For all of you out there who have also been run over by the sick train, I'm sorry, this sucks. I have finally stopped hacking up a lung, but as I lay napping, I was startled by a strange rattling noise (apparently, the sound I now make when I breathe). Hopefully that will abate soon and I am actually thankful to not have a job at the moment. At least it gives me time to get back into fighting shape before someone calls me back (please, someone call me back?). 
The time between being interviewed and being called back, or not called back, is the worst. My brain is wandering laps around the doom box and I'm just trying to keep it together as I listen to myself wheeze. I have attempted to clean off the coffee table, but at the moment it is only half done as I had to take a break for a wee nappy. Like I said, hopefully this is the end of the track and I'll be getting off this train soon.
I have been released back into the wild and can return to the gym! As soon as I can get up off the floor. I really want to get back in the pool, but they frown on coughing fleghm into the water and I really need to mow my legs. Every since the surgery, I haven't really seen the point. I've only recently regained the ability to bend over at the waist and it's been cold out, so this is going to be like the time we went on vacation and it rained a lot and we came back to two feet of grass and wild life. Tricky. If you don't hear from me, assume I'm still lost in the amazon. Tootles. 

So, I'm still sick, but I'm getting better. I'm hoping that I'll be road worthy by Monday, but we'll see. It feels really weird not getting my steps in, but as I said in a previous post, sick people on treadmills is not medically advisable. On another note, I've be contemplating whether or not to post some information and then thought, what the heck (this could be the cough syrup talking). 
I've had a really difficult time loosing any weight over the last several years. It didn't seem to make a difference what I did, the pounds just wouldn't move. I downloaded the Loose It app about a month ago and suddenly everything started to make sense. I was ingesting way more calories than I could have possibly imagined. Honestly it was to the tune of 3,500 a day sometimes. So, now I've cut back to about 2,000 a day. I still eat most of what I want, I'm just a lot more aware of what goes in my face hole.
Today, I have officially lost 12 pounds. Right now I'm panicking that since I've said it out loud, the weight loss gods will drop a vat of cellulite from the sky and I will be doomed. And, now that I've typed that, I realize how ridiculous it sounds. The struggle is real.
Anyway, the doctor has cleared me to go back to the gym which I plan to start next week. I've got to start easy so I don't bust a hernia (I know people who've had them and they aren't a joke). This marks the second time I've had to start over with my trainer (the first was after my gallbladder surgery). It's back to 15-20 pounds total and then I build up. It sucks, but I'm gonna do it. Life keeps running me over, and I keep getting back up. That counts as exercise too, right?

So, my husband is sick and has shared his sick with me. I imagine that this just compounded the other issues I am having. While hacking up a lung, I contemplate my situation again. I have a doctors appointment on Thursday and a job interview on Friday. In the light of cough syrup, everything seems a little less bleak. There may be options and I may survive all of this yet. Sometimes fear clouds our judgement and we preemptively jump to conclusions much more terrible than justified by the situation. Given time to process the information, we realize that what we thought was a bear was just the shadow of a really hairy goat. 
This week, I am not going to worry about my step count. Getting on a treadmill when you are coughing up a lung is a bad idea especially if you have to survive for a job interview. This week, I will do what I can and next week, I will return to my ascent up the mountain. For now, a sandwich and a nap is all I need. 

Pain is the great equalizer. It can bring even the mightiest of us to our knees. Chronic pain will make you question yourself over and over again. Sometimes I just start to rationalize: I must have done something to deserve this. This is my penance for something I've done in one life or another. The ablation failed and I am left to wonder, what is next? How do I force myself to get up and keep going when I know that I have to wake up and face this over and over again for another 15-20 years? The worst thing about pain is that your own body is attacking you. There is no one to yell at or punch or even reason with. This is your body and you can't get away from it. Right now, I want to quit. I really, really want to get back in bed and just quit. I'm questioning everything. What is the point of doing steps? What is the point of using my Christmas make up? What is the point of caring about anything when it all just ends in curling up on the sofa in sweat pants and wanting to die?
The truth is that I have no idea what the point is, but I have to believe that there is a point. It is what keeps me going. It's what makes me stand up and put one foot in front of the other. On the good days, it is the fire that propels me to push my limits. I have to believe that all this suffering means something, that I am being forged for the next great adventure. Today, I put on pants. Today, I ate microwave macaroni. And today, I have walked 234 steps. These are victories, small but not cold. 
Next week on Wednesday at my follow up appointment, I will accept my doctors offer to refer me to KU med. I will accept it even though I am terrified of what may or may not happen. I will do this for myself because it is necessary and because, despite my deepest fears, pain is not what any of us deserves.

