Mini Goals

Every successful endeavor starts with a strong plan of action. For the past 2 to 2 1/2 months, I've had pretty much zero course of action where losing weight is concerned and, well,  it shows. Right now the scale hates me, and I, it. We have a very complicated relationship.

I'm sitting firmly at a quarter pound under 230 right now and I want to scream my head off. I'm so insanely angry this is my reality. I'm even more angry at how hard a time I seem to be having at changing this reality. Considering how much I loathe it - it should not be this hard to change it. Right?

Every single stinking time I seem to find weight loss momentum, I allow something - anything - to throw me off course. This has been my history from the beginning of my dieting days way back when. It's not appropriate to say I yo-yo diet, because that would imply that, at some point, I hit a goal and then bounced back and regained what I lost. Truth be told, I'm usually eons away from my goal before I bail ship and the pounds start creeping their way back on. I must be a very good host to those fat cells, that's all I can say. I sure feed them well, anyway.

Yesterday after I posted, I did a little Throwback Thursday and went back to revisit my old Sparkpeople page. I created it in 2007 and weighed roughly 24 lbs less than what I weigh now. I'd kill for that weight right about now. While I know living in the past doesn't help my future, those pictures did inspire me to firmly plant my ass back in the saddle today. And I'll stay here for as long as it takes.

Which leads me to that aforementioned plan of action. Other than my marriage, I'm actually quite terrible with long term commitment to most things. I need to aim for smaller goals so that I'm not staring this huge 90 - 100 lb monster of an obstacle in the face. That's right -  the one that's looming between me and my future healthy self. It's too big, too ominous, and too depressing to take on all at once, so smaller weight loss increments are going to be my focus right now.

To begin, I'm aiming for another 10 lbs. Since I began this journey in January, I had been slowly losing until my surgery. In May, right before my gallbladder hit the skids, I was down to 225.75, a slight increase from my lowest weight through this most recent journey, which was 224.5. I'm still only 4 lbs heavier than my pre-surgery weight but it still pisses me off that I allowed myself to slip back to this point. Part of my anger stems from knowing that had I not decided to take back control, I could easily allow myself to slide all the way back to where I started in January. I'm angry that after all the dieting I've done in my life, I'm still doing the same stupid things.

10 lbs is, in my opinion, a very obtainable goal. But how am I going to do it? This morning I spent more time than I should have Googling the shit out of "clean eating for weight loss". I found a few food blogs where people posted pics of their standard daily meals and honestly? It all kind of looks culinarily void of excitement to me. Which I, perhaps mistakenly, interpret as also being void of taste. Anyway, I quickly realized this is certainly a bad way to start thinking so soon into my weight loss recommitment ceremony. So, I abruptly halted my search and thought about what I might be able to do realistically, given that I enjoy cooking and cannot for the life of me imagine myself making a meal out of simply raw almonds, a small banana, and wilted kale. Gag me with a friggin' spoon, will you?

What  I learned from my pre-op eating is that clean eating is what you make of it. It means different things to different people. I don't doubt that if I strictly followed some pre-formulated meal plan and removed all wheat, gluten, dairy, artificial sweetener, and alcohol that I would lose weight. As a matter of fact, I know I would. I also know that I'd probably last as long as a snowball in hell on that plan. Call it lack of willpower. Call it lack of truly wanting to lose weight...Call it what you want - but I know myself and in order to do this long term, I have to figure out a way to be successful that is not going to drive me to murder or suicide. Removing alcohol and cheese from my life? Yeah, I don't think so.

My eating essentially has to go back to basics. Lean protein, veggies, fruit....get rid of the processed crap. It's all the things I talked about before my surgery - and I need to treat this lifestyle plan in a similar manner. The indigestion attacks may no longer be an issue, but I have to pretend like they are. In other words, eat like I have a problem, even if I don't. Except - I do have a problem. It's called obesity. No one needs Salt & Vinegar Kettle chips in their life, especially me. Fact. Meals should be kept simple. The easier it is to prepare, the more likely I am to stick with it. I like the sound of it already.

Now that I have the eating sort of figured out, I need to address the other elephant in the room. Exercise. Simply put, I don't really do any regular form of it, as embarrassing as that is to say. At best, I am inconsistent with yoga. It's not enough. I'm well aware. I need to get out there and burn some calories and typing at warp speed on my Mac while sitting on my ass doesn't burn the calories you might think it does. Thirty minutes a day, Saturday through Thursday, with Fridays off if needed. It doesn't matter what I do, just that I do it for thirty minutes. Yoga, walking, swimming...all perfectly acceptable activities. As I move toward my next mini weight loss goal, I'll increase my exercise time, but for now - it's 30 mins, 6 times a week. No excuses.

I'm feeling better. So far, this plan sounds promising, and I am excited about turning myself around and being back on track. Let's see if the scale and I can make peace next week.

Stay tuned...

Battlegrounds

The battle of the bulge starts right here...

I spent some time yesterday with a friend who is suffering terribly. Suffering is a strong word, but it's appropriate here. It wouldn't be accurate to say she's going through a "rough patch" or having a "tough time" because the truth is, she is battling cancer and has been for many years. If that doesn't constitute suffering, I don't know what does. She recently had back to back surgeries to first remove tumors, and then complete a painful skin graft. Radiation has left the skin on her chest as thin as tissue paper, inhibiting its ability heal on its own after making the necessary incision for the first operation. She is in deep pain -  both physically and mentally.

One thing about this friend that I do know is that she is one tough cookie. This woman has been through hell and back and despite all that she has been though, she has always maintained a sense of humor and relative optimism. That's not to say she's all rainbows and butterflies all the time. Not at all. But for the most part, looking at her, you would not believe just how sick she is. However, yesterday I saw the tremendous toll this is all taking on her. I saw just how exhausted she is of fighting for her life. 

As we talked yesterday, we spoke about the unknowns in her life right now. I asked her what she was most afraid of. She confided to me that she is petrified of not ever getting her life back. To see the fear in her eyes and sadness on her face was heart-breaking. Her statement was enough to nearly knock me to my knees. It made me go home, kiss my husband, think about my own life in the present, and ask myself why the hell am I not more concerned about my own health? Why, after years of being fat, am I still losing my own personal battle with weight? When, pray tell, am I going to get my own life back and be the person I feel that I am on the inside?

Good question.

