Morning update
I promised I'd post here this morning, and thank you so much for your kind comments on my crazy post from earlier today.
First, life lesson learned this morning at 1 a.m.:
LISTEN TO YOUR GUT
If you read my earlier post at 1 a.m. today you know about what I found out last night about my marriage. I knew something was wrong from the beginning. My recent divorce filing is my third time in 24 years I've tried to end this marriage. I knew the day we got married it was a mistake. I didn't listen to my gut, which was an even bigger mistake. It's going to cost me, monetarily and mentally, to end this 24-year long mistake. If only I had listened to my inner voice. Lesson noted and learned.
Speaking of listening to my gut, the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. I couldn't turn it off fast enough. I had only been sleeping about two hours, if you call tossing and turning, and having a panic attack at 4 a.m. sleeping. I woke up again at 6 a.m. I thought I can either roll over and play dead, or get up and fight for what I want in life. I chose my life over another hour of sleep. I went to the gym. It was only 35 minutes on the elliptical. I forgot my water bottle. I missed my turn onto the road to the gym and was on my way to work. Luckily I noticed this before I got on the freeway. I was on the elliptical for five minutes before I realized I didn't have my iPod on. I guess I'm really out of practice for the gym.
Now it's off to work. I feel good today. Good about going to the gym. Good about my decision to end my marriage. Things really are better in the morning.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
If you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it
If you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it
It's 12:40 a.m. - Wednesday. I haven't been to bed yet. I even took a sleeping pill over an hour ago, something I never do anymore.
I think there's a saying, if you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it. If it's not a saying then it should be. I'm not Googling it. I'm too tired, angry, and frustrated to even care.
For some reason that I don't even understand, tonight at about 11 p.m. I decided to go into my husband's office and see what was in the closet that was floor to ceiling boxes. I can't remember if I mentioned on here that he is a hoarder. I'm sure where he's living right now that it's already starting up again. It came to a point where I couldn't even open his office or bedroom doors all the way. To get to his computer he had to turn sideways because there was a narrow path to his desk. His office and his bedroom could have been on an episode of Hoarders. It was hideous, as was our garage and the shed. It's part of the reason for the divorce, but actually, just a small part.
I cleaned his bedroom (if you hadn't already guess we haven't shared a bedroom in over a decade). I cleaned the shed, and about half of the garage so I can at least park in it. I did this while he was in the hospital and in rehab for his broken leg. He asked me to clean his bedroom so he could get his wheelchair in the room, along with his walker. So it's very clean, other than the clutter he started gathering when he came home. He wasn't happy about his clean bedroom, but I considered it a health hazard and it had to be cleaned.
His office is a different story. I started on it, but didn't have time to do much. I've been wondering what was in the closet, which was filled with boxes. I found stuff. Letters from during our marriage, from other women. Lots and lots of letters and cards, some with dates that were only five years into our marriage. We've been married twenty-four years. I read the letters from these women. They loved him, they loved feeling his arms around them, they wanted to be with him, they missed him when they were apart. Even though I had suspected this for years I never had any proof. Now I have proof. Now it doesn't matter anymore.
It still hurt. When I was reading the letters and some of the things they said to and about him, I felt the blood drain out of my body. I was hit with chills, like I was freezing. I took one of the boxes and sat by the fireplace as I read through his treasures from other women. Amidst the love letters were cards from me. Birthday, anniversary and Christmas cards. "I love you" cards as well, from me, telling him how much I loved him. These were mixed in with letters to him from other women, dated the same time. Some date as far back as 1993, that's when he had a post office box in only his name. He said it made our mail safer (we were in an apartment). Now I know it made "his" mail safer.
Some of this was before cell phones, but I found out he had an 800 number so the women could call him. I don't know where they called him. His work? What the hell? The women talked about how they loved talking to him for hours, and the wonderful conversations they had with him. It made me want to puke. I even found one letter from one of the women's husband telling him to stay away from his wife.
Wow. Just "wow" is all I can say. If I had even one smidgen of doubt about this divorce (and actually, I haven't - but if I did), this would have put the final nail in the coffin of our marriage.
I guess I'll go to bed now. I still plan on the gym, in about five hours. My revenge is to get healthy and look good. To be strong and powerful. As far as my husband, he can just go to hell for all I care.
It's 12:40 a.m. - Wednesday. I haven't been to bed yet. I even took a sleeping pill over an hour ago, something I never do anymore.
