I also managed to keep the appointment he arranged the following week with a nutritionist from the local hospital - and I was glad I did! She gave me tips and dietary advice I could RELATE to, and (since the number of chins I had in recent photos told their own story) actually wanted to take - reducing portions, dropping the white refined starches and sugars where possible, and adding more actual fruits and vegetables to my diet, while keeping the meat (but choosing leaner cuts).
So, armed with this knowledge, I began my walk (literally, since that's been my most frequent exercise) back toward health, and back toward being able to face myself in the mirror.
After a month or so, I was punching new holes in my belts.
After two months, people were recognizing the changes in my face and my physique.
At three months, when I went back to my doctor, he gave me the rundown of what my efforts had given me (noticeably lower blood pressure, blood sugar, and cholesterol), and what they had cost me (29 pounds, with around 10 more lost since then - I was already back under 200 pounds and didn't realize it, since I still rarely weigh myself!)
I haven't cried at each of these little milestones, but I've wanted to... not out of pain, or mourning (although other family members' past struggles were clearly on my mind throughout), but rather crying from joy, and from the satisfaction that I lost weight that I seriously needed to lose for the maintenance of my good health, and used no surgery, gimmick products or activities to achieve that goal.
Which Author's Fiction are You?
Went to the (always gluttonous) Minneapolis GLBT Pride celebration over the weekend... drove away happy for the reasons associated with seeing old friends and lovers and others again - all I'll say for now.
I like the changes I've made so far, and I want to keep it up - when they tell you to up the exercise and make those changes to your diet, by all means do it! People who really love you will thank you for showing a positive example... and you'll feel better, too.
Trying to start getting to sleep earlier again (after getting amild chewing-out by my boss for a month or so of frequent lateness; he won't write me up, but he made it clear that getting my shit together in general wouldn't hurt!), and adjusting to trading off some responsibilities in exchange for others. As if I needed another reminder that I need to plan ahead on a regular basis...
In better news, a writer friend that I had lost contact with until I found a copy of a book of his over the summer finally replied to my email (If you're reading, thanks Kirk! I'll get back to you soon.)
I also took some steps to address some unresolved (and uncomfortable) issues from my personal and Festival histories, and I'd like to think I made some positive steps with each of those issues, and the people related to them. Coming out of Festival, so much seems possible, and so many happy memories seem to be colliding inside my mind all at once...
The oddly ritualistic haircut I received to the reading of Dr. Seuss' "Oh, The Places You'll Go!".
The auction at which I ended up showing off items, a la Barker's Beauties.
The arguments, followed by making up, with John and a few others (lubricated with my tears, among other substances).
A "no-talent" show that took on lounge act proportions.
The pretty fireworks.
The musk of many men in a hot, humid setting.
The refreshing sounds of slightly twangy (and not-so-twangy) accents not caught up in a red-state/blue-state dichotomy.
The discovery that even a recovering hoodrat like myself can exercise hippie sensibilities and love doing so.
The reminders that I am someone much admired, and maybe I need to treat myself like it. Ditto for the rest of you.
I guess that describes how I feel on this first full morning of my Midwest Men's Festival. John and I arrived yesterday afternoon around 4:00 after 9-1/2 hot hours in my poorly air-conditioned Ford Escort. Both of our iPods were a decent distraction from the water weight lost on the trip.
Almost as soon as we arrived, the love and admiration hit to the point of being overwhelming at times. It turns out that a request I made was going to be answered, if the smiles of (I won't mention names just yet) when we first laid eyes on each other were any indication. I think a good time might be had. Falling asleep once the temperatures dropped suitably was less of a problem than I thought given the humidity (even though I didn't reach the tent until 12:30 or so).
Today began with John sucking and groping major parts of me, after which I went back to sleep, baking as the sun became more prominent and the temperature incrementally rose along. I'm up now, after having read part of another chapter of Augusten Burrows Dry: A Memoir - funny book so far, in a way that the word "tragicomic" was made for - and now I'm about to get up and toilet, shower, and whatever else comes up.
Got the refrigerant recharged for my car's air conditioner today, and got a moderate increase in the effectiveness - it seems the compressor might be on its last legs. Lovely.
But enough about that. John and I had some quite alright times (despite a couple of petty, loud arguments) at the Gay Pride March in Chicago (where they actually let the politicians march before the Dykes on Bikes - can you say "sacrilege," boys and girls? Anyway, we got to have breakfast with John's beautiful, young friend Sean, and that alone was worth the trip!) and Summerfest in Milwaukee (Robert Randolph and the Family Band tore up a side stage on July 4th!! All that skill, and he's a Mets fan, too.). Add the Men's Festival to that formula, and it could actually be a nice summer for a change...
I still can't believe a took a 30-minute walk along the bike trail in these bitch-heel (practically!) shoes!
Last Saturday showed that "rule" and one of its numerous exceptions. The rule, in my estimation, was heading up to Spring Green with John for a graduation party for two of his nieces - one from eighth grade, one from high school. John's family always seemed like they got along... not robotically well, but well enough to ride some rough shit and still be able to be civil to each other, and anybody brought into the family. Friends and family all around, and (even though the food was real good this time) a good time was had by all who attended (It didn't hurt that there was a Cubs game on throughout, followed by a tape of a school play, "The Three-Piggy Opera," featuring the oldest of the Greenwood great-grandchildren as the Wolf.).
Contrast that with the Fire Department steak feed that evening back in Point. Things went well; we got our dinner and all. Some older lady came up to say hi to John; he said, "Hi, Gerda" and that would seem to have been nothing special. On the way back to the car, he told me who the woman was, and explained why he didn't want to introduce me (a cascade of personal beefs, some related to the theater group in town, some related to the woman's daughter and son-in-law; I only knew the son-in-law, and let's just say he doesn't think highly of John and me being a couple.). I asked him for some details (my inner gossip-hound!), and let's just say I got more than I asked for, as well as another excuse to ask John what it is about his circle of friends and their concentric circles that makes falling out with each other so damn easy.
I wonder what other rhetorical questions are still out there, just waiting for fools like me to act like they have real, concrete answers?