Let me preface the next part of this post by saying I'd never in a million years compare having cancer to being fat. Those two conditions aren't even on the same plane. However, seeing someone I care about fight a disease they have no control over made me realize that life is the biggest, most fabulous gift I'm ever going to get and I'm stupid as hell if I choose not to live it to the fullest. Obesity, while classified as a disease by the American Medical Association, is a condition which can be controlled. It doesn't require drugs or medical intervention (most of the time). What it does require is a sincere willingness to change unhealthy habits and the balls to take a good hard look at one's self to determine what isn't working and be committed to fixing it. 

I feel like I constantly go round and round with this train of thought. It's not as though I had some type of epiphany yesterday or anything. But sometimes, something jolts you back to reality and forces you to refocus. I guess that's what happened to me after seeing my friend. 

Sure, I'm sick and tired of fighting the fat war. But here's the ridiculous thing - I have the ability to end the war anytime I want. I've just chosen not to. So far I've only chosen to stock up on an ammo of good intentions only to trade it for some fatty diet-illegal contraband. A donut here. Some chips there. Throw in a piece of pie for good measure. And (not so) suddenly, I'm (once again) trapped behind scale-crushing enemy lines. I've been here a while and frankly, I'm not digging the accommodations. I need a good strategy so I can start tunneling my way the hell out.

I know I talked about starting over in my last post and I suppose, in a way, I am doing that. Before my surgery I was tunneling out, little by little. I felt like finally, I had created a solid path of healthy eating, albeit forced upon me by my revolting gallbladder. Post-surgery, without the medical condition to keep me on the straight and narrow, I plummeted back to the days of yore, choosing to forget the assured consequences of those actions. In other words, I chose to go back to war with myself, trudging through the battlegrounds created by my idiotic decisions regarding enemy number one - food.

I hate viewing food as the enemy, especially because it SHOULD be my ally. And it would be my ally, if I would only allow it to be. After all, I need it to survive. At some point, making peace with it sounds like a good idea. I'm continuing on working on how to do that. How to say no to the wrong stuff and yes to the right stuff. How to stop gratifying myself with quick fixes and impulsive choices. I have to keep reminding myself - over and over and over again - that I DO have control of this. I'm fortunate and I need to remember that. This is NOT a situation where I am helpless... I just need to figure out how to help myself. Consistently. Correctly. Confidently.

Back to the drawing board, as they say...

Unexcused Absence

Funny how life moves at warp speed sometimes.

One moment it's May 13 and I'm hooked up to an IV, writhing in pain in the emergency room awaiting emergency gallbladder surgery. And in the blink of an eye the calendar screams at me that it's July 16 reminding me my precious summer is half way over.  I really shouldn't complain - I have just returned from 11 glorious, sun-drenched days at the beach. Or heaven on earth as I like to call it.  However, time stands still for no one. It seems an additional 4 lbs have taken up residence on my ass since my last weigh-in (in APRIL) and frankly, I'm none too happy about it. Between you and me, I'm thinking of suing Candy Kitchen.  Is it even possible to testify against dark chocolate covered sea salted caramels? They're at fault, after all.

In all seriousness, I've already given myself the proverbial 10 lashes with a wet noodle over how long it's been since I've blogged. And I can't "Candy Kitchen coat it" no matter how much I'd like to - there is no excuse for it other than my sheer, unrelenting lack of dedication regarding all things for which this blog stands. In case you forgot (as it seems I have - a-hem), I mean healthy eating and losing weight.

I don't pretend to be a soothsayer, but I'll be damned if I didn't predict my unfortunate relapse into eating craptastically post-surgery. Everything I had voiced and feared would happen once the gall bladder and I bid our adieus, did. I went from convent-like abstinence of all foods unholy and bad for me to triple X-indulgences of the culinary kind. Inevitably, it caught up with me - not just in those 4 lbs but also in the way I feel. In the world of dieting, what I did was akin to taking a swan dive off the top of the Empire State building. To not expect repercussions from that would be moronic.

I don't want to make light of my 4 lbs, but I'm actually surprised the gain wasn't more catostrophic. I also suspect that at least 2 or 3 of those pesky pounds meandered to my midsection during my vacation alone -  which isn't unheard of for many people, chunky or not. Again - it's 4 lbs - not 14, not 40 - so I'm not going to get my Spanx in a twist and spend a tremendous amount of time lamenting how or why this happened. It doesn't take Nancy Drew to solve that little mystery. The focus now has to be on how to stop this fat train from barrel-assing down the tracks any further. Where is Superman when you need him?

Last night, I returned to yoga, which is a promising start in the right direction. Sometimes you don't know what you're missing until you're reunited with it after an extended absence. (Insert the song "Reunited" by Peaches and Herb here. 1978, I miss you.).  Anyhoo - I was disappointed that our regular instructor, Erin wasn't there - I was looking forward to her challenging me after being away for so long. Honestly, I was a little nervous getting back to it. I thought my body would revolt in some way, shape or form. I'm happy to report, I made it with no major issues. We had a sub who was good - but her style lacked the guidance and intensity I had grown used to with Erin. I still enjoyed it very much - it was relaxing and gentle - which is maybe what my body needed to ease back into it -  and I've vowed to continue on for the summer. My goal for yoga practice is twice a week.

I've also recommitted to weighing myself each day. I know, I know...there are mixed emotions on this one. The scale, while a scary beast for some, is truly my friend when I think about it. When I need to hear the truth, she gives it to me - no matter how devastating the news. Like you'd expect from a good compadre, she tells it like it is and does her best to keep me honest. The information she gives isn't meant to hurt me - it's there to help me. To encourage me to keep going. To motivate me to stay on track. What I choose to do with that information is entirely up to me. The scale only delivers the headline; she doesn't get pushy about how to write the rest of the story. That's entirely my bag. Being in the dark about how much I weigh is detrimental to this entire process. Three months is waaaaay too long. In staying away from the scale, I realize I only hurt myself. Avoiding her since April was a mistake. I won't do it again. Pinky swear! It's just you and me, Scale! Total BFFs! Ok, not really, but you get the idea.

As for the eating, what can I say? I'm angry that I still treat sugar like heroine sometimes. Donuts in the car this week? Check! Conquering my cravings for sugar is, without a doubt, my Mt. Everest. Seriously - what is it about the white stuff that has such a choke hold on me? Yes, it's addictive. I'm certainly not the first person to make that claim. I just wish it wasn't so....so...I don't know. Delicious?? Comforting??? EVERYWHERE I LOOK???? Le sigh...One day, I'll figure it out.

