Out of the Fog

October 6, 2014

So writing through depression and burnout and bronchitis isn’t exactly the easiest of things and staying on track nutritionally is even harder. My number one coping mechanism is food. Not in the deprivation of it. But in the indulgence of it. And this time of year it’s a real sonofabitch. What with all the candy and turkey and dressing and ham. What’s a girl like me to do?

This isn’t typically the easiest time of year for me. My mood tends to head south for the fall and winter. Then add to that the typical female issues (yes male readers I’m referring to that time of the month) and for me and well, the people around me it takes real work to make things livable for everyone concerned.

So food, is just well, the easiest way for me to cope. But since Imaginarium I’ve been suffering from the bipolar disorder with the sickness and the burnout since the last day of the Con. So what do you do when facing this three headed hydra?

You. Take. Time. Off.

And I hate taking time off. It is totally against how I run my career which is all out, balls to the wall writing, marketing, and touring. Of course launching a new blog during this time would seem stupid in retrospect but I think as long as I hang in there this blog will take care of itself, much like the way Letters to Daniel did.

Here’s a picture of me at Imaginarium. With THE Maurice Broaddus. As you can see I have a lot of weight to lose. But tonight I plan on hitting the pavement again.

Well, I took 5 days off. No writing. Not much computer time. Enough Big Bang and Reba to choke a horse on and on the fifth day brunch with my mom and aunts. A pampered chef party where we cooked. And then a girls night watching movies with new friends.

Amazing what a little time off will do. I was ready to write Saturday night but held off until Sunday morning and I was handsomely rewarded with 4 pages on BLACK ICE, the last 6 pages of the Gladiator Chronicles and the first 3 pages of a write for hire job. And this morning I already have 4 pages on BLACK ICE and I’m working on this post.

Yesterday I got back on track eating wise and the walk, unless it’s storming out I’ll be walking with dad. Things seem to be going better  for now. And I feel really good.  

Sidelined But On My Way Back

September 29^th, 2014

So after last Monday what was only a sore throat and drainage and body aches (also known around these parts as the Con Crud) it developed into full blown bronchitis. Sidelining me even now. But I have been careful with my food and am terrified to step on the scale. Seeing 300+ pounds is never fun. But the truth is what it is.

This last week has found me struggling to get better and to maintain my writing schedule which is hard when you have personality like mine that says keep moving. Rest is for the weak. Keep writing. No excuses. You’re up? Then you need to be writing on whatever project you’re on. Have a blog to build on and keep together? You need post. A journey about weight loss and self discovery in the wake of physical change? Then nothing short of honest refection and positive action will do.

Tomorrow marks the sixth day of antibiotics. I’m almost well enough to return to the park. My training partner though is coming apart physically. Dad needs knee replacement surgery and has back and wrist pain. He’s in his sixties. And he’s still in better shape than me LOL.

But today was about recharging those batteries. I got a thousand words done this morning because I knew once Missy and I left to pick up Pam and go to lunch and talk writing and marketing next to nothing would be done on the chapter. Although I’m tempted to push through the fatigue and write anyway.

Writing a novel is a bit like running or walking a marathon. Neither one is sprint. You kind of half to be half crazy to decide to do it, but really, as long you keep taking it one step at time or 1,667 words a day you can make it to the end or finish line eventually.

Will there times where you think there’s not enough strength to take one more step? Yes. I know it for a fact. In my first, and heretofore, only, marathon I hit the 24 mile marker where they had cameras set up that read SMILE! I thought fuck that, and was tempted flip the double bird. BUT, I was tired, so exhausted, everything hurt, my legs were in knots, it was cold and had only gotten colder as the race had gone on. I thought fuck it, I’m too tired to bother with it.

As I describe the pain of that marathon you may ask yourself why on God’s green earth would she put herself through that again?

Simple. I’m a lunatic. Cerifiable. How do I know this? Because most marathoners are like novelists they get satisfaction from something that others say is too hard or that they’ve always thought about doing but never did.

Here’s a secret I’m going to let you in on. Everyone has novel in them. Just like everyone has a marathon in them. Whether or not they choose to do it is another thing altogether. But if you say you want these things it’s all hot air until you put foot to pavement or pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.

