Reflections on a Spontaneous Road Trip Fail

train-backI know I’ve grown quiet lately. You can probably accurately guess that this means I’ve also grown lethargic again, too. Upon thinking about how I’ve let this summer chew me up and spit me out, I decided to revisit the old blog and try and find some inspiration from the past. Oddly, what I did find was a post lurking in my “drafts” folder that I apparently never actually published from LAST summer, which made me feel better than some of the posts that I did publish. That’s probably because I’m in the middle of another weird-as-heck summer with a new boss (again) and new stresses. (The kids go back to school next week, and my baby starts kindergarten. I feel old and obsolete.)

Anyway, rather than write something new today, I decided to finally click “publish” on this. It sums up me as a traveler pretty well. (Spoiler Alert: I am a terrible traveling companion. I’m working on it, but I still fail a lot.)

Anyway, below is the account of last year’s Fourth of July. This year’s was much better — the kids finished their baseball season before dusk and we headed to the local minor league stadium for some bleacher-bumming and fireworks. No train-union strikes or blisters were involved this year, which is good but doesn’t make for as interesting reading as the story below…

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First Swimsuit in 15+ years…

Ugh. I did it.

I didn’t wanna do it, but it had to be done. The magical years of fun with my children seem to be whizzing by, and I don’t want to be remembered as the mom always standing at the edge taking photos because I hated water.

I still hate water — for extremely valid, extremely personal reasons that have nothing to do with what I look like. But…I’m finally willing to get in, if it means my kids will have a better memory out of that day to keep with them always.

That said, I was completely unprepared for life in swimsuits after having children. Or after losing weight. I knew some of my body parts would be…displaced…a bit, and I was prepared for the pooch of extra skin around my middle. But covering one’s boobs seems like a simple task, right? If you’re 5’0″ tall, not so much. In my recent quest to obtain a simple, PG-rated suit, even the ones recommended for D-cups had ginormous cleavage plunges I wasn’t comfortable wearing. (I’m actually a 36G, but apparently the only recommendation for that is a bulky t-shirt.)

I’m okay with women who are proud of their curves and all that, but here’s the thing…

old-fashioned swimwear

I’d honestly be totally okay with wearing one of these. Maybe with a sarong over it for good measure. (Photo credit: Library of Congress)

Just like getting into the water slowly and letting one’s body acclimate to the new temperature, I’m still getting my toes wet with this whole not-being-obese-anymore thing.

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Fear and Loathing in the WordPress Dashboard

sad faceI spent most of June floating in and out of good intentions. Intentions for nutrition, exercise, fitness, tracking, energy, productivity, and more.

But floating is about all I did. Aside from the random “walk break” here or there or occasional “no thank you” on a sugary treat, I didn’t achieve much of anything. As a result, I didn’t feel like writing invigorating posts about how we all can do this together. We can. We really can. But last month…I didn’t, really.

It was pretty easy to pinpoint the reason for my increasing ennui, but that just means I know what I have to overcome. I still have to ride it out.

Basically, in the last couple of months at work, my boss quit, my boss’s-boss quit, and my boss’s-boss’s-boss quit. And that feels weird as hell.

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Taking it back to the old school…

So after a long time of using the Weight Watchers PointsPlus system of eating while staying at relatively the same weight (gaining one week, losing the next, gaining back the following, etc.), I’ve decided to go back to using the old Points system for a bit. There are several good reasons to switch Points plans — even back and forth every so often over a long period — and in my case, I know it’s time to do that again.

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Road Trip Food Anxiety

You guys.

Why do road trips always happen right when I finally get my health-mojo fired back up and start burning calories and toning? Without fail, every time I see the scale move significantly for the first time in ages, the magical travel fairy waves her wand over my house and…ta-dah! Road trip happens.

Which means Huddle House happens.

Cracker Barrel happens.

Six dollars’ worth of gummy bears bought at a gas station and quietly scarfed in the front seat while the kids nap in the backseat happens.

And then reckless abandon follows me all the days of my life. Or at least until my bras start hurting again.

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