threadwalker

I'm coming up on my one-year anniversary of hitting my weight target. Which means this concludes my first year of maintenance at the end of next week. I may celebrate by getting myself a pair of bicycle shorts.

If you really care for the numbers, my goal was 150. It was a mental journey as much as a physical one. It took me a year to get from 185 to 150. There were a lot of plateaus in my first year where I forgot to recalculate my points as I dropped, or I forgot to recalculate my points as I got older (yes, points go down when you turn 38!), or I took a weekend off and sacraficed myself on the altar of s'mores and rum. There was a lot of situations that required "extreme planning" (like the catered junk food lunches everyday at work from May through end of August) and times when the battle with temptation was extreme. It was a wonderful year of self-discovery.

This last year has been a different journey: maintenance.

It's also been a year of self-discovery.

I currently maintain my weight in a zone between 144-146. Although lately it's been below 144; it's probably creeping downwards at a glacial pace because of the fitness stuff in conjunction with maintaining my calories (I'm not actually trying to lose weight, just eat properly for my fitness goals so that I don't go into starvation-mode; I want to keep building muscle if my body feels it needs it.)

What I've learned over the last year is that sometimes my weight is down and sometimes it's up, but the life-style change is here to stay. I go through phases of super-nutrition woman (roll hero theme music) and other phases of barely holding my shit together on a daily basis (sound of air-plane plummetting to earth). I have a lot of balls in the air and although I try to keep fitness and nutrition at the top of my list, it doesn't always happen. I used to freak when my weight crept up, but I've learned that it's just a matter of being self-aware, embracing the limitations of my life, and letting go of the freak-out. Those upward creeps are just blips because I love eating right and I love working out. And once in a while, I love a tall Roman Coke and a dish of brownies! That adult drink and treat is not going to stop me from loving the healthy aspect of my life because I "live" in the healthy zone, I merely flirt with the Carb-zone. And if my weight bobbles up by 5 lbs, that's okay because in a month, I'll bring it down again doing the things I love and eating the way I love. So what I learned this year is that this was not a temporary fix; I'm learning to trust myself and I now know that I've made a life-style change that I love.

Along these thoughts, I've also been thinking about the "happy weight zone".

Here's a basic engineering equation that applies to bank accounts and body weight (and numerous other things):

Input - Output = Acumulation

which means:

what you eat - what you burn = how many extra calories you keep/lose.

(it is not my intent to discuss whether we flip into starvation mode, etc. That overcomplicates the point I have been thinking about).

What is my happy weight zone? I was thinking about pushing my zone to the 135-140 spot. I'm kind of gun-shy because the last time I was there was when I was 19 and I had the awesome metabolism of a teen. Plus I did martial arts for several hours at least 4x a week, I ran 4-6 miles on the days I wasn't playing water polo, and I was in the water for 2 hrs on water polo days. It felt like my entire life was fitness. 20 years later I don't have 3+ hrs a day to dedicate to fitness and I don't have the metabolism of a teen. So what would it take to do that? And (more important to me) would I actually be happy maintaining that? Or would I end up being unhappy? Cuz I gotta say, I'm happy now. The only reason to push it is to (1) see if I could (cuz we all admit I'm silly like that) and (2) so that I could haul around less body weight when I'm racing (which is a compelling reason).

I'm not sure. So I'm not stressing it. I'm happy in my zone and I'm letting my body figure it out. I seem to be creeping closer to 140, which is unexpected, but I'm eating with maintenance in mind. I think what's happening is that maybe my body is FINALLY burning that fat that's collected around my middle and on my thighs. Yay Team Cellulite Burn!

In other news, a year ago I ran my first race, the Susan G Komen 5 k in San Francisco. (3.1 miles for those who didn't realize that). Running 3.1 miles was a big deal a year ago; it was the results of hard work and personal follow-through.

TODAY (roll hero theme music) I biked to the top of Mt Diablo.

It took me 2 hrs and 40 minutes of climbing; 2 rests of 5 minutes each; 3,800+ ft of elevation. 11+ miles (would have to check computer on my bike for exact mileage)

Hawt Damn!

I may not be a "real" biker, but I did something big today. Something I couldn't have done a year ago.

I called home when I got to the top. How can you NOT get cell from the highest point in town!??! But I wandered around and, leaning out over the observation deck, called. (woke the hubby up from nap. d'OH!) And then I called my MIL. And a few others. Yay! Elation!

It was NOT easy. I almost didn't complete it... the last mile was fucking hell. It was hot, there was hardly any shade, it was steep, and I was so tired I wasn't sure if I wanted to vomit, cry, or passout from dizziness. I just kept pedalling one foot past the next, moving about 5-6 kph. My pulse was pounding in my skull and I was in that "I'm an idiot and don't know how to stop because if I do then I'm a loser and may not keep going upwards" mental zone. Some voice of sanity took over and I forced myself to pull over and, standing in the sun, I finished my water, took some Gu, and made myself to catch my breath. I made myself stare at my watch and I beat back the impulse to get back on my bike until 5 minutes had passed. The urge was insane when several bikers and 3 hikers passed me. But I did. And it was a good thing because near the top was a 100ft climb that was insanely steep and I'm not sure I'd have made it without that previous 5 minute rest. My brain promptly screamed, 'You've got to be fucking kidding me?!?! NOW?!?! Now I have to climb THAT!!! Why couldn't THAT have happened an hour ago? Is walking an option? RAWR!' And so I rose up out of my saddle and pumped it out one stroke at a time.

I made it, though, and, shaking with exhaustion, I unclipped from my bike and stumbled to the water fountain. And so pleased I unclipped instead of just toppling over; I would have been mortified in front of the other cyclists who were relaxing in the shade.

Woot!!! I'd made it. Not quickly. Not with grace. Not without stopping. But I made it. (cheer!)

As soon as I caught my breath, I started feeling crazy-awesome-unstoppable. Happy dance! The ride down was fast; I am getting better at handling down-hill speed and turns.

Right now I'm still not tired.. I'm totally energized! I mean.. I couldn't do it again today, but I'm bouncing off the walls with the victory energy. So I went grocery shopping (cherries, blueberries, strawberries, carrots, bell peppers, edamame, and salmon...) and plan to cook dinner. And clean. And organize the Corbie Cave. And ... wheeeee! Zooom!

Under the lessons learned:
1. Sunscreen is a must. My legs are 3-tiers of sun-burn since I've been biking in shorts of different length this week. And I look silly; I only burned on the tops so I look like I feel asleep in the sun on my back.

2. REAL bicycle shorts are a must. The Tri-shorts are not sufficiently padded. Ass is sore.

3. Must pack Cliff Bars with 2 bottles of gatorade. (I had Gu, but you can't take Gu w/ gatorade and I had 1 bottle gatorade and 1 bottle of water; next time 2 bottles of gatorade + 2 cliff bars).

4. According the the very nice cyclists at the top, the Mt Diablo climb is steeper than any of the Deathride Climbs. Now THAT is promising news!