I think there's a saying, if you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it. If it's not a saying then it should be. I'm not Googling it. I'm too tired, angry, and frustrated to even care.
For some reason that I don't even understand, tonight at about 11 p.m. I decided to go into my husband's office and see what was in the closet that was floor to ceiling boxes. I can't remember if I mentioned on here that he is a hoarder. I'm sure where he's living right now that it's already starting up again. It came to a point where I couldn't even open his office or bedroom doors all the way. To get to his computer he had to turn sideways because there was a narrow path to his desk. His office and his bedroom could have been on an episode of Hoarders. It was hideous, as was our garage and the shed. It's part of the reason for the divorce, but actually, just a small part.
I cleaned his bedroom (if you hadn't already guess we haven't shared a bedroom in over a decade). I cleaned the shed, and about half of the garage so I can at least park in it. I did this while he was in the hospital and in rehab for his broken leg. He asked me to clean his bedroom so he could get his wheelchair in the room, along with his walker. So it's very clean, other than the clutter he started gathering when he came home. He wasn't happy about his clean bedroom, but I considered it a health hazard and it had to be cleaned.
His office is a different story. I started on it, but didn't have time to do much. I've been wondering what was in the closet, which was filled with boxes. I found stuff. Letters from during our marriage, from other women. Lots and lots of letters and cards, some with dates that were only five years into our marriage. We've been married twenty-four years. I read the letters from these women. They loved him, they loved feeling his arms around them, they wanted to be with him, they missed him when they were apart. Even though I had suspected this for years I never had any proof. Now I have proof. Now it doesn't matter anymore.
It still hurt. When I was reading the letters and some of the things they said to and about him, I felt the blood drain out of my body. I was hit with chills, like I was freezing. I took one of the boxes and sat by the fireplace as I read through his treasures from other women. Amidst the love letters were cards from me. Birthday, anniversary and Christmas cards. "I love you" cards as well, from me, telling him how much I loved him. These were mixed in with letters to him from other women, dated the same time. Some date as far back as 1993, that's when he had a post office box in only his name. He said it made our mail safer (we were in an apartment). Now I know it made "his" mail safer.
Some of this was before cell phones, but I found out he had an 800 number so the women could call him. I don't know where they called him. His work? What the hell? The women talked about how they loved talking to him for hours, and the wonderful conversations they had with him. It made me want to puke. I even found one letter from one of the women's husband telling him to stay away from his wife.
Wow. Just "wow" is all I can say. If I had even one smidgen of doubt about this divorce (and actually, I haven't - but if I did), this would have put the final nail in the coffin of our marriage.
I guess I'll go to bed now. I still plan on the gym, in about five hours. My revenge is to get healthy and look good. To be strong and powerful. As far as my husband, he can just go to hell for all I care.
Morning update
Morning update
I promised I'd post here this morning, and thank you so much for your kind comments on my crazy post from earlier today.
First, life lesson learned this morning at 1 a.m.:
LISTEN TO YOUR GUT
If you read my earlier post at 1 a.m. today you know about what I found out last night about my marriage. I knew something was wrong from the beginning. My recent divorce filing is my third time in 24 years I've tried to end this marriage. I knew the day we got married it was a mistake. I didn't listen to my gut, which was an even bigger mistake. It's going to cost me, monetarily and mentally, to end this 24-year long mistake. If only I had listened to my inner voice. Lesson noted and learned.
Speaking of listening to my gut, the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. I couldn't turn it off fast enough. I had only been sleeping about two hours, if you call tossing and turning, and having a panic attack at 4 a.m. sleeping. I woke up again at 6 a.m. I thought I can either roll over and play dead, or get up and fight for what I want in life. I chose my life over another hour of sleep. I went to the gym. It was only 35 minutes on the elliptical. I forgot my water bottle. I missed my turn onto the road to the gym and was on my way to work. Luckily I noticed this before I got on the freeway. I was on the elliptical for five minutes before I realized I didn't have my iPod on. I guess I'm really out of practice for the gym.
Now it's off to work. I feel good today. Good about going to the gym. Good about my decision to end my marriage. Things really are better in the morning.
I promised I'd post here this morning, and thank you so much for your kind comments on my crazy post from earlier today.
