But I'm not dead yet...

Well hello, Interwebs. Did you think I'd forgotten you? No, no - I've just been dealing with things like travel, heat waves, and family medical problems. I'm conveniently using those as excuses for not exercising and eating junk, then wondering why I'm so tired and don't have the energy to deal with all these things that are coming at me. Gee.

But those things should be wrapping themselves up (except the heat waves part - it is Iowa in summer, after all) and I'm planning to be back in the saddle soon. Stick with me, Interwebs - I'll be back.

Back in the saddle again...

Hello, faithful readers. :) I'm happy to report that everything in England's fair and pleasant land is good, and that London in early July is waaaaaay more humid and hot than I ever anticipated. Highs during the first three days of my visit were over 90 degrees, and though I have no official humidity readings from the BBC, I estimate humidity was approximately 1,000 percent. And since my fourth-floor hotel room had no air conditioning (and I'm convinced the radiator in the hall outside my room was STILL ON) there was no strenuous exercise for me. Now, I'm all for making excuses whenever possible, but I really do think worshipping at the altar of Mistress Jillian would have been hazardous in those conditions. At least that's what I told myself.

Instead, I walked - and I sweat - and I walked - and I sweat. I drank water, and drank water, and drank water - then I sweat some more. The only place in London that had any kind of cooling breeze those first three days was down by the Thames River, which meant walking three blocks to the subway station, down the stairs, on the train, up the stairs, and walking three blocks to the river. Rinse and repeat for the trip back to the hotel. Thankfully, the weather broke on Sunday and the next four days were much more bearable. Just as much walking, but slightly less sweating. And I managed to keep my eating under control thanks to fabulous little sandwich shops and grocery stores that listed calorie contents on the packages. Londoners are big on grabbing sandwiches and salads at these places to take back to their homes/offices (say "take away" rather than "to go", otherwise the counter clerks stare at you strangely) so I did lots of that. And the Sainsbury's grocery store on the way to my hotel from Victoria Station had these HUGE tubs of ripe, freshly-cut pineapple for approximately 3 bucks. I grabbed one of those and a chicken sandwich for several of my meals. Everything was proudly labelled as containing "British chicken", which made me picture little chickens dressed as Admiral Nelson, strutting about with one wing lopped off. :) I couldn't finish all the pineapple in one sitting, so I'd leave it in my room when I went out for the evening to finish off later. I'd come back and, owing to the heat in my room, the whole place smelled like pineapple. Couple that with the coconut-scented shampoo I'd bought in 3-ounces bottles, and it was like living in a pina colada! Without all the calories!! :)

All the walking/sweating/pineapple eating apparently paid off, since I am now officially down FIVE POUNDS since I started this blog. I have a bad feeling it's because I haven't done any weight training in two weeks, and those five pounds will come back as soon as I do, but right now I'm going to soak in that five pound loss until my fingers get all pruney. And I'm going to buy some yarn this weekend before any of that weight comes back. Quickly, to the KnitPicks.com Web site!! :)

Confessions...

It's been nearly a week since I had a date with Mistress Jillian and her squats of wonder. I was all pumped up last Tuesday, and since then the stress of trying to figure out if I'm nuts for heading off to a foreign country for a week by myself has sucked out all of my ambition. Plus, nearly everyone I work with has been on vacation all last week (and the office is still empty today) and it turns out I do NOT work well without social interactions at regular intervals. I'm unproductive and grumpy all day at work, which means I go home and want to do nothing but knit and eat chocolate ice cream. Which is exactly what I've done for the last week. I've gained a completed pair of wool socks, and lost the emerging muscle tone in my biceps. Good trade? I don't think so.

This trip to London started out as my single girl adventure into the wide, wide world, and a chance to see how God might speak to me when everything (and I mean, EVERYTHING!) familiar is stripped away. Now, it's just freaking me out, and I'm afraid I'll cower in my hotel room all week and not do all the amazing things I have planned in my itinerary spreadsheet. (Of course there's an itinerary spreadsheet. Remember who you're dealing with, here.) Worse, I'm afraid that my high, high hopes for this trip will be completely dashed by the time it's over and I'll be questioning all the things I thought I knew. Who has two thumbs and puts incredibly unreasonable high-pressure expectations on a vacation? THIS GIRL. (thumbs pointing to chest that hasn't done a push-up in six days)

But, for better or worse, the carry-on suitcase is packed and waiting at home and I'm driving to Minneapolis tomorrow to catch Iceland Air Flight 656 at 7:20 p.m. And my resistance band is packed in the suitcase, and Mistress Jillian's Level 2 workout is on my iPod.

Here we go.

Beautiful somehow...

I was at a church committee meeting Tuesday night, and was sharing with the group some of the changes in my thinking that have happened over the last few weeks. We were discussing the passage of John 15 where Jesus said He was the vine, and those of us who follow Him are the branches. Jesus said in that passage that He cuts off everything in our lives that doesn't bear fruit, and that's exactly what I believe He's done for me the past few weeks. He's cut off all the old hang-ups and lies I used to cling to - that no man would ever be attracted to me because I didn't have biceps like Jennifer Aniston's, that I'll always be fat and unhappy, that it's impossible for me to be strong and healthy and happy in this body that I have. I'm getting rid of all that stuff, and Jesus is cutting it all off and throwing it in the fire where it belongs.

As I shared these things with the committee members (well, not the biceps part - a slightly edited version!) my sweet friend Mary looked across the room at me and said, "And you look more beautiful, Ivy." I started to choke up as I thanked her, and realized what the old Ivy would have thought:

Old Ivy: "That's just Mary - she says stuff like that. She's only doing it to be nice. Nobody else here thinks I'm beautiful."

New Ivy: "Thank you, Mary. I feel more beautiful - and that's what really matters."

And, thanks be, New Ivy was the one who spoke Tuesday night. And she's still talking.

In other news - I can now totally rock Mama Elephant push-ups. Bring it, world. :)