Every time I jump back on the health-kick bandwagon, I start thinking about what inspires me. This time is no different. Personally, I love the diet quote that says something like: "Being fat is hard. Losing weight is hard. Choose your hard." That's about as in your face as it gets as far as I'm concerned. Anyone who has ever struggled with being overweight and has tried to lose weight understands exactly what that quote means. Life as an overweight person is never easy. The older I get, the more difficult it is to haul the load so to speak. It is, as the quote states, hard to be fat. On so many levels. Too many to count or get into with this post. I have known this for most of my life - and perhaps that is why no matter how many times I take that aforementioned swan dive from atop the Empire State Building, I always go back inside and try to climb my way back to the top. The climb, as it turns out, is also very hard. But if I had to compare the options of staying where I am or continuing to climb, I'd say choosing to climb is the better deal - each and every time I do it.

I guess what I am trying to get at is that I acknowledge the last few months have not been the most spectacular part of this little journey of mine, but that's ok. There's no tears, no self-abuse, no regret. (Ok - maybe a little bit of regret). But when the sun goes down today, I'll know which hard I have chosen and that it's the right one. For me.

You heard me. I'm back!

Looking To The Future

Well, it's official. The old gallbladder has got to hit the skids.

Other than advising that it's best if the Big G and I part ways, the meeting with the surgeon didn't reveal anything I didn't already know. What it boils down to is, if I don't get this thing out sooner rather than later, I run the very real risk of a stone becoming lodged in the bile duct which would result in A) severe pain (uh, no thanks) and B) emergency surgery that would be more complicated than regular gallbladder surgery (uh, double no thanks).

Since I'm not really down with the idea of having more pain, I'm opting to play it safe and get this all put to bed before school lets out for the year. I'm certainly not thrilled with the prospect of being out of my classroom for a week, but I'm also not digging the idea of waiting another 2 whole months to resolve this issue.

The surgery will be on May 20, provided my upper GI doesn't reveal any other surprises. The way I look at it, I have one more month of living on the edge, so to speak. I can handle that. Bland eating has sort of become my thing, except for when I lose all sense of sanity and take a risk on eating something from my diet of yore. Hello, Gertrude Hawk Chocolate Mini Smidgens... (Hey, don't look at me. They were a gift from one of my students). Oh, but I am looking at you. Your size may be tiny, but you pack a hell of an indigestion punch. It's stupid, but I have been known to do it. Pull the trigger when I know what lies in the wake of doing just that. In a way, eating has kind of become a bit like playing Russian Roulette. If I eat this (fill in the blank), will I feel like crap in a couple of hours? Spin the Wheel of Indigestion and find out! What I do know is, I've had about 7 attacks within the past month, so as far as I'm concerned, the writing is on the wall. It's getting worse. Time to take permanent action. ASAP.

One of the interesting comments the surgeon made was in regard to LAGS (Life After Gallbladder Surgery - my stupid acronym, not his). He mentioned that people sometimes complain of weight gain. Upon hearing that fantastic news, I'm pretty sure I made an audible groan. He then assured me that there is no biological reason that people gain weight after this surgery. Your gallbladder is not responsible for weight control at all. However, when people experience attacks or symptoms such as mine,  they tend to adjust their eating -  usually for the better - because if they don't,  they suffer. Weight loss can be a pretty cool side effect of that change. My surgeon went on to explain that after surgery, many people simply resort back to their old ways of eating and therefore, boom - the weight comes back. This is EXACTLY what I said in my last post. It is what I fear the most. More than the surgery itself.

I'm not going to get all religious on you or anything, but I do believe that this issue became mine to deal with for a good reason. As I've said before, I silently wished that something would make me have to eat better/differently/more mindfully and sure enough, this problem of mine has done just that. I was on the fast train to a number on the scale from which I may not have recovered. It was a number that I swore I'd never reach - and yet.....it was there. Just 7 pounds away. I'll not yet reveal that number, but I will say that had the scale reached this number to which I am referring, it would have put me in a very, very dark place, mentally speaking. No joke. We're talking Tan Mom dark.

Oh, I'll show you dark.

Let's just say, I'm glad I didn't reach that point. With start of the new year and the increasing frequency of my attacks, something inside me pleaded for a change. It was now or never. I chose now.

As much as I hate that a health problem forced me to screw my head on straight, I don't discount its importance in this process. Obviously I wasn't willing to do it on my own. As much as I thought about it, I wasn't proactive in the least. Especially in the last couple of years.

So, I suppose I'll just thank the universe for hearing those whispered cries for help, no matter how bizarre, and giving me this reason for change - no matter how annoying and painful it's been. I'm sending one more request out there. Please keep me on track even when all of this medical stuff is behind me. Allow me to continue on the path to health and not forget the real reasons this is going to benefit my life when I reach my goal. Give me the strength to stay the course and keep treating myself with patience and kindness.

This will happen. It's my time.

Tales From The Scale

And maybe lose an ass cheek or two while you're at it.

The closer we get to the end of the school year, the faster time whizzes by. We're nearing the middle of April already which seems next to impossible, considering it felt like Christmas was just a few weeks ago. Admittedly that could have something to do with the fact that some of our Christmas decorations hung around just a tad, a-hem, longer than they should have. What I mean is, we may or may not still have a rather large pre-lit pinecone tree hanging out on our credenza in the dining room. And we may or may not also have some lights hanging from our trees outside.

Just don't pop over unannounced until, say about, June 17- ok? I may (or may not) have my shit together by then.

This past week was a little stressful. My hubs was out of town, report cards are due this Monday, and I've been experiencing a tremendous amount of anxiety when I eat because of - well... you know the sob story. Fact: When Josh travels, I don't eat well. I tend to fall back into my single-days mindset when cereal and any and all varieties of alcohol were perfectly acceptable dinnertime meals. I'll admit to having both types of those "dinners" that dominated my 20's and 30's while Josh was away. Corn Chex for dinner on Tuesday and a hot toddy on Wednesday. I don't recall what I ate on Thursday night, but suffice it to say it wasn't anything gracing the pages of Bon Appetite.

Um - now that I think about it, I do remember. It was a blackberry margarita. And some pretzels and a cheese stick. Ina Garten would not be impressed.

