Last week, I started a new "game" with myself. I call it
Five For Five. I focus on five healthy habits for five days, earning points as I go and working toward a reward. Each week, the points accumulate for an even bigger reward.
I'm proud to report that I earned 23 of a possible 25 points last week. My daily habits were drinking three liters of water, exercising for at least 30 minutes, doing 25 sit-ups, testing my blood sugar three out of four times and not eating any junk. I expected finding 30 minutes to exercise each day would be my biggest challenge, but it turns out that wasn't the case.
The two points I missed last week were for sit-ups. The first one, I'd gotten as far as 15 when the little boy started having a melt down next to me. I thought I'd get back to the other 10 in a little while, but the day got away from me and I forgot. Then on the last day of the game, I didn't do them at all.
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Perhaps one of the absolute worst parts of having diabetes is putting up with the expectations of others. When someone hears "diabetes" they expect to see you eating "right" all the time, avoiding sweets all the time, and worshipping your body all the time.
We all know that just doesn't happen. We are human. Everyone needs a break from the chains that bind us.
Over the last week or so, I have found myself defending a person I never in my adult life thought I would defend. My incredible half-sister told me recently that her mother has been diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. With a sister and a mother with diabetes, she is, naturally, completely freaked out that she's next. Not to mention scared for our health and our future.
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I know, I know, I know. People with diabetes must exercise. People with diabetes must stay fit. This is especially true for those of us with Type 2.
And you know it. I know it. You know you know it. I know you know it. Who needs to tell you this?
Reuters and Dr. Ronald Sigal of University of Calgary and colleagues at the University of Ottawa, as announced in
this article, do feel the need to tell us. Specifically, they're telling us that lifting weights and resistance exercise also helps to reduce blood sugars, just like aerobic exercise does. Aerobic exercise, that would be the sweaty kind.
This is good news.
This means that ANY and ALL exercise you do counts for good diabetes points. It all counts! I love this.
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I noticed a major change in my habits this weekend. I found that I can actually survive going out to eat without overdoing it. It was huge accomplishment for me since I am a big eater.
My mother was in town for her sister's
big 60th birthday party so we decided to go out to dinner on Friday night. My mom picked a great little restaurant not too far from our home that has some of the best barbecue around. You know those places that when you just mention the name, your stomach rumbles in excitement? It is one of those places.
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I am going to begin this, my very first blog post here, with a confession.
I have fallen off the wagon.
Not the booze wagon; even before my type 2 diagnosis in February 2006, my drinky drink days were mostly behind me. (College was fun, from what I remember.) No, the wagon I have fallen off of is the healthy living, weight-losing, diabetic-under-control wagon.
When I was diagnosed last year, my a1c was hovering above 10, and I was about 35 pounds overweight. I was also terrified. I was 38 years old, with that big number (let's call it "thirty-ten") lurking in the near future. My own father died at the age of fifty-one after about twenty years of poorly managed diabetes. I was determined that this wouldn't be me.
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I am going to begin this, my very first blog post here, with a confession.
I have fallen off the wagon.
Not the booze wagon; even before my type 2 diagnosis in February 2006, my drinky drink days were mostly behind me. (College was fun, from what I remember.) No, the wagon I have fallen off of is the healthy living, weight-losing, diabetic-under-control wagon.
When I was diagnosed last year, my a1c was hovering above 10, and I was about 35 pounds overweight. I was also terrified. I was 38 years old, with that big number (let's call it "thirty-ten") lurking in the near future. My own father died at the age of fifty-one after about twenty years of poorly managed diabetes. I was determined that this wouldn't be me.
(READ MORE)