I spent nine years getting through college to become a teacher (I had a couple major operations along the way). I spent eight years being a teacher, and then, just like that I was done. Then I found a wonderful job with a wonderful boss and now the business is closed. I am officially unemployed. Yes, I have applied for multiple positions and had a few interviews, but no luck yet.
Now I'm sitting on my couch in sweat pants wondering what comes next. Obviously, I could clean the house or get on the treadmill, but those are short term. My what next question is more about the future. Teacher has been my identity for so long, that I have forgotten how to be anything else. I'm like so many high school seniors who have no idea what they want to do after they graduate. Sure, I could go back to school, but I've already got two degrees and no desire to take out more loans. Plus, I'm older now with a house, a husband, and three pets. This is our home. I'm not going to move in search of a job.
Right now, I can hear the voice of a wise lady I used to work with at the Wal-Mart in Manhattan, "Patience is a virtue." She's right. Sometimes the best thing to do is hold on to faith and be patient. We can survive for a couple of months with the money we have saved. I'm going to walk on the treadmill and clean the house and work on being a better me. That way, when the time comes, I'll be ready.

I learned this weekend that Vodka has a lot of calories. Those delicious fruity mixed drinks I overpay for when I go out to dinner have been killing me and I didn't even see it coming. I also learned that sometimes you just have to let it go.
To date, I had lost almost 9 pounds using the Lose It app. Going into a weekend of festivities with my friends at a hotel with a free breakfast and a pancake machine was hard. Part of me wanted to be like all the girls in my feed who are mostly muscle and seemingly impervious to the lure of snack cakes. I wanted to deny myself all of the bad food and eat like nutrition conscious goddess. This, however, isn't me. Sometimes you just want the cookie and watching everyone else indulge is miserable. Sometimes you just have to say, I'm going over this weekend because I'm enjoying myself and that doesn't make me a bad person.
Despite my fears, I only gained a little over a pound this past weekend (mostly in Vodka) AND I met my step goal for the week. Sometimes, the good things balance out the bad things. Sometimes, eating buffalo chicken dip while playing board games is just more important than worrying about the extra calories. It's about finding balance, and for once in my life, I feel like I'm making strides. 

I haven't watched the movie Babe since it came out in 1995, but I remember really liking it. When the farmer tells him "That'll do pig. That'll do." It gets me right in the feels. Babe was a good pig and I am a good manatee. Right now, I'm deliriously tired after an excellent home cooked meal and 30 minutes on the treadmill. This is an unprecedented streak for me. I have written so many blog posts that I have an archive; I have worn my Fitbit and recorded my steps for almost 7 weeks; I have used my Lose It app for 12 days running. I am finally starting to tackle that big old bull I aimed to take down. Life is good.

We did it. We went out and bought a treadmill. My parents have had one for a long time and I really enjoyed walking as I found it soothing. While we were there over New Years, my husband finally gave it a go and he liked it too. Thus the decision was born to buy one for ourselves. Sears delivered and set it up yesterday morning and it tried to maim me shortly thereafter.  Turns out that not a single one of the pre-programmed workouts is designed for a truly overweight and out of shape person.
The first one I tried immediately jumped to speed 5 and incline 6. Ha. Have you met me? Speed 4 is a dead out cheta sprint. I actually didn't fall off the machine, but had to jog for about thirty seconds before I got the beast to slow down. I was yelling into the living room, "Did you see that? Did you see it? I ran!" (I'm choosing to think positive).
All in all, I'm excited about this purchase and look forward to the day that I will be able to hit speed 5 and incline 6 yelling, "Is that all you've got? Is that the best you can do?" (I find yelling at exercise equipment motivates me). I'm also super psyched that I get to go back to swimming at the gym in February (I'm still on medical restriction until then). For now, I'm off to start a verbal altercation with a treadmill! Wish me luck.

Despite much of my griping to the contrary, I am incredibly blessed in so many ways. Tonight I would like to take a moment to thank my most wonderful and gracious partner Ian. This week we celebrated eight years together and are now five months away from our four year wedding anniversary. I couldn't ask for a better partner in crime. We have weathered some monumental storms together, gone on great adventures, and laughed danger in the face (or danger laughed at us). He has joined me in the quest for steps and impossible pants. We high five after every victory (no matter how small) and shake it off after every defeat (no matter how big). Sometimes, when I look over at him sitting on the couch covered in two dogs and a cat, I am overwhelmed with emotion. This is what it feels like to love unconditionally, and it is good. Here's to eight more years and eight more after that husband beast. It's gonna be epic.

Today I purchased impossible pants. They are not the size I wear, but the size I want to wear. And these are not just any pants. They are black with gold, sparkly stars. These are the pants of legends and of dreams. These are a size 16. Not a women's size 16, a regular size 16. At this juncture, I wear a 20W (sometimes snugly, and sometimes loosely). I also bought the only shirt I could find at Wal-mart to match. It is juniors size 2XL. I'll be honest in saying that this outfit is my unicorn. I want to believe in it, but for today it seems like a fairy tale mystically grazing under a magical rainbow. But, I did by them, so somewhere deep deep down, I believe. Like the little engine that could I think I can, I think I can...Here's to all my friends. Believe in your impossible pants (whatever they might be).