Here's a sad story. Veggies and I pretty much parted ways this past week. As a matter of fact, if clean eating is the equivalent of a G-rated movie, I was pretty much gobbling up triple-X porn this week. That's not to say I scarfed down Burger King and cheesesteaks and chocolate cake and butter sandwiches, for God's sake. But for a girl who has been trying to avoid excessive carbs for the last 10 weeks, I did a total 180 and ate those suckers like it was my job. Bagels, bread, cereal, rice....you name it, I ate it. That's become "bad-eating" for me these days.

Ironically enough, carbs are the one thing that don't send me into heinous gallbladder attack mode. Or at least this is what I thought until yesterday when I had my second attack in two days and had really only had carbs and nary a trace of fat all day. Frankly, I'm done guessing what will cause the pain - I just want the damn good-for-nothing organ out of my body. Even though this whole issue has made me really adjust my eating (mostly for the better), I am tired of not knowing what is going to happen each and every time I put something in my mouth.

I don't know if you guys are sick of reading about this problem, but I sure am sick of writing about it.

So...in addition to living in Carbtown this week, I didn't do much in the way of exercise either. Not even yoga, which always makes me feel a tad bit guilty. Simply put, I just didn't feel great this week so I skipped it. You don't need to tell me. As far as weight loss role models go, I know I kind of suck right now.

Is it any wonder the scale didn't budge? Nope. Not really. You don't load your body up with enough carbs to get you through a marathon and expect your scale to reward you. It doesn't work that way, and I am fully aware of that. As a matter of fact, I was floored I didn't see a gain. Not to jinx myself, but in the 11 weeks I've been working at this new lifestyle gig, I haven't had a gain at all. I've had exactly two weeks where the scale didn't move, and that's nothing short of amazing. This whole process feels slow as hell, but for the first time in all of the attempts I've made at this weight-loss thing, I don't feel like it is impossible. I've sort of resolved myself to be one of those people that takes the long and winding back country roads to their goal weight, versus hitting the Autobahn.

There is something that has been weighing on my mind, however. Even though I complain a whole lot about this gallbladder issue, I do realize that it is a major reason why I have been so much better about my eating than I was in the past. There is a small part of me that is afraid that if I do end up having surgery to get it out, and I start to feel better, I will somehow forget the benefits I have seen with this new way of eating. Without having that fear of food causing me pain to stop my inclination to eat poorly, will I be foolishly tempted to revert back to my old ways? It's a frightening prospect, but a serious question I need to ask myself.

I'd like to think I'm smarter than that. I'm close to losing 20 pounds and that is a great start. But I want more. I've made some decent changes to my diet and I am happy about that. But I still have miles to go to get to a true place of comfortability with it all. Exercise has not become the BFF that I wanted it to be at this stage in the game. While I love the fact that I have found yoga, I need to do more. The only way that is going to happen is if I make it a priority. At some point, the changes to my diet won't be enough. I'll need to attack this thing with everything I've got - mentally and physically.

Now that Josh is back home and report cards have been put to bed, I feel better about the week ahead. I'm going to make sure veggies make a come back this week, as well as bid adieu to a few of those carbs I've gotten a bit too chummy with. I am eager to see how my meeting unfolds with the surgeon on Wednesday. Then it's lights out for my upper GI on Friday. It should be a week for resolutions, or at least a few answers as to what happens next.

Stay tuned!

Post Traumatic Dessert Disorder

I have some mixed emotions this week.

On Monday, I was told that my gallbladder has become a nice comfy habitat for some pretty badass stones. It's a glaring reminder that my fat-fueled diet over the years is not without consequence. This sit-up-and-take-notice diagnosis has become a catalyst for changing my relationship with food even more than when I began this weight loss trek ten weeks ago.

I lost 3.25 lbs. this week. This is certainly reason to celebrate in my book. Not only am I happy that I lost that much chunk from my trunk, but for the first time in ten weeks, I really, truly, honestly, without question know why I lost it. Simply put, this past week I was more in tune with what I put in my mouth than I probably ever have been in 43 years. I'm sorry, but that kind of blows my mind, considering how many freaking diets I have been on in my lifetime. If you're wondering what took me so long to finally figure out that I need to account for every morsel that crosses my lips, read on.

You see, I'm kind of an idiot.

After I left the hospital on Monday, I met one of my best friends, Aimee, and her son for lunch at Bonefish Grill.  I hadn't had a crumb to eat all day. I gave some serious thought as to what I should eat, given my recent dose of not so great news from the ultrasound tech. After carefully perusing the menu, I settled on a lunch combo with 2 soft filet mignon baja tacos and half a caesar salad. The tacos had literally the smallest chunks of meat in them I've ever seen, and they were topped with diced mango, shredded cabbage and a lime crema sauce. The caesar salad was not overly slathered with dressing. If anything, it was a little dry for my taste, but hey - I'm dieting - so it's not like I was going to ask for more. Croutons were minimal. All in all, it was a simple, yet, tasty meal. However, compared to the Lean Cusines that have become my usual go-to lunch fare, it was downright gourmet.

Had I stopped there, with the meal alone, it would have been a perfectly delightful lunch. Good company, good food. I should have been happy with that. More importantly, I should have been satisfied.

When you are dieting, it often feels like you are living a double life. Or maybe being on a diet is more akin to having schizophrenia. Either way, one day, you are Weight Loss Warrior, wearing the red cape, carrying a sword and all of that mumbo jumbo, standing high on a mountain top (or soap box), feeling totally superior because you have just slain the biggest Craving Beast to confront you yet. You feel absolutely 100% freaking invincible. There is NOTHING that will ever come between you and your weight loss goals again. You HAVE this. You KNOW you are winning the battle and you want to shout it from the rooftops.

Screw you, Sugar Addiction! You're my bitch now.

It's no lie. I love being Weight Loss Warrior. That chick has her shit together. She knows what she wants and is doing whatever she needs to in order to make it happen. Chocolate cake and cheese steaks be damned.

But there's another personality that emerges from time to time. She's quite different. Her name is Weight Loss Wimp. And being her? Is not so much fun. Weight Loss Wimp hates having to watch what she eats and is always thinking of excuses as to why she should be allowed to jam some crap down her gullet, no matter that she knows full well what it does to her. She often can't see the forest for the trees and is angry that seemingly everyone else around her is eating whatever the hell they want, so why can't she? The big picture is lost on her. Excuses are the name of the game. That piece of pie? She pretends it won't hurt her. But we all know the ending to that story, don't we?

You glorious confection. Come to Mama. Get in ma belly...

