Kristi got her groove back . . .ish

I went roller skating last night. It was probably 6th grade, which was 25 years and 150 lbs ago, that I last roller skated. I had taken skating lessons in Ponca City, and loved it. I could skate backwards, go in circles, and I had my own roller skates. I also had street skates so I could skate in my neighborhood. I spent my Saturdays at the skating rink. I would go to a lesson, order a mini pizza (mmm, grease) and a huge pickle, and skate until it was time to leave. I remember the way my feet felt when I put my tennis shoes on after a few hours of skating. The comfort was wonderful.

Recently, a coworker and I had been discussing our old roller dreams. I was then invited to go skating with my friend Darren and I pounced on it. He told me it’s hilarious and will give me flashbacks.

Last night, I walked into Skateland, overwhelmed by the smell of stinky shoes and sweat. It was adults only night, and cheap entertainment. I selected a pair of brown, skanky, skates from their wall of rentals and laced them up (and praying they put some Lysol in each pair). I realized that the place looked much as it did many, many, many years ago. I wonder if they have cleaned the carpets since then . . . . .

As soon as I stood in my skates, I realized – I’m not 11 anymore! Keeping my balance was tough. My anxieties overwhelmed me, but I was determined to persevere. So before I began to skate, I took in the view. Most patrons brought their own skates. You could see them adjusting the wheels before they put them on. The music was from the 80’s. All ages were there, with the typical male tricksters in the middle showing off their skating skills: jumps, splits, break dancing on skates. They would chat with each other, and then continue with the same tricks over and over and over again. I wondered if any of those men had ever been on a date………

People were skating and grooving to the music at the same time. These people were regulars, and they didn’t fit into a specific social class. They were all ages, all sizes, and all colors. After an hour of skating, one gentleman retired to a seat and hooked oxygen up to his nose before taking to the rink again. That’s what I call determination!

It took me an hour to be able to skate without holding onto the side, without worrying that the faster folks would trip me up, and without zoning into my own world of “don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall!”. Darren tried to goad me on, and I snapped, “Fat girls fall hard!” But I kept trying, as the sweat poured down my face. Immediately my feet ached. Flat feet and crappy skates don’t mix. Then my quads ached. Then, my back ached exponentially more than I have ever known it to hurt.

In the end, I was able to skate without holding on, was able to let go of the fear that someone would run me over. I never fell down! But a big inspiration was an older gentleman. He hadn’t been skating in 60 years. If he could do it, so could I! So he and I slowly found our balance, our courage, and our old skating groove.

Would I do it again? Absolutely!

Saga of My Quest for Health

I went to a trainer on Wednesday, thinking I would get my free session and just do my own thing afterwards. I arrived early and put 20 minutes on a treadmill. When she arrived, she had me do all sorts of things with a heavy ball, dumbells, and the weight machines. It was constant, and I kept repeating the routines before we moved onto different ones. It was hard work, but awesome. When it was finished, I agreed to use her for 6 more sessions. I was using machines that looked too intimidating to try on my own. She pushed me.

The issue came up with my protein shake that I bought. It is soy based, but I noticed it has fructose. She suggested I go to whey, which has better benefits and less sugars. I bought one, and it is YUMMY. Not at all gritty like the one I had. I get excited to fix one! I'm not sure how the whey will fit into my lactose issue. However, my lactose issue comes and goes. And it's not a constant thing for me--I use it to replace breakfast or when I'm dying for something sweet. It has very little sugar in it.

I have been using my sweetleaf sweatner (Stevia), drinking my warm lemon water in the morning and water or herbal tea all day. Last night, I caught myself drinking an entire 20 oz bottle of water. I don't think I've ever done that. I was parched! I purchased a tea that was unsweet, and realized that I had left my sweetener at home. You know what? I liked the tea without it. Shockingly, I drank unsweet tea.

Monday was OK, but Tuesday I thought I would die if I didn't eat an entire cake and batch of croissants. I wanted carbs and sugar so badly! I admit, I had a cigarette, and have been a bad little girl (but not completely taken it back up again, but still not "good"). I was in hell. I was also crashing randomly in the day. (I found out that may have been from the protein shake with the fructose, but it also may be my body dealing with the diet change and the lack of sugars it normally gets energy from). By the third day, Wednesday, I woke up and felt great. I felt good on the inside, which I haven't felt in a long time. So the workout just topped off a good day.

My threelac came in the mail and I've taken it for a few days now. It's a powder that you down with some liquid. Not too bad, but kinda gross. It helps with digestion and eating away the bad yeast that has overtaken my stomach. I am using oxygen drops in my drinks to see if that has positive effects.

Also as inspiration, 3 of us at work began this journey on our own. None of us consulted with the other--we just happen to all be 37-40 years old and want to feel better. 2 of us are seeing trainers, and 1 is an organic food and supplement guru that let her weight and intake go south. So we are sharing body changes, emotional changes, and struggles with each other. It's great to have someone else who's a little ahead of you or who knows more than you to talk about the process with.

