Week 3 Mayor Debate Results and Smugness Reconsidered

In this week's Mayor Challenge I challenged the Mayor to buy new cycling shoes. 

I am proud to say that he will soon be the owner of:

Shimano SH-R190 Road Cycling Shoes (For Men and Women) color: white size: 40 Save 52%    $239.99    #4194T-01-40

and he might even not send them back!

I am the proud owner of a heart rate monitor.  

Heart rate monitor and stage one of the construction of my "spin station."

One of the fun activities I did with Gwyn this summer was to measure my lactic threshold.  Apparently, at 165-ish, I am the most efficient at fat-burning and I should be aiming to work out there for about 45 minutes a day.  Now, instead of perceived exertion, I can measure actual exertion.

In other news, I had been planning on writing a very smug blog post about my "strategic reduction in effort" (SRE) this week. 

As only my most dedicated of readers will already know, many of the challenges I have taken on with my fellow bloggers get dashed by the "week-threes," a phenomenon in which my motivation falls flat at week 3.

True to form, week 3 got off to a rocky start.  I was tired, grumpy, my knee hurt, and I didn't have any groceries to make healthy lunches.  Instead of letting all of this knock me completely off the wagon, I decided to do a "strategic reduction in effort."  It would be a controlled fall off the wagon.

Here's how the SRE looks:  

• On a normal week, I would hit Beav-X-90 5 times and yoga once, along with some cycling.  SRE week, I skipped Beav-X-90 Monday and Thursday. 
• On a normal week, I would try to eat "like a champ" Monday through Friday, then give myself a little break on the weekends.  SRE week I am not counting calories, eating perfectly, or feeling guilty.  
• On a normal week, I would try to refraign from drinking during the week days.  SRE week, I went out for drinks with friends last night at a bar-wake (yet another classic neighborhood bar is closing, sad moment).
• I had one mini-cupcake yesterday.  Not zero.  Not three.

Instead of driving myself crazy by trying to be an A+ student all the time, I would give myself permission to be a C student for the week.  This would give me the chance to recharge and refocus my efforts.  Both the Mayoral Challenge and living healthy in general are marathons not sprints, so it is okay to change your pace a little. 

Boy, was I feeling smug about this SRE.  I would beat those "week-three" blues.  I found the key to a successful challenge and perhaps to making sustainable changes in my life.  Look at me!  I am so smart!  S.M.R.T. 

And, I felt smug up until the moment when, last night, the Tiger and I were walking home from the bar-wake.  A college student drove by and yelled something indecipherable out the window.  I didn't get the full sentiment, but the message was clear: "fat." 

Maybe it was because I was wearing a puffy down coat?

It doesn't matter how much money you make, how successful you are at work, how much your friends and family adore you, when you are an object of public mockery your self-esteem goes down the toilet. 

I am fat.  Oh, the shame. 

And, I am not the only one grappling with the fact that it is not longer socially acceptable, or at least socially ignorable, to be fat.   

Take Chris Christie, once-possible-candidate-for-the-GOP-nomination and governor of New Jersey.  He was the target of jokes from late night comedians.  Not only that, pundits speculated whether he could be successful as a candidate because of his weight.  Despite the fact that two-thirds of Americans are overweight or obese, we don't want a fat president.  William Taft would be rolling in his grave!

I also listened to a story on the radio about a woman who has long struggled with her weight.  It's not just the pressure to lose weight, it's the shame.  
 

Don't get me wrong.  I am not looking for sympathy.  I got myself into this situation, and I acknowledge that my being overweight is an undue burden on myself, on my country, and on the planet.  I get it.
That kid reminded me of a poem by Sylvia Plath we are reading for one of my classes today (Frank, don't say anything!):

Mirror

I am silver and exact.  I have no preconceptions. 

Whatever I see I swallow immediately

Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.

I am not cruel, only truthful--

The eye of a little god, four cornered.

That college kid was my mirror, unmisted by love or dislike, not cruel but truthful. 

And, at best, the public scorn does empower my better angels.  I am an object of public mockery!  I need to get my biscuit into the gym!  F*ck a SRE, I need to get back to work. 

At worst, though, hearing those words spoken out loud also fuels my deepest self-loathing. 

• Instead of being proud that I can now lift my feet a teeny-tiny bit in the "crow" position, I obsess about smothering myself with my own boobs during the "plow" position. 
• Despite my proclaimed "beastness," the only beast I think of myself as is one of those rubber chickens, with the super fat thighs.  
• Losing weight is so hard, I whine.  It's easy for everyone else.  All they have to do is ditch the fast food and the pop and go for a walk, and bam! 20 pounds melt away.  For me, every calorie is a Sisyphean effort.  
• Instead of seeing my SRE as strategic effort at long term achievement, I see it as a failure of self-discipline, or worse, totally irrelevant.  The number on the scale isn't going to move in the negative direction no matter what I do. 

And it's self-loathing, or at least self-neglect, that got me into this position.  I didn't take care of myself because I didn't care enough about myself.  But, it's hard to feel deserving of care, when you are an object of school boy's taunts, like the bearded lady at the circus.  Then, someone offers you a cupcake!  Sneaky hate spiral. 

Yet, despite all the mean things I can think about myself, I do still believe that I deserve to be happy.  Beav-X-90 makes me happy, and measuring my heart-rate makes me happy.  So does riding my bike.  Eating really delicious, nutritious, local food makes me happy, and so does sharing some beers and nachos with good friends, every once in a while.  And, I figure, if I keep pointing myself in the direction towards greater happiness, then I can't be too far off track. 

Happiness is better than smugness any day.