I HATE being Weight Loss Wimp. She makes me feel weak and out of control. When she emerges, the finish line to this tedious, excruciating at times, weight loss marathon seems to move so much father away and I feel my grasp on this whole thing loosening.

Luckily, Weight Loss Wimp doesn't visit that often anymore. She used to show up more than I care to admit, but I think she finally understands she has worn out her welcome. But rest assured, I know that she is always there, lurking around the nearest corner, waiting for an opportunity to come out and once again show her ugly pie-smeared face. Funny thing? She always brings her own fork and spoon.

The last time she showed up was Monday. Flashback to that nice Bonefish lunch with my friend. After our entrees were consumed, it should have been the end of the food portion of our meal, save for maybe a cup of coffee. We could have easily just carried on with our conversation, sipped our sodas, and waited for the check. Except then the devil waitress showed up with the damn dessert menu.

I've always been powerless to the lure of sugary delights. Had my mom known better, she could have made Dessert my middle name, as opposed to the over used choice from the 70's, Ann. So when that bubbly, smiling, waitress showed up waving that hard bound list of mouth-watering treats, Weight Loss Wimp couldn't show up with her fat caboose fast enough. After all, it had been weeks since I had had any real dessert. This one time would be ok, wouldn't it? Didn't I deserve this as a reward for being so good???????????

Using food as a reward when you are admittedly fat but are finally making an effort to lose weight is such an eff'd up way of thinking - I gotta tell you. I know, because that has been my ass backwards mindset for years. But with a diagnosis of gallstones, surely the lesson has been learned.....???

IDIOT ALERT! IDIOT ALERT! DON'T DO IT! DON'T DO IT!! DON'T DO IT!!! DON'T ORDER THE KEY LIME PIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Who knew something so small could hold such power?

Gulp. I did it. I ordered the stupid pie. The creamy, fattening, rich as a Rockefeller pie.

My gallbladder revolted hours later. As it should. I am an idiot. I'll never do it again. Pinky swear.

In the days following, I have been hypervigilant about my eating. I haven't had an attack since Monday and I attribute that entirely to the careful selections of food I have made since then. I'm through with taking risks. Those attacks are simply not worth the pain. Everything that passes the lips, passes the gums, look out stomach, here it comes, has been analyzed for gallbladder attack potential. Admittedly, I'm not reaching out very far on the culinary branches of the food tree these days, but until I get some real relief and more answers as to how to permanently fix what's broken, I'm ok with that.

I have a consultation with a surgeon on April 15 and my upper GI is still happening on the 17th. The next two weeks will be similar to this one in terms of staying on track with my unadventurous meals, but thems the breaks. I'll not be lamenting the lack of dessert in my life any longer either because frankly, anything that makes me feel that lousy is not worth getting upset about.

So while I celebrate the loss this week, I understand that it is because my diet has become rather radical. I'm sticking to a small group of safe foods in order to stay attack-free. Is this the way I want to live the rest of my life? With huge restrictions all of the time? Not especially. What I want is the ability to have a balance, and right now, that simply can't be. There is no room for anything "dangerous" in my diet right now and I'm not going to say that fact isn't hard for me swallow. It is. Keep in mind, what's happening to me is exactly what I wished for oh so long ago (like an idiot). That I would develop an issue to keep me from all of the things making me heavy....Well, I got my wish. Thanks, Fat Genie.

Until next time....have a joyous Easter and for God's sake, will someone please eat a Cadbury Creme Egg or two in my honor? I'd be forever grateful.

The New Definition of Stoner

Or in my case,  just foods that cause stones...

"Um...are you experiencing a lot of pain?"

When your ultrasound technician says these words to you as she's gliding her gel slathered wand across your abdomen, trust me when I tell you, it's not cause for celebration. As a matter of fact, as I learned just this morning, it's simply a precursor for shitty news.

I barely had time to spew out a severely condensed version of My Indigestion Nightmares, Volume I before the tech confirmed why she had asked such a loaded question. "Your gallbladder is packed with stones," she said somewhat emphatically. Almost like she was happy about it. I didn't even know lab technicians were allowed to divulge this kind of information during a procedure, but mine just came right out with it, with no regard to how I might take the news. Personally, I can't say I was thrilled. I don't really know what kind of news I was hoping for, but I'm pretty sure this wasn't it. 

Yes, I wanted answers. And this revelation via ultrasound certainly explains a whole heck of a lot in terms of my devil-on-the-inside symptoms. Of course, I still need to wait on the official diagnosis from my doctor. But I'm guessing, in order to resolve this little ole' problem of mine, there's something unpleasant I'll have to do in my near future. I'm no clairvoyant, but I'm guessing I'll need surgery based on the tech's description of how "packed" my gallbladder is with these intrusive stones.  Packed. Ugh...it's hard not to picture a can of sardines. Hopefully, I'll be offered a solution with a more holistic approach first. Seriously - I'll do whatever it takes not to go under the knife. Confession: I'm terrified of the prospect of surgery. I've made it 43 years without ever having anesthesia and I'd be perfectly fine with going another 43.

In the meantime, I'm going to try not to think about it too much until I speak with my doctor. I still have the endoscopy scheduled for April 17 which, Lord only knows, could provide even more, a-hem, "good" news. 

Naturally, after I left the hospital today, I couldn't help but Google the crap out of 'gallstones' and 'what causes gallstones'. The fact that I'm female doesn't help, and as much as I'd like to believe that genetics play a major roll, I know that's only partially true. At the end of the day, my fat-laced/candy/baked good/rich and savory diet over the last umpteen years is the true culprit. Ok - so maybe I am somewhat pre-wired to have this condition. My grandmother did. My mom did. I can't escape my family medical history. But, knowing what I knew, I certainly didn't help myself avoid the situation, either. My life leading up to this point has been one big love affair with all the wrong foods. Like my inflated weight, this condition didn't happen overnight. As a matter of fact, according to WebMD, these stones have probably been hanging out in gallbladder de Rochelle for quite sometime, unbeknownst to me, of course. It's only after the stones increase in number and have prolonged habitation in the gallbladder that the "host", aka, me, begins to experience symptoms. Gallstones are not an uncommon condition in overweight people, especially women. Yay me. Not.

If you are truly curious, or just like looking up really nasty stuff on the internet, do a search for gallstone images online. Guaranteed, you won't eat dinner afterwards. Hey - perhaps this is the diet solution I have been searching for all along?!?! Why didn't I think of this sooner? Ha!

