Crisis Averted... Somewhat.

Last week, I had been put against a very harsh ultimatum: I lose 3lbs in one week or I was out of the Navy’s Delayed Entry Program.  I sought the council of my friends and was suggested a rather frighteningly unhealthy diet for the next week: magnesium citrate, OTC diuretics, along with juiced meals and vigorous walking.  Given my plan, I assembled the items needed at CVS and began my mission.

Immediately, after walking through the door of my house, I cracked open the bottle of magnesium citrate and began to guzzle.  The taste was a lot better than I thought it was and I’m no stranger to foul tasting laxatives (Epsom salt has got to be the worst tasting I’ve had so far).  It was a lot gentler too than what I was expecting; again, quite akin to laxatives that induced cramps and turn your insides into knots.  It was so gentle, I almost doubted that it would be any way close to being effective for me.  Yet, I was quite wrong.  The next day, the purge began.  I’ll spare you all the messy details, though, I’ll just say, all in all, it was the best experience I had with a laxative… ever.  And that’s probably not a phrase you hear very often.  The diuretic I took Saturday since the pharmacist my mother and I had talked to said taking them both simultaneously would ruin my kidneys.
While, I’ll admit, I did not stick to the liquid diet that was proposed to me, from Friday to Wednesday (excluding Saturday and Sunday), three times a day, I walked for thirty minutes; 1 minute at a normal pace, 3 minutes at a brisk pace.  I did religiously, though, forgoing walking outside in the rain and doing some intense step cardio on Tuesday.  I made sure to keep myself hydrated and fed, though, of course, making sure not overeat.  I noticed that I did trim down a little bit, especially around my hips.  I’m definitely gonna chalk it up to the walking.

Yet, this morning, around 2 or 3, I woke up to go to the bathroom and I stepped onto the scale.  I had actually gained two pounds.  Desperate and full of panic, I rushed to the cabinet where we kept the vitamins and reached for a really, really strong laxative.  My mother stopped me just in time before I did anything that could have done some serious damage.
Again, like she did a few weeks ago, she sat me down and prayed with me.  She told me that not joining the Navy was not the end of the world and that if it didn’t happen this time around, there may be a next time, or even a better opportunity waiting.  I, of course, did not want to hear that.  I was at a point where I was tired of giving my everything into something and not getting what it was that I ultimately wanted because of someone else.  Whether it be because I gave into their pressure or, in this case, because someone didn’t think I was trying enough.
After we finished praying, I went to bed, still rather glum.  I crawled into bed and pulled the sheets up over my head.  And I sobbed.  I boohooed, cried, and wept.  I sniffled to God and asked why he would bring me up so far, only for me to be turned away, just like that?  If this were the case, then there was no point in waking me up in the morning, because just to go and weigh myself only to be humiliated was pointless.  I pleaded with him for a while until I went back to sleep, not waking up until late in the morning.

I was awake, so apparently he was going to fix this problem.  Yet I weight myself and I was back down to 167lbs.  I wasn’t 170lbs, yet the 167 didn’t show any progress.  I trudged onto PT, ready to get my expulsion over with.  Yet, when I saluted myself in, I noticed the my LPO was no where in sight!  He’s the guy I made the deal with and the only guy that can sign my “get lost” papers.  This was awesome!  I still had time!
I tried my hardest during PT (we played football), just to show them that just because I was “overweight” did not mean I could not keep up.  I put my all in with no complaints.  I was so grateful to God that he had managed to buy me more time.  I had all of Christmas break to do it the right way and show some actual progress and I think he’s showing me that, because using shortcuts would not put me in the right kind of shape to do any sort of physical activity while in RTC.

In addition to running (which, unfortunately, is an absolute bore), I’m going to try to do some HIIT workout videos, as well as the walking, so as to mix up my routine.  I want to mix up my routine, get my weight down, increase my endurance, and just get in shape all around.

This is my dream and I’m in charge of the scenes!

