I’m not convinced that anyone does, really.  January 1st resolutions tend not just to be goals that we have for ourselves, but things we actually want to change about ourselves.  I want to change that fact that I’m a nail biter and a junk food lover.   But just yesterday I tore down one of my nails to the point that it hurt and bought a bag of powdered donuts and chocolate milk for breakfast.  

Maybe the only resolutions that are actually kept are those that don’t require a great change in us.

So I’m curious, ya’ll.  We’ve got about a month to go before we have to take a good look at the things we said we’d do versus what we actually did.  

How are things looking for you? ♣ 

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