Anyway.....Here's the good news. I'm not dying!

The bad news is, my food issues are catching up with me in more ways than one. The better news is, I'm finally wising up and doing something about it. 

Even if it's too late for my gallbladder, it's not too late for the rest of me. 

Hell Ride

I mean, seriously...

Let me preface this post by saying I apologize to anyone with a March birthday.

The truth is, I kind of hate March. It's not quite winter, not quite spring, and everything feels like it's in a perpetual state of limbo. Will it snow or won't it? Will we ever see the sun again or are we living inside the Ray Bradbury story, All Summer in a Day? I'm longing to wear my cropped pants but when I leave my house it's 28 degrees outside, even if the forecast says it'll be 63 later in the day. It's a confusing month all around and I just want to press the fast forward button to May and green grass and flowers and sunshine.

If only there was a fast forward button for those times in life when we really need time to pick up the pace. I, for one, would be slamming my palm down on that sucker right about now. Hard.

If you are a regular reader of this blog, you know about my nasty bouts with horrendous, chest-clenching indigestion. Well, after being on Pantoprozole for a little over a month with no real improvement, my doctor sent me to see an endoenterologist. Unfortunately, he didn't have much to offer me in the way of an explanation of my condition, especially since I don't have typical heartburn or acid reflux symptoms. However, he was concerned enough about the issues I do have to set me up with an ultrasound and endoscopy. Hence my burning desire for the fast forward button. I just want to get this shit done and over with - pronto. I want some answers.

Just the other day I was driving home on 78, surrounded by an army of semis when I had one of my attacks. My usual solution is to make my self burp 1,000 times through the magical and delicious (not) combination of chalky-ass Tums and warm Coke, followed by jamming my hand down my throat to force myself to throw up. Anything, and I mean anything to alleviate the pressure. Driving during an attack presented a whole new problem, considering I was nowhere near a toilet in which to purge the demons within, so I had to do some quick thinking. I reached across the seat to dig out an empty plastic container from my lunch bag to stand in for said missing toilet. Class act all the way.

I'll spare you the putrid details, but suffice it to say, I'm not very good at spitting out of an open car window while traveling at 65 mph. And it's no picnic spitting into a plastic container that reeks to the high heavens of garlic shrimp when you already feel over-the-top nauseous. The good news is, I didn't hurl all over myself, even though my watery mouth suggested that very act was imminent. The bad news is, the chest pain and nausea lasted as I drove for miles and miles and miles. And miles.

In hindsight, I probably should have pulled over (duh). But all I could think about was getting home, so I drove like a bat out of hell, spitting and burping like a champ until a monster belch escaped with such force that the pain finally subsided. Who doesn't love a happy ending to a horror story?

It's hard to feel normal when you are afraid to eat. In the entire history of my life, food has served as a great comfort and source of extreme enjoyment. Now, it's enemy number one. I have no idea what's going to trigger an attack and I live in constant fear of each meal I eat. Eating is no longer enjoyable. As a matter of fact, it has become quite a nightmare.

If there is a bright side to all of this, I suppose it would have to be that I am continuing to lose weight, albeit at a snail's pace. I only lost a half pound this week, but I had already suspected my indulgent week after Sammy died would come back to haunt me at some point and this past week, it did. Still, a half pound down is a half pound down - not up - so I'm winning the battle, bit by itty bit.

One of my dear co-workers put it into perspective for me. She said I should think of where I'll be a few months down the road when all of these "small" increments of pounds lost are still adding up. She told me to think about where I'll be at the end of the school year, and over the summer, and even at the beginning of next year. Even small losses lead to big rewards eventually. Maybe I don't see it quite yet. My total loss so far is 15 lbs, and that's not enough for me to see any real physical changes. Again,  the fast forward button would be a real God's send for this situation. I'd love to be able to speed down this whole weight loss road to the final destination: Thinville. But somehow, I don't think I'd appreciate the new me as much if I didn't have the journey to look back on.

In the meantime, I'm going to try to stop wishing time away and focus on being in the present. My ultrasound is on Monday so perhaps I will get a few questions answered sooner rather than later. My endoscopy is on April 17. Whatever the results, I want to start doing whatever is necessary to make myself feel better. I pray that bananas, raspberries, blackberries and eggs won't be my only "safe foods"long term.

Only time will tell.

Dusting Myself Off

All I can say is, it's been a hell of a week.

Last Friday (3/13) started one of the most craptastic weekends I have ever had. We had to put our beloved dog Sam to sleep and for anyone who has ever lost a furry family member, I don't have to tell you how extremely sad, difficult, and life altering the experience is. Especially when those furry creatures are the only children you have.

It was a weekend for tears, reminiscing, and bonding with my husband and our two canine babies that remain. As the days pass, we are crying much less, but there is still a large hole in our hearts since Sam has crossed the Rainbow Bridge.

Depression can fuel an onslaught of bad eating. Thankfully, I didn't entirely jump ship, but I wouldn't  exactly admit sticking to plan either. Let's recap, shall we? Pizza on Friday, and again on Tuesday. Steak, pierogies, french onion soup with slices of french baguette and lots of melted gooey swiss cheese. Toast and granola. Too many carbs and too much fat. All in one week. Not exactly what you'd call a clean-eating menu, right? The less than stellar eating sort of dragged itself into this weekend as well. It's been a full week of just feeling really "lost" as far as my diet is concerned.

I even had ice cream. Twice. It hurts just to type that admission.

The silver lining to all of this is that despite the cruddy chow-fest that was happening 'round these parts, I still managed to lose a pound last week. Because I was so upset last Friday, I never got a chance to post about my 3 pound loss the week before (with Flo hanging around and all!), so in two weeks, 4 pounds disappeared. And that?  Is nothing short of a miracle. Amen.

In other news, I attended the vinyasa flow yoga class again this past week. Why I thought we'd be doing the same routine as last week, I have no idea. What I DO know is that this week was even harder than the first time - so it's safe to say, I'm no yoga guru yet. I'm actually surprised by how much I enjoy something I find relatively difficult. Usually, I want to run from things that present too much of a challenge, physical or otherwise, but this yoga thing has me inspired. Even when I'm doing downward dog and being suffocated by my own boobs. True story.

