Stairway to Heaven?

I hate to acknowledge that an aspect of my self-diagnosed obsessive compulsive disorder involves counting my steps. I revealed this to Doc. B. on a recent jog, that to pass the time, I frequently count my steps between landmarks and/or count the number of steps for each breath in and out. She already knew that I had a habit of counting stairs. This came up in a conversation with some friends when I disclosed the fact that I knew how many steps there were on the staircase in our house. As usual, I’m sure that alcohol was probably involved in this confession as I don’t think I would have admitted it otherwise. Since the cat is out of the bag now, I figured I could come clean on the blog too. Oh, and by the way, Doc. B. counted the steps in our house only to find that I was indeed correct.

I also know way too much about the stairwell at my office. It takes 5 minutes for me to walk down from the 21st floor and another ten minutes to walk back up. So it’s been one of my standard 15 minute break activities since I started working here at the Federal building. You’d think that an iPod would be entertainment enough while I’m hoofing it up and down these stairs, but no, my counting continues. There are 24 stair steps between each floor, 12 stair steps between each landing and 6 steps on each landing. There are nine Automated External Defibrillators, and eight signs that say "no food or drink in the stairwell". I should note that in addition to the iPod and the counting, there are always other things to do and see in the stairs. For example, for the past three days, there has been a copy of a Code of Federal Regulations just lying outside the door to the 19th floor. Who would leave this there and/or not realize that they dropped it? And what should one do when confronted with this situation? Should I turn it in to the lost and found or just leave it there? And despite those warnings about food and drinks, fellow federal employees, likely named Hansel and Gretel, usually leave me a trail of crushed Cheetos or popcorn so that I can find my way out of the stairwell. And if it's not actual food, it's gum and candy wrappers. One day I found nine pennies. It was pretty obvious that someone had been dropping them from above to see where they would land. Clearly other people have fun in the stairwell just like me. And can you imagine these stairs in the middle of a fire drill? Thank goodness I’ve only participated in one of them since working here. It’s very difficult to stay in step with a crowd of people, many of whom have not been in the stairwell since the last fire drill. It took substantially longer then five minutes to get to the first floor exit.

I’ve had a pedometer in the past but it went on the blitz and was more frustrating than helpful. For example, I would jog for 30 minutes and it would only register 14 steps. This is very annoying to someone with a step counting obsession. So I was pleasantly surprised when my friend, Mrs. T., presented me with a new pedometer today. "They" say you should get in 10,000 steps per day. I should have no problem hitting that goal and maybe, just maybe, I’ll give my brain a break and let the pedometer count my steps? Nah…probably not.

Take me out to the Ball Game

I’ve been promising my buddy Kowski that I would make sure her name got into a future blog entry. Little did she know it would be all about her. The majority of my vast readers do not know Kowski so I better start there – with some history. Kowski and I worked together at one of my former employers. We had an immediate bond because we were hired just two weeks apart, went through training together, and were then placed in charge of a most unusual group of 25 employees - affectionately dubbed "the island of misfit toys". I’m sure there is a reason we were placed on this particular team – no doubt we also fit the requirements to be shipwrecked on that island. Kowski and I became quick confidants, went to lunch together, supported one another and figured out, what I viewed as, a great team approach to managing our group of employees. Over the three years that we worked together, Kowski also filled in as my "little sister", since my own siblings live so far away. I got to push her around, make fun of her, be bossy, and do all of those things that big sisters get to do. And, like a good little sister, Kowski took it well and of course dished it right back at me. It was not uncommon to hear the old "I’m rubber, your glue…" statement, have paper wads flying over the cubicle walls, or see Kowski do one of her infamous "booty slap" dances. Oh, and she makes a mean Boston Butt Roast that led to many requests whenever we would have a work pot luck. Non age-appropriate comments were the norm and included: "Kowski, you better get your butt in here tomorrow for the pot luck", or "Kowski, your butt smells so good!" or "Kowski, how do you get your butt so juicy". As you can imagine, when I left my former employer, I missed my day-to-day interactions with Kowski. But I would of course never tell her that to her face because that would be way too sickie sweet for a big sister to say.

Now that I’ve been at my new job for over a year, Kowski and I still get together every so often. Usually we go to baseball or football games since we both like to drink overpriced beer out of plastic cups and drop peanut shells on the floor beneath us. One of my most enjoyable sporting event memories was going to a Falcon’s playoff game with Kowski. All of the fans were revved up from tailgating and many had been drinking heavily even before the kick off. So when Kowski and I got to the game, we got in line for our dogs and beer so that we too could join in the fun. After paying the vendor way too much money, I carried the snacks, while she juggled a glass of beer in each hand. As she turned away from the vendor, a fan from the opposing team stumbled into her and splashed beer onto the front of her Falcon’s jersey. He apologized profusely, with slurred words, and promptly began using his bare hands to wipe off the front of Kowski’s chest. Just try to get the visual of her trying to maintain a hold on her two beers while this drunken man is rubbing all over the front of her shirt. Kowski tells me that, in what was to be expected, I was laughing too much to try to do anything to help her. She looked like she was in too much shock to do anything either.

