a key: single moments

NPR hosted a feature recently asking folks to recount the first piece of classical music they fell in love with. When I first started listening, I thought "what a random feature!" And then I heard something inspiring.

Among the stories was a woman who'd been homeless (read about Ariane Myasaki), working holding a sandwich board. She'd been able to save up enough for a discman, but then only had a few dollars left over; enough to buy a recording of Beethoven (Symphony No. 6, "Pastorale" ... listen to it!). She played it as she worked, and in a single moment, it brought her fully into the world around her. And then this:

"Because of that symphony, that moment, I decided to dedicate myself to music. I got my GED. I went to community college and got an Associate's in Flute Performance, and another in Humanities and Social Science. ..."

In a single moment! Her life was changed forever.

me too, please!
It set me to thinking about how I feel suddenly changed. These most recent efforts to get fit, there's something else in them. It's not just "I must lose weight," or "I want to feel good in clothes again." I am working toward goals I never have before: I want to be fit. I want to be athletic. I want to push my body and see where it takes me. I want to bring myself to challenges and meet them, exceed them even.

This is all incredibly new, and it feels like it sprang from nothing.

I know I've felt deeply inspired by a blogger I follow, Ms. Bitchcakes. Her attitude is not to be believed. Her challenges are greater than mine have ever been and she's found the tools to work through them. I know that in reading her posts something in me clicked. Her blog may be my "single moment."

But I also know that it's more than that; and that Ariane Myasaki wouldn't have turned to music if there wasn't already something else working inside her to tell her it was right.

single moments: the unplugging
And because I'm set to thinking about things in metaphor, I wondered how it is these single moments work. I came up with this:

Picture a funnel set over a vessel. And I am filling that funnel continuously with various things. The funnel gets heavier, sometimes overflows. Sometimes gets spilled all over the place and I have to start again. So I fill the funnel with all my familiar things. But the vessel remains empty.

And finally, I realize the funnel is plugged. With gunk. "That's it!" So I unplug it, and then there's a gush and the vessel is slowly filled with those things I've been working so hard to fill it with.

The single moment is the unplugging. But only the unplugging. It lets loose things that have been there all along and finally have a means of escape.

it'll still be work
I have a feeling all those years Ariane spent in school were difficult, harder still because of where she started.

I don't assume that my single moment of inspiration will carry me effortlessly through all the changes I have coming. But damn if it doesn't seem a hell of a lot easier.

no limits, i promise

I think limits are natural, and a defense mechanism. They keep us from doing something dangerous or stupid that could land us in, say, the hospital for, say, trying to leap from the second story of a building just to see what'll happen when we land.

But limits can be dangerous, too, I think.

For instance, I mentioned in my about page that I want to be athletic, but that I'd assumed for a long time it was something I couldn't expect for myself. Why? Because I had this notion that it was out of my reach; beyond my limits.

It's not like I'd ever actually attempted to be athletic and failed, though. And I certainly hadn't attempted it over and over and failed, the way you really should to understand that something is off-limits to you.

I just put a little wall between me and this thing, and I decided it wasn't worth trying to overcome (because, remember? I'm lazy).

So no more limits. Even when things get hard. Because if I establish limits, I establish the points at which I'm willing to give up.

practically speaking?
- Practically speaking, it means I'm aiming for the stars with that 18% body fat goal (the lady athletes come in at between 14% and 20% body fat);

- practically speaking, it means I'm going to push harder when I'm ready to quit (Patrick and I did a 14-mile bike ride Sunday; I climbed hills with my butt *out* of the seat, even though I hate doing it);

- and practically speaking, it means on bad days, when I think having a bad day means I'm not good enough to make this work, I'm just gonna shut the fuck up and put that bullshit in its place.

what i'm looking forward to, part 1

What I'm looking forward to now is so different from what I looked forward to when I started Weight Watchers a few years ago. And (surely this is related), the way I see my body as it is now -- with a lot of work ahead of me -- has a different timbre then it did then.

then
When I started Weight Watchers in spring of 2006, I was so ready to just not be fat anymore. I'd been overweight since early childhood (I started as a normal-chubby kid and never slimmed down; so maybe I should rephrase it: I never lost my baby weight after childhood).

The extra weight I carried always felt like it got in the way. I was aware of my body in a way I didn't like. I'd grab my belly roll in frustration. I'd look in the mirror and just wish it away. In fact, I did wished it away in childhood -- I was no older than nine on some Christmas Eve that I asked Santa to just make me skinny. I woke up the next morning disappointed.

In any case, my body was a problem that needed to be fixed, and Weight Watchers was the key.

And it worked. I'm a numbers girl, and a listmaker, so keeping track of my food using the Weight Watchers method resonated.

I looked forward to just getting the fat off and buying smaller clothes. And consequently I'd be happy forever.

Hahahahahahaha.

now
I definitely got the weight off. I've gained a few pounds back, but at my lowest weigh -- 107 lbs. -- I was down 50 lbs. from my highest of 160 in high school, and down 40 lbs. from the 148-150 lbs. I was carrying when I started Weight Watchers.