Honestly, I'm not sure I'm even doing this yoga thing right. I know the idea is to focus on breathing (something that is hard to do when your heaving bosom is cutting off your air supply), and flow from pose to pose - ideally, as gracefully as possible. Well, hell. I am about as far from graceful's doorstep as one person can get. I find myself having to adjust my positioning several times just to place myself into the "correct" position. There isn't a whole lotta "flow" happening on my mat, unless you're referring to the beads of sweat dripping from my face onto the floor in front of me. Who knew I'd sweat this much moving this slowly?

I often have to suppress laughter during these sessions. And I'm just taking a stab here, but I'm pretty sure laughing while yoga-ing, is a yoga no-no. At least that's what the tranquil background music suggests. My inclination to crack up most likely stems from my own insecurities, but I can't help myself. I imagine I must look pretty damn ridiculous trying to contort myself from one pose to another. Getting into some of the poses feels a bit unnatural. And if they feel unnatural, I can only assume they look just as, well...you know - unnatural. Child pose is supposed to be an easy resting pose that you can come back to if you need a break. I actually don't find child pose comfortable at all, especially when we first begin (probably because I am as flexible as a steel beam) so when Erin, our instructor, said I should feel free to go back to child pose at anytime, I wanted to snort-laugh and say, "Why the hell would I want to do that?" Again, it may have something to do with my boobs getting all up in my throat and choking the crap out of me. I wear a sports bra, but really, those things can do only so much to keep my girls in check. Those bad mamajammas have a mind of their own.

Another chuckle-worthy moment occurred when Erin asked us to attempt the crow pose. For you yoga virgins, the crow pose looks like this:

Instructor says, "Crow pose" and I says, "Hell nos"

I believe I turned to my friend Margaret and mouthed the words, "Holy Shit!" before simply crouching down into what I personally like to call "frog pose" and admitting defeat. Ribbit.

Still, I left that yoga session feeling good. I did what I could and know that with time I will get better and really, that is all I can ask of myself. I'll be back at it again this Wednesday. God willing.

So, with the new week ahead of me, I have to, have to, HAVE TO get back on track with my eating plan. I think after last week's indulgences (and yes, this weekend's as well) I'm feeling pretty darn guilty and am afraid that if I don't take back the reigns, like this very second, this could be one of those spiraling out of control situations. I was feeling so good, but it is amazing how a bad streak can shake a person. Ultimately, I know that it is up to me whether or not I let that happen.

I choose not to.

I have a menu full of healthy meals on tap for the week. I have some plans for exercise as well. Fingers crossed we've seen the last of the snow and the weather will be more conducive to getting outside and moving my butt beyond the one day of yoga. The desire is still strong to keep the scale moving in the downward direction, even if my actions last week didn't show it.

Anyway, no sense in looking in the rearview mirror. That gets me nowhere. Moving forward. That's what it's all about.

Namaste

Wow, it's been a heck of a long week. And it's not even Friday.

I know I was just kvetching about being home during all of those recent snow days, but I forgot how tiring a full week of school can be after being off for so long. As much as I love my job, this week I had a few trying moments that reaffirm that, contrary to some people's beliefs, teachers really DON'T make enough money for the job they do.

But this blog isn't about work. It's about weight loss - so I won't digress any further. I want to share a little bit about how my week is going in respect to my diet and my experience with stepping outside my comfort zone to partake in a yoga class. That's right...not yogurt class, but YOGA class.

First, let's talk diet. I'm surprised how different I feel this week versus last. There were moments last week where I was sure I was going to cave in, and cave in hard. The urge to dive mouth first into something sinful was constant and I had to fight off some pretty serious fat demons that taunted me mercilessly to go to the dark side. Raging PMS didn't help matters. Nor did this display I came across while shopping at Wegmans:

I'm pretty sure I heard angels singing in the background. Because if this isn't heaven, I don't know what is. 

Come on. Are you freaking serious? Can't a fat girl catch a break?

Anyway, when I was finished convulsing and drooling in front of this fattastic display (the smell wafting from those shelves was enough to send me into full on Pavlov's dogs mode), I knew I had limited time to finish my grocery shopping before I lost all sense of reasoning and took one of those bunnies home with me. And let's be honest. When I say take one home with me, what I mean is get as far as the parking lot before I rip the box open like a wild animal and bite the head off that damn thing.

Thankfully, I was able to steer my cart around the disaster area, only to find this waiting for me on the shelves in the next aisle:

Foodgasm Alert!!!! Foodgasm Alert!!!!

What the....? Does Wegman's suddenly have it out for me? It's like they knew I was coming and my defenses were down. Like way down. I've never seen those chips before in my life and God willing I never will again. Seven weeks ago, a bag of those sweet and salty suckers would have landed in my cart in a heartbeat. Maybe even two bags because I probably wouldn't have wanted to share just one measly zit-inducing bag with my husband. I'm not going to say I didn't want to buy them last week, but at least now I have the ability to rationally talk myself out of it. And that's progress. Can I get an Amen?

This week, eating in control has been much easier. My inner monologue was more about being positive about food choices I was making versus lamenting over food I think I need to deny myself. Recently, I've tried to think of food as simply a means to nourish my body versus the notion that it needs to be something gourmet, over the top tasty and fabulous every single day. Once I stopped thinking I had to have things I LOVED to eat everyday, food lost a little bit of its power over me. That feels good - I'm not gonna lie.

Another NSV (non-scale victory) came in the way of a yoga class I attended last evening with a good friend from my past life in the fashion biz. I completed one hour of vinyasa flow yoga - my first ever experience with this type of exercise. When your body throbs from your shoulders to your butt-cheeks to your inner thighs, perhaps you've done something right, no? Admittedly, I modified some of the poses quite a bit but it felt great to finally bite the bullet and trying something new.

I've never liked exercising with others because I've always thought I look stupid. Maybe it's my advancing age, but I'm really starting to change my viewpoint on that quite a bit. I'm much less, "Don't look at me!" and more, "Oh, who the hell cares?" I tried my best to follow the instructor and my friend Margaret who has been doing yoga for years. I know I wasn't graceful by any stretch of the imagination. What I did was concentrate on my breathing and revel in the fact that I was doing something good for myself. Maybe I did look stupid, but last night, I didn't care. And that, too, felt amazing.

Slowly but surely I am addressing my issues. Issues that have held me back and held me down for a very long time. These are small, maybe even minuscule steps I am taking - but with each one I feel the burden of this weight leaving me. Literally and figuratively.