We went to a Braves game earlier this week with Kowski’s friend "Stella" (name changed to protect the not so innocent). Stella and I both live in town, but Kowski lives OTP (outside the perimeter). Since Kowski would be driving ITP (yes, inside the perimeter), she decided just to take the afternoon off of work so that she and Stella could make a day of it. They began their day by bobbing and weaving Kowski’s Nissan Altima through the immigration rally at the State Capitol – final destination: the new aquarium. The plan was that they would tour the world of fish and then call me when they were on their way to my house. So I get a call around 5pm that they are waiting for AAA to show up and take care of Kowski’s battery. Apparently, when you leave your lights on while you are in an aquarium for five hours, your battery can go dead. First, I couldn’t believe that they had actually spent five hours there, but second, why weren’t they just asking someone to use some jumper cables? Well, as I was getting ready to hang up, I could hear Stella in the background saying she’d found someone to jump the car. She moonlights as a club dancer so you can imagine that she probably didn’t have any problem finding some guy to jump her, errr, the car. Stella is one of those annoyingly skinny girls who can eat whatever I eat and then some, without gaining a pound. Shoot, at the game, she ate a hot dog and a half, drank a beer, munched on peanuts, and then still had room to flag down the cotton candy guy for some of that pink, gross, sugary stuff. After they got the car started, they arrived at my house and we hung out on the porch. We chatted a bit before the game to catch up on each other’s lives. During our conversation we, as usual, kept the compliments to a minimum. But speaking of butt, Kowski did tell me mine looked smaller. Thanks for always making it fun Kowski!

Pounding the Pounds - Republished from 4/28/06

Since my last blog entry touched on weight issues, I thought I’d go ahead and continue them in a separate document. I have had this written for a while and was saving it until I could get some photos downloaded to go with it, but I’ll add those later. PHOTOS ADDED 5/4/05 - Before and After - I'll add a "now" somewhere else!

For those of you that have known me for a long time, you are aware of my struggles with weight. I’m pretty sure I topped the scales at 200 pounds (+/-) at some point during, or right after, college. I stopped getting on the scales when it hit about 185 but I’m sure I got bigger. How could I not when I ate lunch at Wendy’s every day for a semester – well, we were on the quarter system so it was a tad bit shorter than a semester. I had a single with cheese (500? calories), large fries (350? calories) and, for good measure, a diet coke every day for ten weeks. This was in the 1980’s, pre-super sizing, but I certainly did not need to see the movie by the same name to know what eating fast food would do to me.

I feel certain the only way I made it through working at McDonald’s as a high school teenager without hitting that 200 pound level was by playing basketball all the time to burn it off. After college I eventually joined Weight Watchers for a month so that I could get the basic materials as well as an understanding of how the program worked. By continuing on their plan, all by my little old self, I was able to get down to about 130 – a whopping (not to be confused with a Burger King Whopper) 70 pounds lighter than what I’m sure I had been. People told me I looked emaciated at that size and I simply wasn’t able to maintain it – I didn’t last too long at that low weight.

Since losing that huge amount of weight, I’ve hovered somewhere in the middle. And even though I was probably considered "overweight" by the body mass index charts, I’ve felt generally overall healthy, I’ve developed a great routine of getting up and going to the gym in the mornings, and I still have plenty of my favorite foods and drinks.

But since turning 40, I’ve been ratcheting it up a notch. Ripley’s believe it or not, I’m not drinking as much as I used to. And as much as I like my beer, I’ve tried to switch to red wine at least some of the time. And would you believe I don’t always eat everything on my plate? What a novel idea. I try to drink more water than I used to as well. I'm closer to that low weight than I've been in a very long time.

But the real secrets: less stressful employment and yoga. The job change could not have been better for me. I’m done with proving to myself that I can do the corporate ladder climbing. I’ve also shown that I can, if I want to, actually do a great job of supervising people without wanting to either jump in front of or blow torch the next car that cut in front of me on Georgia 400. Okay, I would probably still want to have a cocktail every night but at least I wouldn’t be suicidal or homicidal! And I’ve also changed my perception of yoga. I always pictured it as a fru fru way of stretching and "exercising", but thanks to some wonderful teachers as well as my fellow yogis, I know it can be a true workout, not to mention a very grounding and centering activity. When Doc. B. first started doing yoga, and swearing by it, I really didn’t believe her. But now I’m sold. And now when people ask me what I’m doing to lose weight, and I respond with "yoga", they don’t believe me either. Anyone care to join me at my next yoga class and find out for yourself?