Weightloss Crisis

So, I may have mentioned before that I was having trouble with my weight, yet never actually went into detail about it. It’s a long story, but I’ll try to keep it simple:

I’m quite a curvaceous cutie (not bragging, just stating facts) and standing at 5’5″ (65 in), my appearance often betrays my weight.  Comfortably, I weigh a healthy 165lbs (quite proud of this number), though to get into DEP I had to weigh below 160lbs.  I lost the weight and got down to 157lbs.  Yet, since getting into DEP, my weight’s been playing the indian rubber ball and has been bouncing all over the place, though never going back down toward 160lbs.  The heaviest I’ve been since DEPping in has been a whopping 170lbs.  Yikes!
Like everyone I had talked to about it, I was convinced it was water weight due to PMS and possibly being back up.  So, I’d been going the natural diuretic route with caffeine and water, with little success.  Yet, today, I had a rather frustrating conversation with my Leading Petty Officer.  Before today’s DEP meeting, I weighed in at 167lbs.  He pulled me to the side and brought out the bottomline: I lose at least 3lbs by next Thursday or I’m out of DEP.

Well, upon hearing such news, you could probably understand the frustration I felt.  I had forgone Thanksgiving just so I would avoid such an ultimatum (I ate, on Thanksgiving, I just didn’t gorge myself).  Yet, when I left the meeting that day, I did the best thing I knew to do in situations like this: I panicked and called my best friend, Kenny.  Like always, he managed to calm me down and he laid out some suggestions for a full body flush that included magnesium citrate and OTC diuretic.  My other friend, Brandi, also suggested a liquid diet and a brisk walk three times a day in conjunction to flush for the next week.

I’m super desperate at this point, so I’m willing to withstand a week of bulimia just to keep my standing.

New Hair and Skin Regimen

So, as stated before, I when I got my new cut, I wasn't at all happy with how my skin looked and made plans to promptly fix it. Weeks previous I'd be exfoliating everyday until I looked rather faded and dull, so I receded into doing it a few times a week.  The scars and dark spot faded slightly, but not they did not disappear.  Disappointed, I needed a different way to bleaching them out without breaking the bank and exposing my fairly sensitive skin to harsh, man-made chemicals.  So, that's when I hit Google.

Google, as many people know, is an extremely useful tool that leads you to things you never knew existed or ever thought would work.  For example, I read Chamomile tea, the same tea that's good for a relaxing, sleepy time moment, was a natural, non-acidic approach to skin lightening.  Yet, as with all things in nature, this method takes time; like, 2 months.  Ugh!  Two months is too long and I'm too impatient!  I wanted these spots gone, like, three months ago.  So, I kept searching and found some citrus methods.  Of course, lemon came up in numerous places, yet we had no lemons in the house (lame).  Yet, I read that a lime's acid content, though less, was comparable to that of a lemons and I could also switch out lemons with apple cider vinegar.  Those two, we always had lying around the house. (Mom uses both to wash and disinfect any bacterial residue on meats like chicken and beef.) So, I set to work.
I've made a concoction of both apple cider vinegar and lime juice and applied it to my face after washing it, along with rubbing the lime peel all over my face.  The smell was weird and made me hanker for some salt and vinegar chips (in the same minute made me feel like a washed drumstick).  After 15-20 minutes, I rinsed it off.  I could already see the spots fading slightly, though my beauty marks are little lighter. That I don't want to go away.  So, I'm making it a plan to be a bit more mindful as to the amount and the places I apply it.  As I write this, I am three days into this regimen, and the spots lighten a little bit each time I use it.  Yet, now I'm going to incorporate it into my usual routine of exfoliating, deep cleaning, and normal cleansing.  More on that in another post.

Speaking of concoctions, I've also done a little research on how to keep up with my new 'do.  Though this was done even before going into the big chop.  I wanted to make sure that I was doing it properly at the start and was creating a good foundation as well as forming new habits for whenever I decide to grow my hair long again.  I tend to have really a dry scalp as well as hair and wanted to, first and foremost, figure how to moisturize it properly.  Through meticulous research and hours of back breaking research (and by back breaking, I mean, pointing and clicking), I've found several tips to help keep my developing mane healthy and shiny:

1. Exercise- Yes, exercise.  I know, not along of people want to hear that they have to get of the couch and move just to take care of the strands sitting on your head, but you'd be surprised at the benefits of just one hour of sweating will do for you (Ugh, I know, a whole hour).  I didn't even understand it when I started running, but I noticed that the flakes in my hair began to diminish and my scalp was less itchy.  This was because while I was sweating, my pores were opening and the sweat that I was producing was bringing forth some of the natural oils in my skin, keep my scalp moisturized.  It was like keeping my scalp greased without having to sit in front of the mirror and pass Dax through my head.  Aside from keeping the scalp moist, the sweat is great for the skin as well.
2. Sealing- While it is good to wash and add oils to the hair to get it moisturized, sealing it is what locks the moisture into the hair shaft and keeps it from getting dry and breaking.  Shea butter seems to be the favorite amongst most as well as Coconut oil since it moisturizes too.
3. Mixing Both Oils and Sealant- Saves a lot of time when you're constantly on the go.  You can mix them in a spray bottle, add a little water, shake it up, spray and go.  Easy as that!  This little tidbit I actually heard prior to even thinking about cutting my hair, but it is very good advice.

I'll update this post as I find out more, yet I've already found this stuff beneficial.  While I'm not  fighting for time just yet, I'm still thinking ahead for when I go to boot camp.  I'll be pressed for time to shower and get dressed in the morning, and I can't slow myself trying to take care of my hair (it was one of the reasons I cut my hair in the first place), so mixing sealants and oils was awesome advice.  The exercise thing was a big motivator to keep me running.  Not only am I doing good things in trying to get my weight down and prepping my body for boot camp, but I'm taking care of my hair as well.
For some reason, I'm kind of excited.  I can't wait to see what happens if I continue with what I'm doing.

New 'Cut, New Start

Just got my haircut yesterday, and this time went all the way.  I cut the bang I had, mainly because I was done with having to deal with two different lengths and wanted to simplify things.  I went with faded side burns that taper to a point, hoping it would frame my face a little better.  When the barber was done, I took one look at myself and was filled with mixed emotions.  I finally had no more length on my head and my face was completely exposed.  The angles in my face were more prominent and the scars on my face were even more obvious than before.  My eyes looked smaller and my lips looked bigger.  I was naked and this is what everyone could see when they looked at me.  I could see all of me and there was no curtain of hair to hide it.

Yet, then I smiled.  This was me.  I had no more excuses to be less.  The veil had been drawn and I had the perfect canvas to start crafting the person that I saw in the mirror.  What I saw was someone regal and confident.  Beautiful.  Intelligent.  Classy.  Elegant.  Coquettish... Free.  I saw a person who was free to be what it was she wanted to be and had the strength to do it.

A lot of the guys in the shop said the cut looked beautiful on me, though I don't take compliments from a salesman seriously and the cut itself I found questionable.  I asked my mom what she thought, and she said she didn't know nothing about short hair on women.  I laughed and we went to the car, where I took another look at it in the car mirror.  I giggled as I noticed the natural waves  my curl pattern produced and the lone grey hair I had reduced to a stub.  Then, I grimaced a little.

"Ugh!  My skin!"

The drawn curtain revealed a very blatant imperfection I could not run away from, yet had to accept: the years of abuse I allowed my skin to endure.  And that's part of what this Natural venture was all about: self-acceptance.

Once I arrived home, I took pictures of my haircut (I'm always excited about getting a haircut, for some reason) and posted them to Facebook.  Of course, many people had their opinion of my hair, many of whom were used to seeing me with long hair.  Yet, I couldn't expect them to understand the liberating feeling of this major change.  Yes, my face looks different and they have they're own perceptions of what is visually appealing , but in the end, they're not the ones living in my body and maintaining my hair as well as my soul.

After Facebook, I hopped on Google for ways to lighten the scars on my face.  One may think this to be a little contradictory: How can you want to accept yourself yet want to change your imperfections?  Well, the way I see it, is that I can accept myself for who I am, yet the scars are not who I am.  They do not represent the me that I know when I look into the mirror.  They don't show me at my best, which is what I want to do.  The scars show what I've been through and have helped mold me, yes.  Yet, they do not show the me that I am now.  I don't want to see the past on my face, but the present and the future that has yet to be.   If it is within my ability to lighten those scars, then I welcome that.  Then if not, I will come to accept what it is. 

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
The courage to change the things I can,
And the wisdom to know the difference.
-Reinhold Niebuhr

My Strength

Ever since deciding to join the Navy, I've had people put their two cents in on how it was going to be and how they felt I would fare.  I've had plenty of support, with a naysayer here or there.  I've heard horror stories and stories of potential gain through military employment.  I've heard a lot while trying to gain even more information.  I've heard of the good, the bad, and the ugly.  Yet, the most inspirational thing I've heard, was from my mother and it was the most unexpected phrase, too:

"You can't do it alone.  Not by yourself."