See I am the #noexcuses nightmare when it comes to those who have waited a lifetime to do what it is they’ve always wanted to do. I fought back from mental illness to have the writing success I enjoy now. And I lost my physical health along the way.

So when I hit the road tomorrow I will be I will be also hitting the scale at Kroger, the local grocery store. Hopefully I’ll have pictures to show at that time, yes I’m big but I plan on keeping everyone riveted on this journey with me. And remember if this fat girl can hit the road in search of return to marathon you can too!

The First Step

I suppose you could say my love affair with running and walking started when I was twelve years old. I was a geeky, nerdy, awkward, and unpopular fat girl who was crucified pretty much by the student body at large. I wore big plastic brown rimmed glasses and whose fashion sense was well, I had none. I still don't. Only now I don't care. And to be honest the only fashionable item of clothing I ever lusted after was a pair of Nike athletic shoes. Which in all reality were too narrow for my feet. I wouldn't have a decent pair of running shoes until I was 24 years old and had the kind of money to splurge on the kind I read about in Runner's World.

For the most part I am still geeky, nerdy, and awkward, only now I embrace those things about myself. And if I want decent pair of cross trainers I go to Swag's in Auburndale near Iroquois Park in Louisville, KY. Swag Hartel knows shoes and has been known to cut a deal or two in his day for local running community.

But when I was twelve years old my dad, John, (he's my stepdad, but my married him when I was three, and given the kind of dreck she was married to and spawned me and my sister Brandy with, he’s an angel, there will be times I say otherwise, but trust me he really is a good man) picked me up from school one day and on the way to pick mom from work he took me for a walk at Iroquois Park. He told me if I could make it the whole way around (3.1 miles) the loop he would take me to Ehrlers for a frozen yogurt. Healthy right?

Yes. He encouraged me to exercise by dangling what was essentially soft serve ice cream in front my face. As if I would complain. Well, it didn’t take long for him to see just how out of shape I was. I stopped at rate which for him must have seem constantly. But, I do NOT give up easily. I wanted that frozen yogurt. I wanted to prove that I could finish what I started. And even though it took me what seemed like for-freaking-ever I made it to the top of the last hill and eventually finished the loop.

I was tired. Depleted. Exhausted. At times I could not catch my breath and learned there was pain involved in this walking/running thing. I got the frozen yogurt. But more than that—I was hooked.

I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor when it came to walking and running in the flesh. Dad loved it. And whenever I wanted to go he was game. He then introduced me to who would become my favorite source inspiration the columnist in Runner’s World who was simply known as the Penguin. Steve Prefontaine had been a rock star and I loved his bravado and spirit. But John ‘the Penguin’ Bingham became the other John to inspire me.

He called himself a penguin because he said one day he was out jogging and he saw himself as gazelle gliding along in his mind, but happened to catch his reflection in the window one day and realized he looked more like a penguin waddling along. He coined terms such as LSD. Long, slow, distance. I eventually would run the Kentucky Derby miniMarathon which is a benign term for 13.1 miles. I’ve done it a total of six times.

And grabbed the brass ring when I completed my first and only marathon at Walt Disney World, for those don’t know there’s only one distance for a true marathon and that’s 26.2 miles.

The reason for this blog? Three fold. One, to force me to be honest and stay on track. As such I did my first walk, a half mile on Monday after a grueling yet awesome weekend at Imaginarium, a blast of creativity electricity that encompasses the fun of a scifi and gaming convention while melding it with a film festival cross genre (every genre of creative writing) even romance, non-fiction, comic books, screenwriting you name it has it. Well I now have bronchitis and have to heal up before I head out for walk number 2. Two, to possibly create something special that will engage you and inspire you to do something big. Because if I can lose over 150 pounds on the way back to the Walt Disney World Marathon in 2016 you can too. And 3. To chronicle the journey from blog, to memoir, and possibly to film.

I promise to visit the blog at least once a week. And weigh at that time. And that time has come. I currently weigh 302lbs. And hope to shed over half of it by January of 2016. There will be pictures. There will be video. And I invite you to share your thoughts in the comments section.