First, life lesson learned this morning at 1 a.m.:
LISTEN TO YOUR GUT
If you read my earlier post at 1 a.m. today you know about what I found out last night about my marriage. I knew something was wrong from the beginning. My recent divorce filing is my third time in 24 years I've tried to end this marriage. I knew the day we got married it was a mistake. I didn't listen to my gut, which was an even bigger mistake. It's going to cost me, monetarily and mentally, to end this 24-year long mistake. If only I had listened to my inner voice. Lesson noted and learned.
Speaking of listening to my gut, the alarm went off at 4:30 a.m. I couldn't turn it off fast enough. I had only been sleeping about two hours, if you call tossing and turning, and having a panic attack at 4 a.m. sleeping. I woke up again at 6 a.m. I thought I can either roll over and play dead, or get up and fight for what I want in life. I chose my life over another hour of sleep. I went to the gym. It was only 35 minutes on the elliptical. I forgot my water bottle. I missed my turn onto the road to the gym and was on my way to work. Luckily I noticed this before I got on the freeway. I was on the elliptical for five minutes before I realized I didn't have my iPod on. I guess I'm really out of practice for the gym.
Now it's off to work. I feel good today. Good about going to the gym. Good about my decision to end my marriage. Things really are better in the morning.
Every once and a while I feel like I'm having a nervous breakdown
Every once and a while I feel like I'm having a nervous breakdown
Most of the time, I'm okay. Amazingly okay. I feel strong and positive that I'm doing the right thing by having filed for divorce. I feel confident that my life will all work out for the best and in the long run, everyone will be better off.
Then sometimes, like right now, I feel like I'm just a huge mess and nothing is ever going to be okay again.
I realized today that some of the cats that I've shared with my husband for several years will go with him when the dust settles on the divorce. I thought I was okay with this because they really are his cats. They adore him and when he was here they hung out with him, not me. I really have one cat that loves me and only me. Mickey. He's the one I took to Palm Springs with me (pictured in the window at my girlfriend's house a few posts ago). He's the only cat that comes when I call him and wraps his front paws around my ankles. He sleeps with me. He's my best cat friend. Without a doubt, he goes with me.
Cats are not loyal creatures. Now that my husband is gone I have become their best friend, their only friend. I find myself growing attached to these guys even though I don't want to. That makes me very sad. I know if my husband was to walk in the door, that I would quickly be relegated back to my previous second-class status. Of course, he would only walk through the door over my dead body, and I mean that literally. Someday though, we'll have to split up our belongings and the cats. Thinking about it makes me cry.
The fact that it's the holidays doesn't help either. Add in the shootings in Connecticut and the continuous news reports on the subject, well, let's just rip my heart out and stomp on it.
Diet and exercise. What's that you say? This is suppose to be about my journey to getting healthy. Well guess what? I made fudge at lunch and ate six large pieces (I worked from home today) -- that was my lunch! I felt violently ill all afternoon. Like I was going to throw up. Hot and sweaty. Trouble breathing. I thought I was dying. Death by chocolate seemed like a reality. I've cut up the rest of it, placed it on a pretty dish, saran wrapped it and put it in the trunk of my car. For work tomorrow. I don't care if I ever eat a sweet thing again the rest of my life. Totally gross!
Tomorrow morning...the gym! I promise. I'm going to follow one of my favorite blogger's suggestions and put my workout clothes on the back of my bedroom door so they'll be the first thing I see in the morning. Thank you Roxie from Gravel and Rust for this great idea. I even have the alarm set. Even if it kills me I'm going to the gym tomorrow. I promise to post first thing in the morning with an update on my gym experience...and my nervous breakdown status. Usually things are always better in the morning...they don't feel like they can be much worse right now.
Most of the time, I'm okay. Amazingly okay. I feel strong and positive that I'm doing the right thing by having filed for divorce. I feel confident that my life will all work out for the best and in the long run, everyone will be better off.
Then sometimes, like right now, I feel like I'm just a huge mess and nothing is ever going to be okay again.
I realized today that some of the cats that I've shared with my husband for several years will go with him when the dust settles on the divorce. I thought I was okay with this because they really are his cats. They adore him and when he was here they hung out with him, not me. I really have one cat that loves me and only me. Mickey. He's the one I took to Palm Springs with me (pictured in the window at my girlfriend's house a few posts ago). He's the only cat that comes when I call him and wraps his front paws around my ankles. He sleeps with me. He's my best cat friend. Without a doubt, he goes with me.