You maybe thinking, "What?  That sounds like some pretty heavy nay-saying to me!  And from your mother of all people?  Really?"  Now, before we start winding our necks and sucking our teeth, maybe I should get a little more of the story in.  You see, at the beginning of last week, I started a running regimen to try and build my endurance for running for PT and so I didn't have to get stuck keeping pace.  Yet, I don't what it was I did wrong when I started out; maybe I didn't stretch properly, maybe I didn't hydrate myself well, maybe running on the concrete was harder versus being on the treadmill, or something.  Yet, when I started, I just felt incredibly heavy and I couldn't go more than two minutes without having to wheeze to a stop.  Mind you, I had tried running before, but stopped for a while because my running shoes were falling apart, causing my knees to hurt.    Just the day previous I managed to go seven minutes on the treadmill with no problem.  So, you could imagine my discouragement at my regression.  I would run for two minutes, trying to go for three minutes, but failed miserably.  I did this for maybe 10 minutes before my calves got too tight to run and I had to limp back home.

Thoughts of self-doubt began to cloud my mind, thinking perhaps those who questioned my abilities were right.  Maybe I was biting off more than I could chew and there was no way I'd be able to meet all the physical qualifications by May (my weight had still been giving me trouble as well).

Frustrated and exhausted, I began to cry. I gasped and huffed and sniffled myself through the door and my mother, who was on the couch, asked me how my run went.  She could tell something was wrong when I wouldn't look as her.  With a smile that only a mother could smile, she pulled me beside her onto the couch and it was then I began bawling my woes to her.  I hiccuped and she listened.  I whined and she listened.  I cried and she listened.

And, still with that mothering smile of her's, my mom put my head on her shoulder and said, "It's good that you know your limitations and your weaknesses, because it's then that you realize you can't do it alone.  Not by yourself.  Not without of God."

It was then she spoke of rejoicing in the fact that you are weak because it presents the opportunity for the Lord to show himself to you and work through you.  In that, he can show you things you had taken for granted, things you need to improve on, and the motivation you need; all while simultaneously empowering you to do the things that need to be done.

While I listened to her, I realized the truth in her words.  I had already realized the importance of having her in my life.  I've also realized the importance of having a reliable support group who love me and do support me, because even when I don't believe I can do it, or I've become depressingly discourage, there's always someone around to remind me of how capable I really am.  Even in that instant, The Lord revealed so much to me to help me keep going.

After our chat, we prayed for strength and mom prescribed that I pray every time I went out for a run.  Which I've done and have made it to being able to run at least four minutes at a time.  The progress is very uplifting and I'm still aiming for those seven minutes.

Next mission: Weightloss!  Oh, boy...

PT: What am I Doing Here?!

Last Thursday I had mt first PT (Physical Training) meeting. Under normal circumstances, attending such meeting would be voluntary.  However, because my weight likes to play Indian rubber ball and bounce around like a tethered kid on a sugar high, PT is MANDATORY voluntary (meaning I can go if I want… to stay in the Navy).  Around time for menstruation, I seem to carry what feels to be a spare tire of water around my middle; this messing with my numbers significantly.  I’ve talking to them about it, yet the Navy doesn’t care about water weight (unless it’s on the ship, I guess), they just care about numbers.  As if trying to get my weight down just to get them to start processing me wasn’t enough…
Where was I?  Oh, right!  PT.  Going in that Thursday, I knew pretty much what to expect: the running, the curl-ups, and the push ups.  I had been doing all those things previously to try the lose the weight before, yet when we started running, it was then I realized I had been going about this PT thing all wrong!  Petty Officer McKinley had us warm up and mentioned a ten minute run.  I was like, “Sure, no sweat.  I run a little, walk a little.  No problem.”  That was then he tacked on the word “continuous”.  I never hated a word as much as I did that one at that particular moment and as the minutes wore on, that rage… turned into tears (Okay, so I didn’t actually cry, but I was sweating up something nasty).  I could hardly make it past the five minute mark without wanting to punch someone in the face, yet around the seventh minute, I settled with staggering to the starting point and stretch out my legs.
It was at that moment, as I drowned my thirst in the ice cold nectar of water, I asked myself, “What the hell am I doing here?  I knew this wasn’t gonna be a cake walk, but this is ridiculous!  There’s no way I can keep up with half the guys here!” (And the majority of them were guys.  Most of them strapping, football playing-types.  There were only six girls out of the 30 DEPpers that were there.)  Yet, in that same instance,  I straightened up.  Of course this wasn’t going to be easy, but that’s why I was here, right?  Imagine if I was going straight to boot camp with that kind of attitude?  I would hardly make it through the first week.
I barely finished up my run when we had to do curl-up and push up.  I won’t bore you with how poorly I did on those (17 and 8, respectively), yet it did make me realize that I had a long way to go and I had a LOT of homework to do.  It motivated my even more when he made us do another run, this time for five minutes, and made the whole group fall behind the slowest member in order to keep pace.  Guess who was the slowest recruit?  I’m glad they weren’t jerks about it, but it was humiliating enough.
By the next PT meeting, I’ve made it a goal for myself to run at least seven minutes consecutively, starting at five and increasing my time by a minute each time.  As for the curl ups, I plan to do five reps of ten, making it 50 altogether.  Push-ups all push back for now until I work on my two weakest areas.  I think this is something I can maintain.  I really don’t have a choice.  I don’t want to be the one to keep pace anymore!