I was definitely buying smaller clothes, and I had that "damn, I look good" feeling a lot more (to be honest, as much as my body frustrated me, I always managed to carry around a little bit of narcissistic self-admiration; and I always found that funny).

I wasn't endlessly happy, though. And that's no surprise. There is no single thing a person can do to be happy, nor should their be. Some of the most productive, fulfilling things in life come from the struggle, and I'm not always able to get through those struggles with a smile on my face.

So, what am I looking forward to now that's so different?

Well, let's wipe "eternal happiness" off the list, because that requires a list of its own, and a lifetime of effort.

I'm looking forward to a lean, athletic body. I didn't actually ever consider this could be in my future. I'd written off athleticism as belonging to other people, who were born to be athletic. Which is of course a mistake, because it may come easier to some people, and other people may be willing to endure the effort a bit more. But that doesn't scratch me off the list entirely.

And what I find so interesting about this change is how it's affected what I expect to get out of my trimmer body. Namely, that I'll still look like me, and not like a generic image of "a skinny person." (I have some predictions: no boobs, a straight-ish waist, thick thighs and calves.)

When I was focused on simply getting rid of fat, I wasn't really paying attention to the body underneath, and I think I allowed images of thin people to affect my expectations of my own body.

But if I'm thinking about being athletic? And when I'm in spin class or doing 40 minutes of ab strengthening? I'm acutely aware of my musculature. And honestly, to use those muscles actually makes me feel good about them ... even proud.

So rather than flipping through a magazine thinking "I wish I looked like that girl," I'm really excited to see how I will look when I'm in prime shape.

I'm looking forward to being aware of my body. Have you ever noticed how when really fit people do anything, you can see their muscles at work? Like, they can be taking a can of beans off a shelf and you see their biceps in action. It's crazy. I'm looking forward to being tuned in to that.

I'm looking forward to not being aware of my body. Isn't that funny? Because it's the opposite of what I just said above, get it? Basically I'll be happy when my excess fat isn't pressing into the band of my jeans, and when I no longer feel my arm jiggle as I reach for a can of beans on the shelf. I'm not as frustrated by these things as I used to be, but they're still unwelcome guests.

a final note
I decided to pursue this athletic goal just this summer. And in these last few weeks, I've noticed something interesting: Whereas I used to look at my work-in-progress body and see the burden of it (and consequently get low), I've caught myself noticing excess weight or a bulging tummy and thinking "Haha! I can't wait to work you out, you asshole!" It's like I've already conquered my body and my perception of it.

And if that ain't half the battle ...

getting fit, finally

For as long as I can remember, I've been exceptionally aware of my body and the space it took up. I think my earliest body-conscious memory is from age seven or eight, sitting on my front porch swing. When neighbors walked by, it felt like it took forever for them to get out of sight -- and in turn for me to get out of their sight. I just didn't like being exposed, because I thought I looked bad.

And forget about puberty and everything that brought with it. Another clear memory: walking across my high school campus and being aware of my thighs, and how it felt like they were in a race for their lives, fighting each other to get to some invisible finish line.

step one: food (part one)
A few years ago, I finally did something about my eating habits. No more mindlessly consuming whatever food I wanted to eat in the moment. Instead, I spent a couple of years resenting my new (reasonable) limits -- using Weight Watchers -- and actually losing weight. Lots of it. I went from a high of 160 in high school to 107 by 2008.

It was a few years of resentment, yeah, but also of truly realizing how much was too much (and how I'd spent a lifetime of eating too mcuh), and of discovering a little tiny body under my extra weight. I enjoyed it. I sashayed.

And then life happened, and maybe I started not paying as much attention to what I was eating; and have I mentioned how I never really ever got into a committed fitness routine?

I'm back up to 122. Certainly not as high as my highest, but I also haven't been living my happiest days. And the biggest problem: the fact that I've let go of my control over food.

steps two and three: food & do
My big accomplishment in losing weight the first time around was understand and respecting that I needed to eat less food. Where I fell a little short was the types of food I was eating.

That resentment?  I think it had to do with the fact that five Ritz crackers cost two points in Weight Watchers. And then the cheese to go with them? Three points. That's five points! Of my 18 daily points!

Something I've already improved in the past month of bringing positive changes back into my life is those food choices. How about I bypass the Ritz and cheese altogether and use my five points to eat half a bell pepper, a Roma tomato, 3 ounces of spinach, 2 ounces of hummus and 2 slices of whole wheat bread?

Not only will I be satisfied after that meal, but I'll have also gotten a good dose of my grain and vegetable servings for the day.

Also? Delicious.

So that's huge. You know what's huger? I want ... have an actual desire ... to exercise. I want to do things. I want to accomplish things. With my body.

I'm pretty excited about this part. Something clicked. I stripped away the limits I've imposed on myself; I started understanding just how much I can do if I want to; I started imagining my body as an athletic body.

It's a long, exhausting road ahead. I'm looking forward to being out of breath.