Cats are not loyal creatures. Now that my husband is gone I have become their best friend, their only friend. I find myself growing attached to these guys even though I don't want to. That makes me very sad. I know if my husband was to walk in the door, that I would quickly be relegated back to my previous second-class status. Of course, he would only walk through the door over my dead body, and I mean that literally. Someday though, we'll have to split up our belongings and the cats. Thinking about it makes me cry.
The fact that it's the holidays doesn't help either. Add in the shootings in Connecticut and the continuous news reports on the subject, well, let's just rip my heart out and stomp on it.
Diet and exercise. What's that you say? This is suppose to be about my journey to getting healthy. Well guess what? I made fudge at lunch and ate six large pieces (I worked from home today) -- that was my lunch! I felt violently ill all afternoon. Like I was going to throw up. Hot and sweaty. Trouble breathing. I thought I was dying. Death by chocolate seemed like a reality. I've cut up the rest of it, placed it on a pretty dish, saran wrapped it and put it in the trunk of my car. For work tomorrow. I don't care if I ever eat a sweet thing again the rest of my life. Totally gross!
Tomorrow morning...the gym! I promise. I'm going to follow one of my favorite blogger's suggestions and put my workout clothes on the back of my bedroom door so they'll be the first thing I see in the morning. Thank you Roxie from Gravel and Rust for this great idea. I even have the alarm set. Even if it kills me I'm going to the gym tomorrow. I promise to post first thing in the morning with an update on my gym experience...and my nervous breakdown status. Usually things are always better in the morning...they don't feel like they can be much worse right now.
If you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it
If you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it
It's 12:40 a.m. - Wednesday. I haven't been to bed yet. I even took a sleeping pill over an hour ago, something I never do anymore.
I think there's a saying, if you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it. If it's not a saying then it should be. I'm not Googling it. I'm too tired, angry, and frustrated to even care.
For some reason that I don't even understand, tonight at about 11 p.m. I decided to go into my husband's office and see what was in the closet that was floor to ceiling boxes. I can't remember if I mentioned on here that he is a hoarder. I'm sure where he's living right now that it's already starting up again. It came to a point where I couldn't even open his office or bedroom doors all the way. To get to his computer he had to turn sideways because there was a narrow path to his desk. His office and his bedroom could have been on an episode of Hoarders. It was hideous, as was our garage and the shed. It's part of the reason for the divorce, but actually, just a small part.
I cleaned his bedroom (if you hadn't already guess we haven't shared a bedroom in over a decade). I cleaned the shed, and about half of the garage so I can at least park in it. I did this while he was in the hospital and in rehab for his broken leg. He asked me to clean his bedroom so he could get his wheelchair in the room, along with his walker. So it's very clean, other than the clutter he started gathering when he came home. He wasn't happy about his clean bedroom, but I considered it a health hazard and it had to be cleaned.
His office is a different story. I started on it, but didn't have time to do much. I've been wondering what was in the closet, which was filled with boxes. I found stuff. Letters from during our marriage, from other women. Lots and lots of letters and cards, some with dates that were only five years into our marriage. We've been married twenty-four years. I read the letters from these women. They loved him, they loved feeling his arms around them, they wanted to be with him, they missed him when they were apart. Even though I had suspected this for years I never had any proof. Now I have proof. Now it doesn't matter anymore.
It still hurt. When I was reading the letters and some of the things they said to and about him, I felt the blood drain out of my body. I was hit with chills, like I was freezing. I took one of the boxes and sat by the fireplace as I read through his treasures from other women. Amidst the love letters were cards from me. Birthday, anniversary and Christmas cards. "I love you" cards as well, from me, telling him how much I loved him. These were mixed in with letters to him from other women, dated the same time. Some date as far back as 1993, that's when he had a post office box in only his name. He said it made our mail safer (we were in an apartment). Now I know it made "his" mail safer.
Some of this was before cell phones, but I found out he had an 800 number so the women could call him. I don't know where they called him. His work? What the hell? The women talked about how they loved talking to him for hours, and the wonderful conversations they had with him. It made me want to puke. I even found one letter from one of the women's husband telling him to stay away from his wife.
Wow. Just "wow" is all I can say. If I had even one smidgen of doubt about this divorce (and actually, I haven't - but if I did), this would have put the final nail in the coffin of our marriage.
I guess I'll go to bed now. I still plan on the gym, in about five hours. My revenge is to get healthy and look good. To be strong and powerful. As far as my husband, he can just go to hell for all I care.
