Down and Downer

Another barrier broken.

I weighed in on Sunday, registering 149.25 pounds, logging a total loss of 101.75 pounds and 40.5% of my original body weight. The big bar has come down.

Of course, it went right back up on Monday, at 150.50, but Monday is always my ‘heavy’ day, and so I despair not—at least until I see whether it’s going to stick.

Speaking of stick, I decided to run a real 10k last night: not the fake 10k I’d been running at 7min/mile a few weeks ago. The thermometer thrust its 95-degree mercury tongue at me, but I was determined to do a long, slow distance, and that was the time I could do it. I ducked out early from work, with the blessing of “Artemis” the Director who runs a 6-minute mile without any training. She gave me some pointers on keeping my mouth from cracking and my legs from collapsing and sent me off into the draining heat.

I hit a fatigue spot around mile 4, and spent a full minute screaming at my phone/mp3 player for not knowing inherently that I wanted to change the music I was hearing. I couldn’t get Howard’s water bottle to work-clearly, it’s designed for engineers, rather than the more creative, arty folk like me, who prefer not to use their brains, or their manners, when they are most needed. My legs fused to the ground and I had a little limestone pebble in my shoe for the whole trip, making me cranky(-er!) .

I realized, after the fact, of course, that I do normally hit a spot of fatigue right at that juncture, and so am going to try a PowerGel (sp?) on my next run. I felt great for the first 3.5 miles and even finished strong, but man, the middle was just a drag. I was okay in the shade, but the sun just yanked all my resolve out, and once I stopped for water, I couldn’t seem to get my rhythm back.

But I did it, and even though I wasn’t supposed to time myself, I did, clocking a dishrag-rotting 1hour, 8 minutes. Yes, I know I wanted to run it slowly, and no, I don’t wish to have a heart attack to prove I can run at the same speed in Hell’s Kiln as I do on brisk mornings, but still. I’d managed an 8:45 minute just 2 days before. Oh, well. The point is to run for fun and fitness. I’m getting the fitness for sure: my hips are slimming, my torso is shaping in new, appealing ways, and even the octopus has less to say these days. Of course, today I’m in my size 3s, so it’s rappelling over the lip of my too-low-rise “waist band”, but still, there’s not a roll so much as a little croissant, and I have to say that this is fine with me.

In other news, it’s official that my father will not be attending the wedding. I figured out the other night that I will have exactly zero representation from his side of the family at the ceremony. My mom’s mom is teetering as well, and my brother can flake in an instant, so if all goes to plan, then I will have exactly 3 relatives representing me: my mother, my sister, and my sister’s husband. Keep in mind that my sister and her husband are videotaping the wedding as a present to us, and I know for a fact that if I hadn’t agreed to be filmed during the most solemn moment of my life, that I wouldn’t have the two of them in attendance, either.

I knew my Dad was a maybe from the get-go, and so I’m not really surprised. But I am disappointed. I guess he decided that he’s already attended one of my weddings, and so that was enough. I would find a way to resolve this easier if he were just standing around in a suit on the front row. But we’re doing a Jewish processional for the service, which means that both bride and groom are (supposed to be!) escorted down the aisle by both parents.

I can’t decide which is worse-that people will see me with only my mother (if that!) and think that my father is dead, or they’ll know he is alive, and so will assume that (a) we are not on speaking terms, or (b) that he disapproves of my marriage, and so is boycotting. Well, I’d gone 6 months without any drama; I suppose I was due. And I don’t eat chocolate anymore, so I’m without any vice to comfort me.

Guess I’ll go for a run.

A the S(pent)