My diet has changed in that I 'm taking in much fewer carbs and sugars. I'm still eating plenty. Right now, this is a drastic start for me. Cutting portions will come soon enough.

So, I'm seeing my trainer again tonight. Pray for me!

Recurring Dreams

I have 2 recurring dreams. Granted, the details are never exactly the same, but there are enough similarities for them to be considered the same. The first I will tell because I have had it for years and grasp its meaning to me:

I'm walking on campus at OU in Norman. It's finals time, and I haven't been to a single class. I have to pass. I can't figure out where any of the classes are. I'm panicking because I realize how I've screwed myself by blowing off the semester. And most of the time, I'm naked, and can't get clothes to stay on.

Now, I did have a few classes my freshman year of college that I rarely attended, and found myself very nervous at test time because I realized my mistake in blowing off the classes. However, I attended enough to know when tests were, what homework was due, etc. And I passed both classes. I have this dream when I am very stressed at work. I have it when I am overwhelmed and frustrated with myself. But when I'm naked in the dream, it's when I've found myself in a very vulnerable position. for whatever reason, I feel exposed emotionally.

Now to the hard one. I've had dream #1 since I graduated college 13 years ago. This next dream has only been recurring for the last 3 years, so I haven't had a chance to really grasp it yet:

I am getting remarried to my ex husband. He has come back to me, full of apologies and love and hope and I am remarrying him. But I am not happy to be marrying him. I am only doing it out of obligation--as if it's my christian duty to make that thing work that ended years ago. I resent him, but I go through with it because it's what I'm "supposed" to do. The dream I had the other night took it a step further than ever before: I was in a wedding dress. I was waiting for him at the end of the aisle. Hardly anyone was in attendance, and he showed up in jeans and tennis shoes and a t-shirt, thrilled to be marrying me again. I was embarrassed to be dressed in such a nice dress for a wedding I didn't want, when he arrived looking like he was about to do yardwork for a wedding he did want. I remember thinking, "In a year I'll have 2 divorces behind me, and to the same man! How loser is that!"

Why, 4 years after my divorce, this man has crept into my dreams escapes me. And why it's recurring just drives me nuts. I honestly believe that if he came back, the feelings I had in my dreams are the same I would have in reality--apathy and disinterest. I have no desire to rekindle anything, because there wasn't much kindling there the first time. So it leaves me wondering what it means . . . .

From the mouth of babes . . .

One time, after learning the difference between big and small, my niece took it upon herself to label people as such. “Momma, you’re big!” “Momma, she’s small!” So one evening we were all at my mom’s house, and Tina asked, “Julia, is Nana big or small?”
“Small”

What about Papa?
“Big”

What about Mama?
“Big”

What about Dada?
“Big”

What about Aunt Kristi?
“B-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-g” She whispered as if in awe.

After I put duct tape on Julia’s mouth . . . . . just kidding. I laughed on the outside, and was sad on the inside.

Food addiction is the true problem in my family, and weight is the result. Sweets, carbs, obesity, anorexia, bulimia. The Davis’ have it all somewhere in the tree. I have had digestive issues since I was a tot, which is common in the Davis'. I only began gaining weight after a nasty breakup in my early twenties, but the gain was small until life got REALLY stressful. Late twenties brought on more stress and more weight. Early thirties brought on divorce, unemployment, and more over eating. I have 6 cousins who have had gastric bypass, if that gives you any indication of the severity of food abuse in my family.

I have been on every diet. I have a stack of weight watchers books that is embarrassing. Sure, the program works, but I lose the weight and gain more back. And so, I am realizing the need to end the “diet” thinking. I need a lifestyle overhaul.

I joined a gym last week. I get 2 free sessions with a trainer, the first being a body evaluation. I hoped they didn’t pull out calipers, because I didn’t want to have to shove them up the trainer’s ass. But they didn’t. However, I now have an accurate reading of my weight, fat percentage, and weight goals. The importance of goals is something the trainer stressed. I realized that I have never had a goal of a healthier lifestyle. I’ve only had a goal to lose weight. I have missed the whole point.

An interesting thing that the trainer pointed out is that Weight Watchers is a great program that helps you to cut your intake. But it doesn’t rid of the addiction to sugar. Instead, we find lower cal ways to get that sugar into our systems. She feels I need to address my addiction, and the weight loss will follow.

The trainer suggested, from my descriptions and experiences, that I have candida in my belly. I’m going to start taking a few supplements, working out, and eating healthier. Sure, I want to lose 100 lbs. But what I would love is to have energy again. To feel good again. To have a strong immune system again. To not feel a slave to my diet.

Baby Steps.

I’ll let you know how it goes . . .

Smoking

I am quitting. I have quit many times before, only to allow myself to cave in to the addiction, the camaraderie, the breaks. But the longer I smoke, the more I smoke.

I don’t consider myself a smoker. I just always knew I would quit one day, since I've done it in the past. But quitting has become harder and harder. As I smoke more, I find myself getting ill more often, battling bronchitis a few times a year and coughing year round. My clothes and car stink. If I smoke in my house---which has only happened a few times---I feel guilty for giving my dogs second hand smoke.