It's 12:40 a.m. - Wednesday. I haven't been to bed yet. I even took a sleeping pill over an hour ago, something I never do anymore.
I think there's a saying, if you go looking for trouble, you'll probably find it. If it's not a saying then it should be. I'm not Googling it. I'm too tired, angry, and frustrated to even care.
For some reason that I don't even understand, tonight at about 11 p.m. I decided to go into my husband's office and see what was in the closet that was floor to ceiling boxes. I can't remember if I mentioned on here that he is a hoarder. I'm sure where he's living right now that it's already starting up again. It came to a point where I couldn't even open his office or bedroom doors all the way. To get to his computer he had to turn sideways because there was a narrow path to his desk. His office and his bedroom could have been on an episode of Hoarders. It was hideous, as was our garage and the shed. It's part of the reason for the divorce, but actually, just a small part.
I cleaned his bedroom (if you hadn't already guess we haven't shared a bedroom in over a decade). I cleaned the shed, and about half of the garage so I can at least park in it. I did this while he was in the hospital and in rehab for his broken leg. He asked me to clean his bedroom so he could get his wheelchair in the room, along with his walker. So it's very clean, other than the clutter he started gathering when he came home. He wasn't happy about his clean bedroom, but I considered it a health hazard and it had to be cleaned.
His office is a different story. I started on it, but didn't have time to do much. I've been wondering what was in the closet, which was filled with boxes. I found stuff. Letters from during our marriage, from other women. Lots and lots of letters and cards, some with dates that were only five years into our marriage. We've been married twenty-four years. I read the letters from these women. They loved him, they loved feeling his arms around them, they wanted to be with him, they missed him when they were apart. Even though I had suspected this for years I never had any proof. Now I have proof. Now it doesn't matter anymore.
It still hurt. When I was reading the letters and some of the things they said to and about him, I felt the blood drain out of my body. I was hit with chills, like I was freezing. I took one of the boxes and sat by the fireplace as I read through his treasures from other women. Amidst the love letters were cards from me. Birthday, anniversary and Christmas cards. "I love you" cards as well, from me, telling him how much I loved him. These were mixed in with letters to him from other women, dated the same time. Some date as far back as 1993, that's when he had a post office box in only his name. He said it made our mail safer (we were in an apartment). Now I know it made "his" mail safer.
Some of this was before cell phones, but I found out he had an 800 number so the women could call him. I don't know where they called him. His work? What the hell? The women talked about how they loved talking to him for hours, and the wonderful conversations they had with him. It made me want to puke. I even found one letter from one of the women's husband telling him to stay away from his wife.
Wow. Just "wow" is all I can say. If I had even one smidgen of doubt about this divorce (and actually, I haven't - but if I did), this would have put the final nail in the coffin of our marriage.
I guess I'll go to bed now. I still plan on the gym, in about five hours. My revenge is to get healthy and look good. To be strong and powerful. As far as my husband, he can just go to hell for all I care.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Survival of the fittest
Survival of the fittest
I really want to talk about my divorce and the domestic violence case, but the prosecutor's office and my attorney have told me to keep quiet. Anything I write, whether email, text or even this blog, can be subpoenaed for the trial. Even though I would only write the truth, it's best if I keep quiet. Someday I'll talk about it, after the criminal case trial is over, but right now, I have to remained silent on this topic.
Instead, I'll talk about my new focus...my health! For the last several weeks, during all the drama in my personal life, I've tried to eat healthy, but I've failed miserably. I haven't had any binges, but I haven't tracked my food or been very careful about what I was eating. I've only gone to the gym once in the past several weeks (and I thought I was going to die!).
My logic was that I was going through a very traumatic experience and it wasn't the right time to worry about my weight.
All I can say about that logic, s-t-u-p-i-d!
What really woke me up was the class I went to on Thursday. In addition to my gun training and my weekly shooting range practice, I also wanted to take self-defense classes. A guy at work told me I should try Krav Maga. I mentioned it in a previous blog. It's the Israeli Army and Special Forces self-defense training. It's basically street fighting. Krav Maga is Hebrew for hand-to-hand combat. There are several centers that offer this training. The dojo I went to also has Crossfit, Taekwondo and Zhumba classes.
A girlfriend and I went to the trial class. I was worried I wouldn't be fit enough for the class. After we signed up for our free class, we were sent to one of the rooms to wait for the instructor. I looked around the room and noticed mostly women, several of them were very overweight (at least as heavy as me or even heavier). There was fun music playing and I felt okay, I won't have any problem. If these women can do this, I'll be fine.