The Big Chop: A Navy Initiation

So, after a long hard road of contemplation, soul searching, repairing, weight loss, and processing, I’ve finally done it: I’ve DEPped into the Navy (on October 31, 3012, to be exact).  I’d wanted to join the military since I graduated, but I was convinced otherwise, got my A.A., and went to University the hard way.  I hardly made it through my first semester, when I got sent packing to my mom’s house, with a failed report card in hand and student loans in tow.  I was at a really, really low point in my life and that’s when I decided it was time to make a really big change in my life.  I tossed off all excuses and went into the recruiter’s office.  Five months later, I am now a Future Sailor and I get giddy every time I say it.  Probably giddier than I really should be.
Along with joining the Navy, I’ve also done some life-changing cosmetic alterations to myself.  I went and got a Big Chop (or BC for short).  During the transition between University and home, I went into a really deep depression (not clinically diagnosed, though) and stress, along with me taking lousy care of myself, caused my hair to break greatly.  The hair in the back was thinned, my hair needed bad trimming, plus a perm… It was just a hot mess!  While thinking about going into the Navy, I had also considered getting it cut and asked around to what others would think if I had my hair short.  A lot of people cringed and shook their heads, fearing it would make my already square face look masculine.  Some said that I would get so upset if it all went away at one (something about women’s femininity being tied to the hair or something).  Others encouraged it.  A friend tried an express keratin treatment on it, seeing if it would hide the damage to my hair while I made up my mind.  It did a pretty good job of it.  Yet, I eventually had to wash it out, and I started hating my hair all over again.  Finally, I just got so fed up with it!  I just wanted it GONE!  So, another friend shelled out the money for me and, during her lunch break, we went to go get it buzzed.  With a few passes of the razor and a spin in the barber’s chair, it was done and I LOVED IT!  We left a little length on top (kind of like a Willow Smith sort of thing) to soften up my face, but just seeing the rest of it on the floor filled me with such relief.
I found out I wasn’t as attached to my hair as I thought I’d be and it was so liberating. I finally didn’t have to fall slave to the “creamy crack” and fight against my curls.  No longer did I have to sit under the dryer with rollers in my hair for four hours (yeah, my hair’s hella thick) while being scolded by a stylist to take better care of my hair.  No longer did I have to spend hours in front of a mirror with a flat iron in hand, trying to stretch a relaxer.  No!  I was free!  I was finally free and the breeze on my scalp proved it.
Both incidents happened rather symbiotically.  I don’t see myself having done one without the other.  I don’t think I would have gone through the BC if I wasn’t so determined to get into the Navy.  I don’t think I would’ve went into the Navy with my hair in such poor shape.  They both have had great impacts on my life.  I’ve liberated myself enough to fully dedicate to bettering my life.  I feel in doing both, I have ventured on an exciting and rocky road to spiritually, emotionally, and physically (as well as financially, ha!) bettering myself.
This is my journey.  This is my story…