Stop Pulling on My Effing Cape! You're Creating Drag.

Hello, my name is Suzanne and I suffer from the Superwoman syndrome. It's been 15 minutes since I last tried to multi-task and be everything to everyone.

I don't know how I got to this point. I mean, I can trace things backwards to some degree, but I can't specify the origin of my problem. Why I feel like if I can't do everything, and do it well, I am a failure. I don't hold others up to the standard I set for myself; it's my own personal cross to bear. In my mind, it was never an option to me to be anything else than what I am now, in a philosophical sense. I had knew in fourth grade I was going to graduate school, although then it was for a JD instead of the PhD. Here was the plan I had in mind when I got out of college: married by 25, principal and PhD by 28, married with a house and two kids by 30. Sounds nice, neat, and simple, huh? Simple!?! Who the hell was I kidding? And on top of that, I believe a wife/mom should cook meals at home, attend kids' events, decorate and entertain. Oh yeah, and I believe she should work hard to stay fit and attractive for her husband. I'd like to b!tch-slap the fool who filled me up with these notions.

How'd I do on that plan you might ask? I got married at 26, and divorced at 28. I finished my master's at 25, PhD at 30. Building principal at 27. Bought my first house 28, two kids by 33. Oh yeah . . . and I did remarry because being a single mom was never part of my plan. When some of those arbitrary numbers hit, I freaked out because I hadn't met my goal. I know I let myself believe I should get married the first time because I believed I needed to if I was going to be a "successful" woman. And for quite a few years, I didn't have a lot of fun because it wasn't in my plan. It's funny to me now, I look at clothes as I put them in the Goodwill bag, at 28 I was dressing like I was 45 because I wanted to be taken seriously as a professional. I wore sensible shoes with low heels for Pete's sake! WTF?

So, what's my shtick and why am I blogging about this now? I will tell you. Although I can reflect on my plan and poke fun at it, I am still in recovery and I have FREQUENT relapses. These past few weeks I've fallen into a bad pattern. I'm stuck in a "yes" mode. Mommy, will you make me a pick up kid this week? Sure. Can you organize this event? OK. Do you want to do this race with me? Yeah. Will you handle this problem with a former employee? You got it! Can you come visit? Sure. Can I come visit? I would love it. Wanna add an extra workout to your schedule? Absolutely. You get the idea. I don't say no well and once I commit, I believe in follow through. I truly believe "A (wo)man's worth is her word." So if I yes, I mean yes and I hold to it, no matter how inconvenient, costly, or possibly painful it is for me. This belief caused me a small panic attack yesterday. I've way overcommitted myself right now. And somehow, someway, I need to find a way to get it all done without letting other things fall to the wayside. And, I don't know if it's possible. At least possible in the reality in which it is set right now. But I'm working on it.

First, I made a list. Then I prioritized what I must do and what the deadlines were. I delegated some pieces to the more-wonderful-than-not Klucker. I then asked myself questions about why I was doing what I was doing and what the most important part of those things were. E.G. why did I feel the overwhelming need to run Godzilla Saturday morning? To see my friends . . . who I wouldn't get to spend time with because I'd have to jet out as soon as I was done and to get a workout in that I could pretty well do from my front door, earlier, not causing me to miss my flight. So my heart rate has lessened and I can breathe easier and I will see my kids this week and not get report to DFS as a neglectful mom. But I still have a twinge of guilt for not completing things I planned to complete. Plus, I'm not confident I've learned my lesson. And it worries me that my daughter that I'm setting my daughter up to believe in the same mythic Superwoman creature which I worship.

Chronic FFGS

Sometimes I forget I have FFGS. I live my life normally, eat pretty sensibly, do my workouts and wear my size 4 clothes. I put on my tall heels and pencil skirts and head to work without giving much thought. I am appreciative of the comments from the men at my indigenous QT and I rarely stop to look in a mirror.

Occasionally something happens though and it stops me dead in my tracks. And I remember. This time it was two things, back-to-back. The first started on October 8. I stepped on the scale and it read 140. The same on October 9, and again the next day. I got clammy. My heart started palpitating. My weight shouldn't be this high, and not three days in a row. I knew the problem. Overeating and poor choices on light or rest days. Alcohol and ice cream are my weaknesses. So I logged into livestrong.com and started my calorie counting again. And then comes my birthday. Klucker got my favorite for my birthday, cheesecake. I couldn't say no and hurt his feelings. I had run that morning and had prepared for a larger evening meal so I didn't exceed by that much.

By Thursday, I was down two pounds. I try to keep my weight around 134 and give myself a two pound leeway in both directions. I was feeling better and knew there was still hard work to be done. I spiked again on Sunday but dropped back down to 138 by Tuesday. And that's when the second shoe dropped. Pictures from Sunday's race.

Now unless you're 5'4" and weigh 105, spandex doesn't look good on women. It doesn't hide imperfections. But seeing myself on the bike, in racing form, with my tummy hanging there was too much for me to handle. I'm now obsessing over it. I googled 1,400 calorie menus so I can have a plan on Tuesdays and Fridays when my workouts are light. I can quote the calories in almost every salad at St. Louis Bread Co. And I know how many calories I'll burn if I push my run harder than normal. What I don't know is when this will go away.

I was a chubby, one of those girls with a "pretty face." I lost a lot of weight in college only to gain a good portion back when I started teaching. I lost it again when I got married, only to gain it back within a year. So the yoyo has gone. I made up my mind when I was pregnant with Bella that I would never hit double digit clothing again. I wouldn't be one of those moms who wore mommy jeans. And, so far, so good. But it's a constant battle, mentally and physically. It tires me. And I want to have to not worry about what I eat or getting a workout in. I long for a metabolism that will let me have ice cream and beer in the same day. I wish I could justify that bratwurst after the cx race, but I know exactly how many calories I burned and those won't be on my meal plan this season. I'm not fishing for compliments, I'm just venting. And figuring out how hard I have to ride so I can have that margarita tonight.