My relief was short-lived. The Krav Maga assistant instructor that was assigned to help us came into the room and said we were in the wrong place, this was the Zhumba class!
He took us down the hall to another large room. I knew immediately I was in big trouble. Everyone was very physically fit, all were height and weight proportionate and muscular. I was by far the fattest person in the room. In fact, I was the only fat person in the room. My girlfriend that was with me is 5' 6" and weighs 145. She walks every day at lunch for one hour (rain or shine). I walk with her sometimes (and she walks fast). I'll be walking with her every day from here on out. Especially after what I went through in this class.
OH-MY-GOD! That was the hardest, most difficult, most physically challenging class I've ever taken in my life. I was really into high-impact step aerobics in the 70's and 80's. Ha! That was baby exercise compared to Krav Maga.
I literally thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. It's very fast moving. In between the different moves they teach they have you do things like running, push ups, stomach crunches. All the things I really hate.
The moves they focused on in our class was punching, foot work when punching someone, how to throw a punch, and how to fend off a knife attack.
The punching was really hard. They taught us how to stand with our feet to give us the best balance, and how to throw our entire weight into the punch. We were in pairs, and one person would hold a padded board against their chest while the other person punched it. I punched it so hard that by the end of the class my knuckles were raw, with the skin peeled off (I'm getting some gloves or at least the wrap thing the instructor was using).
Before the knife attack training the instructor showed us a surveillance video on youtube of a real knife attack that happened this year in China. It was in a public area in broad daylight. A 24-year old man attacked a 28-year old woman, trying to steal her purse. There were people standing by, but they didn't help her. He stabbed her over 50 times and killed her.
After the video, which was very disturbing, we were taught how to fend off a knife attack, using fake knives. That hurt even more than the punching. We used our forearms to knock the knife out of the assailants hand. The force of the forearm against forearm was very painful. The instructor assured us we'd get use to it and we wouldn't break any bones.
The thing about this class is that you don't play gentle. When you smack your assailant's arms, you smack it like you really mean it. When you punch the padded board your partner is holding, you hit it as if you were in a real fight for your life. You play for real. The idea is if you get into a situation where you need to protect yourself, you'll know what to do.
The instructor even gave me a couple one-on-one lessons. I told him what had happened to me and how helpless I felt. He showed me some moves I would never have thought about on my own. Even if you're pinned down on the floor with someones full body weight on you, you still have options on how to escape.
My girlfriend and I are going to sign up for the classes. I'm going with the one-year option. It's a bit pricey, but by committing to a year, there's quite a bit of savings. It's for unlimited classes.
Probably the most difficult thing, besides the running and push ups, was the instructor telling us that we needed to be light on our feet. You need to be able to move quickly when you're being attacked. At 217 pounds moving quickly is almost impossible for me.
Which brings me to my latest weight loss plan. Weight Watchers. I signed up last night online, and this morning I'm back to the meetings. After Weight Watchers, I'm going to the gym. Then home to mow the lawn.
This is really about survival. It's about being able to get away from danger if I need to. If I can't get away, then it's about being able to fight back. It's put a completely different spin on why I need to lose weight and be healthy. It's no longer just being concerned about having a heart attack or getting some horrible illness because I'm fat. It's not about wearing cute clothes. It's really about being strong and being able to defend myself. Who knew it would literally take a gun to my head to get serious about losing weight?
I really want to talk about my divorce and the domestic violence case, but the prosecutor's office and my attorney have told me to keep quiet. Anything I write, whether email, text or even this blog, can be subpoenaed for the trial. Even though I would only write the truth, it's best if I keep quiet. Someday I'll talk about it, after the criminal case trial is over, but right now, I have to remained silent on this topic.
Instead, I'll talk about my new focus...my health! For the last several weeks, during all the drama in my personal life, I've tried to eat healthy, but I've failed miserably. I haven't had any binges, but I haven't tracked my food or been very careful about what I was eating. I've only gone to the gym once in the past several weeks (and I thought I was going to die!).
My logic was that I was going through a very traumatic experience and it wasn't the right time to worry about my weight.
All I can say about that logic, s-t-u-p-i-d!