I have developed a slight cough, and when I laugh I can’t breathe. I can’t talk or sing for long without taking a breath. A coworker coughs so hard on a regular basis that I fully expect to see a black lung land on her desk one day as she coughs it up. Splat! I am surrounded by smokers at work.

My niece was making a coughing noise the other day, and my sister asked, “Are you choking?” “No mama, I cough like Kristi.” Tina started laughing, and I did to. But the seriousness of the comment wasn’t lost on me. It made me ashamed.

I have tried over and over to quit. My coworkers have made it hard to quit, by talking me into smoking with them. But I’m easily swayed. This weekend I went to San Antonio and couldn’t smoke the whole trip. So it got me through the first 3 days of non-smoking.

Now I’m on day 5. So far, so good.

Snakes!!!

I’m not an outdoorsy kinda gal. I want to be. I love the idea of carrying a backpack through the mountains. Nature shows the beauty and creativity of God. But I’m allergy ridden, and I hate insects. Crawlers, flyers, scurriers—I hate them all.

I have had my house for 7 years, and for a few of those years my dad mowed the lawn. He hated to see my glands swelling in my face and neck each week. He began reporting snake sightings to me after mowing, and it scared me. One time he was taken back by the size of one and it scurried away before he could nail it. He threatened to begin mowing with a machete, but became ill and couldn’t mow anymore.

I’ve been mowing again for about 3 years now, and snake sightings are typical in my yard. The first time I saw one, I immediately went online to find out the danger I was dealing with. It was a typical garter snake that only leaves an itchy place if bitten (and they usually don’t break the skin). I decided that if they can’t break my skin, it’s doubtful they are getting through the hair of my dogs.

Last year Leroy is the name I bestowed upon the snake living under my shed. He was small, and poked his head out periodically as I pulled out my mower. I haven’t seen him this year, yet. I have learned to not fear them so much—especially the smaller ones—after killing a few with the lawn mower, weed eater, sticks, etc. Now, I give them a chance to slither away. Why?

They eat mice. They eat insects. They eat frogs.

As I was mowing last night, I suddenly saw a snake up ahead. He was the biggest yet. Not in length, but in girth. I had that moment of “what to do? He’s in the path of my lawnmower . . . . “ when he slithered away at amazing speed, through my chain link fence and into the neighbor’s yard (which is rarely mowed). I hope he comes back and feeds on mice and insects. On a side note, it’s really cool to see them suddenly slither away at such speed.

I wonder if my dogs have had meetings with the snakes. Probably so. Sidney is curious enough to try to catch and play with one, but she also has a husky coat to protect her. Sam would run if one raised its head at him.

I’m not saying I’m a snake lover. Not at all. I have a good dose of fear and have no interest in “petting” a snake. But I’m learning to respect their role in the ecosystem.

Grandma's Birthday

Today would have been my grandmother’s 102nd birthday. Happy Birthday Grandma! My dad reminded me today, with a tear in his eye, that she would have been 102.

She was born Elsie Mae Cooley in Blackgum, OK. She was raised at the bottom of Tenkiller Lake, before it was evacuated and flooded in order to create a man-made lake. She married her childhood sweetheart , Richard Davis. That began a long, hard journey of marriage, kids, grandkids, war, and poverty. They were Okies who headed west to California in order to find work. They returned to Oklahoma and bought a piece of land in West Tulsa, and lived out of a tent with their children until their house was built.

My grandfather was a machinist. My grandmother was a stay at home mom, giving birth to 10 children who lived past infancy and into adulthood, and possibly 2 more that did not make it past their first few months. Grandma was a Pentecostal woman, with a deep faith in God. Grandpa was an alcoholic who knew that no matter what he did, he had a faithful wife waiting at home for him. He may not have been faithful, and he may have been abusive at times, and he may have been a scrapper, but she loved him.

She became pregnant with my dad, her youngest, when she was 42. Ashamed at being pregnant yet again at such a ghastly age, she tried to keep the pregnancy very low key. Dad was born April 29th, 1950, right after she turned 43, a preemie weighing under 2 lbs. Both nearly died, and both spent the years following with health issues. My grandmother had a weak heart, and my father grew up in fear of losing his mom.

Grandma was a rock for my dad, and she shaped who he is today in so many ways. By the time my dad was born, my grandfather had mellowed with age. Grandpa died in 1970, when my mom was pregnant with my sister. Grandma died after my sister was born, in 1971. My dad was 21 and had lost both of his parents.

I was born in 1972, so I missed out on ever seeing my grandmother. But I know she sees me. I have heard so many stories of her, and I am filled with admiration for her. She held her head high, through some horrific circumstances. She always had faith in God. My mom loved her almost as much as my dad. When I was a kid, age 11, I remember suddenly being overwhelmed with a feeling of her presence. It was a hard time for me socially, and I remember just sensing that she was near and watching over me. I never discussed it, because I knew it sounded weird. I just knew in my heart that someone very comforting was with me.

So, happy birthday grandma!