What really woke me up was the class I went to on Thursday. In addition to my gun training and my weekly shooting range practice, I also wanted to take self-defense classes. A guy at work told me I should try Krav Maga. I mentioned it in a previous blog. It's the Israeli Army and Special Forces self-defense training. It's basically street fighting. Krav Maga is Hebrew for hand-to-hand combat. There are several centers that offer this training. The dojo I went to also has Crossfit, Taekwondo and Zhumba classes.
A girlfriend and I went to the trial class. I was worried I wouldn't be fit enough for the class. After we signed up for our free class, we were sent to one of the rooms to wait for the instructor. I looked around the room and noticed mostly women, several of them were very overweight (at least as heavy as me or even heavier). There was fun music playing and I felt okay, I won't have any problem. If these women can do this, I'll be fine.
My relief was short-lived. The Krav Maga assistant instructor that was assigned to help us came into the room and said we were in the wrong place, this was the Zhumba class!
He took us down the hall to another large room. I knew immediately I was in big trouble. Everyone was very physically fit, all were height and weight proportionate and muscular. I was by far the fattest person in the room. In fact, I was the only fat person in the room. My girlfriend that was with me is 5' 6" and weighs 145. She walks every day at lunch for one hour (rain or shine). I walk with her sometimes (and she walks fast). I'll be walking with her every day from here on out. Especially after what I went through in this class.
OH-MY-GOD! That was the hardest, most difficult, most physically challenging class I've ever taken in my life. I was really into high-impact step aerobics in the 70's and 80's. Ha! That was baby exercise compared to Krav Maga.
I literally thought I was going to die. I wanted to die. It's very fast moving. In between the different moves they teach they have you do things like running, push ups, stomach crunches. All the things I really hate.
The moves they focused on in our class was punching, foot work when punching someone, how to throw a punch, and how to fend off a knife attack.
The punching was really hard. They taught us how to stand with our feet to give us the best balance, and how to throw our entire weight into the punch. We were in pairs, and one person would hold a padded board against their chest while the other person punched it. I punched it so hard that by the end of the class my knuckles were raw, with the skin peeled off (I'm getting some gloves or at least the wrap thing the instructor was using).
Before the knife attack training the instructor showed us a surveillance video on youtube of a real knife attack that happened this year in China. It was in a public area in broad daylight. A 24-year old man attacked a 28-year old woman, trying to steal her purse. There were people standing by, but they didn't help her. He stabbed her over 50 times and killed her.
After the video, which was very disturbing, we were taught how to fend off a knife attack, using fake knives. That hurt even more than the punching. We used our forearms to knock the knife out of the assailants hand. The force of the forearm against forearm was very painful. The instructor assured us we'd get use to it and we wouldn't break any bones.
The thing about this class is that you don't play gentle. When you smack your assailant's arms, you smack it like you really mean it. When you punch the padded board your partner is holding, you hit it as if you were in a real fight for your life. You play for real. The idea is if you get into a situation where you need to protect yourself, you'll know what to do.
The instructor even gave me a couple one-on-one lessons. I told him what had happened to me and how helpless I felt. He showed me some moves I would never have thought about on my own. Even if you're pinned down on the floor with someones full body weight on you, you still have options on how to escape.
My girlfriend and I are going to sign up for the classes. I'm going with the one-year option. It's a bit pricey, but by committing to a year, there's quite a bit of savings. It's for unlimited classes.
Probably the most difficult thing, besides the running and push ups, was the instructor telling us that we needed to be light on our feet. You need to be able to move quickly when you're being attacked. At 217 pounds moving quickly is almost impossible for me.
Which brings me to my latest weight loss plan. Weight Watchers. I signed up last night online, and this morning I'm back to the meetings. After Weight Watchers, I'm going to the gym. Then home to mow the lawn.
This is really about survival. It's about being able to get away from danger if I need to. If I can't get away, then it's about being able to fight back. It's put a completely different spin on why I need to lose weight and be healthy. It's no longer just being concerned about having a heart attack or getting some horrible illness because I'm fat. It's not about wearing cute clothes. It's really about being strong and being able to defend myself. Who knew it would literally take a gun to my head to get serious about losing weight?
Every once and a while I feel like I'm having a nervous breakdown
Every once and a while I feel like I'm having a nervous breakdown
Most of the time, I'm okay. Amazingly okay. I feel strong and positive that I'm doing the right thing by having filed for divorce. I feel confident that my life will all work out for the best and in the long run, everyone will be better off.
Then sometimes, like right now, I feel like I'm just a huge mess and nothing is ever going to be okay again.
I realized today that some of the cats that I've shared with my husband for several years will go with him when the dust settles on the divorce. I thought I was okay with this because they really are his cats. They adore him and when he was here they hung out with him, not me. I really have one cat that loves me and only me. Mickey. He's the one I took to Palm Springs with me (pictured in the window at my girlfriend's house a few posts ago). He's the only cat that comes when I call him and wraps his front paws around my ankles. He sleeps with me. He's my best cat friend. Without a doubt, he goes with me.
Cats are not loyal creatures. Now that my husband is gone I have become their best friend, their only friend. I find myself growing attached to these guys even though I don't want to. That makes me very sad. I know if my husband was to walk in the door, that I would quickly be relegated back to my previous second-class status. Of course, he would only walk through the door over my dead body, and I mean that literally. Someday though, we'll have to split up our belongings and the cats. Thinking about it makes me cry.
The fact that it's the holidays doesn't help either. Add in the shootings in Connecticut and the continuous news reports on the subject, well, let's just rip my heart out and stomp on it.
Diet and exercise. What's that you say? This is suppose to be about my journey to getting healthy. Well guess what? I made fudge at lunch and ate six large pieces (I worked from home today) -- that was my lunch! I felt violently ill all afternoon. Like I was going to throw up. Hot and sweaty. Trouble breathing. I thought I was dying. Death by chocolate seemed like a reality. I've cut up the rest of it, placed it on a pretty dish, saran wrapped it and put it in the trunk of my car. For work tomorrow. I don't care if I ever eat a sweet thing again the rest of my life. Totally gross!
Tomorrow morning...the gym! I promise. I'm going to follow one of my favorite blogger's suggestions and put my workout clothes on the back of my bedroom door so they'll be the first thing I see in the morning. Thank you Roxie from Gravel and Rust for this great idea. I even have the alarm set. Even if it kills me I'm going to the gym tomorrow. I promise to post first thing in the morning with an update on my gym experience...and my nervous breakdown status. Usually things are always better in the morning...they don't feel like they can be much worse right now.
Most of the time, I'm okay. Amazingly okay. I feel strong and positive that I'm doing the right thing by having filed for divorce. I feel confident that my life will all work out for the best and in the long run, everyone will be better off.
Then sometimes, like right now, I feel like I'm just a huge mess and nothing is ever going to be okay again.
I realized today that some of the cats that I've shared with my husband for several years will go with him when the dust settles on the divorce. I thought I was okay with this because they really are his cats. They adore him and when he was here they hung out with him, not me. I really have one cat that loves me and only me. Mickey. He's the one I took to Palm Springs with me (pictured in the window at my girlfriend's house a few posts ago). He's the only cat that comes when I call him and wraps his front paws around my ankles. He sleeps with me. He's my best cat friend. Without a doubt, he goes with me.
Cats are not loyal creatures. Now that my husband is gone I have become their best friend, their only friend. I find myself growing attached to these guys even though I don't want to. That makes me very sad. I know if my husband was to walk in the door, that I would quickly be relegated back to my previous second-class status. Of course, he would only walk through the door over my dead body, and I mean that literally. Someday though, we'll have to split up our belongings and the cats. Thinking about it makes me cry.
The fact that it's the holidays doesn't help either. Add in the shootings in Connecticut and the continuous news reports on the subject, well, let's just rip my heart out and stomp on it.
Diet and exercise. What's that you say? This is suppose to be about my journey to getting healthy. Well guess what? I made fudge at lunch and ate six large pieces (I worked from home today) -- that was my lunch! I felt violently ill all afternoon. Like I was going to throw up. Hot and sweaty. Trouble breathing. I thought I was dying. Death by chocolate seemed like a reality. I've cut up the rest of it, placed it on a pretty dish, saran wrapped it and put it in the trunk of my car. For work tomorrow. I don't care if I ever eat a sweet thing again the rest of my life. Totally gross!
Tomorrow morning...the gym! I promise. I'm going to follow one of my favorite blogger's suggestions and put my workout clothes on the back of my bedroom door so they'll be the first thing I see in the morning. Thank you Roxie from Gravel and Rust for this great idea. I even have the alarm set. Even if it kills me I'm going to the gym tomorrow. I promise to post first thing in the morning with an update on my gym experience...and my nervous breakdown status. Usually things are always better in the morning...they don't feel like they can be much worse right now.
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