Yoga will become a part of my routine, as will other forms of exercise I've been too shy or embarrassed to try up until now. Saying no to temptation, even when it's as large as a grocery store kiosk, will also become a part of my routine. I never realized that for so long, I was saying yes to all of the wrong things and no to all of the right things. It's nice to have a little clarity for once.

Weigh in day is tomorrow. I'm hoping for a loss - but with Aunt Flo hanging around, I know that whatever shall be, shall be.

Either way, I'm prepared.

Crimes of Fashion

At least this get-up adds height.

It's not your typical Sunday morning around here. It's the Sunday morning associated with Daylight Savings Time. Spring ahead and all that jazz. It's the Sunday everyone seems to hate because (gasp!) we lose that precious hour of sleep. Being a hard core coveter of extra sleepy time myself, I used to loathe this day, too - but this year I'm kind of embracing it. It's been such a looooooooong winter of what seemed like perpetual cloudiness and darkness - so I'm already planning what I can do with that extra hour of daylight. It almost makes me giddy.

Perhaps it's the fact that spring is but a mere 12 days away. That alone is enough to make me click my heels in delight (if only I could jump high enough to do such a thing without landing flat on my face). I miss seeing green grass, feeling the warm sunshine and opening windows to air out our house. I will not miss having to warm my car up for 15 minutes, the feeling of frozen toes and the threat of snowpolalypses (snowpocalypsi??) every other day. Admittedly, I've been a bit of a hermit this winter. Not UniBomber hermit-like, mind you....but close. I've not ventured too many places other than school and the grocery store for what seems like months on end. It feels like the last time I spent any quality time with anyone other than my husband and canine children was in December - and frankly, the cabin fever is really starting to kick down the door.

So, what's a girl to do when she's got a severe case of the winter blahs and blues? She heads to the mall, of course! I had a couple of Macy's gift cards that have been burning a hole in my pocket and figured a little retail therapy might get me out of my funk. In theory, it sounded like a solid plan. Having gift cards is essentially like going shopping and walking out of the store with "free" clothing, no? The problem is, when you weigh as much as I do, finding clothes that look good on you, is like finding that proverbial needle in a haystack. Fun is not a word I'd use to describe the experience.

I just have one thing to say. Fat fashion is hideous. We're talking Elephant Man meets Quasimoto and they have a baby type hideous. Strolling around Macy's yesterday made my blood boil in a way it hasn't in a long time. It seems the bigger the size, the tackier the color palette, the uglier the print, the more unflattering the cut and style. It's like Stevie Wonder was put in charge of the plus size design department and had a field day. To add insult to injury, prices are higher for "women's" size clothing versus their "regular" missy sized counterparts because they are bigger. You know, because being fat isn't punishment enough, now your wallet has to get kicked where the sun don't shine, too. What irks me is that you don't see petite sized garments priced for less than missy size, despite them being smaller....so what gives? Try as I might, it's hard not to take it personally.

As an ex-fashion designer, this type of fat-shaming hits closer to my heart than you know. I LOVE clothes and fabrics and color and design and subscribe to the belief that more often than not, clothing can make you or break you. For me, when I find that outfit that makes me look good and feel good, I carry myself differently. For the short time that I am wearing it, I feel less fat, less frumpy, less conspicuous for the wrong reasons. In other words, less like Jabba the Hut. For a while I feel pretty and don't have to think about what people are thinking of me. A good outfit can change my outlook on a given day or night and allow me to finally be the person I feel like I am on the inside. It's an amazing gift.

The bitch of it is, those prized outfits are few and far between. For someone who gets her rocks off shopping as much as I do, I can honestly say that a huge percentage of the clothing I buy is because I think it doesn't look that bad, versus thinking it looks really good. And that, my friends, is a really f'd up way to shop, I gotta tell you. I pay good hard-earned money, not for clothing that I love - but for things that simply pass muster. De. Press. Ing.

My weight, coupled with my (lack of) height, makes shopping next to impossible. It's akin to trying to dress a basketball. With boobs. And a big butt. I'll let you think about what that looks like for a second. My husband wants to know what takes me so long at the mall. Obviously he has no idea how long it takes to find a garment that flatters a body that often feels as wide as it is tall. This is very much how I felt yesterday as I perused racks upon racks of tops so fugly they nearly made my eyeballs bleed. Never mind trying to find pants for legs with an inseam to rival that of a pygmy goat. Charge extra for plus size? What about the 10" of fabric I have to cut off of nearly every stinking pair of pants to make them a proper length for my height? If I send that fabric back to the manufacturer do you think I'd get some of my money back? Me neither.

If there ever was a motivating force driving my weight loss journey, fashionable clothing would be firmly planted at the wheel. Pedal to the metal, y'all.

What yesterday's trip to Macy's did for me is plant yet another seed of reality. Weight loss is not just about one thing, such as becoming thinner. It is about a plethora of things. Things that may seem insignificant or shallow, such as wanting to wear prettier, more stylish clothes. And things that are much more urgent and paramount, like getting health concerns under control. And there are a whole lot more reasons - big and small - in between. I'm sure over the lifetime of this blog, I'll talk about many of them. But for today, I'll just stick to the gripe I have about the fashion industry screwing plus size women over a barrel.

The week ahead, with it's new daylight hours brings a fresh start and an opportunity for new beginnings. I'm feeling good about my eating plan and exercise plan this week. I'll be consuming more veggies than I can shake a stick at, plus I'm even trying my hand at yoga this week! Because of the extra daylight, I'll be able to come home and take walks after school as well. I see no reason why this week I can't amp up my exercise. It shouldn't be too difficult, as it's been next to non-existant. One Latin Dance workout during the week does not constitute an exercise plan. I'm sorry.

I really want this week to be a game changer. I feel confident that I can make good choices and get moving. With a loss of 1.25 lbs this past week, I'm now in double digits! While I am happy with the progress, I feel I can do better. I want my weigh in on Friday to be cause for a seriously obnoxious happy dance. Fingers crossed.

Food for thought: What will you do this week to make sure it's a good one?

Pour Some Sugar on Me

Good God - if we have one more bloody snow day I think I'm going to scream. Don't get me wrong. If I wasn't dieting, I probably wouldn't care if we had 10 snow days in a row. But the reality is that I am dieting...and being at home is absolutely friggin' killing me.

I need routine. I need to be busy. One might think I should be busying myself here at home, but I swear this weather has put a spell of complete lazy-assism on me and any motivation I may have once had to be productive is sinking as quickly as the temperatures outside. My ears hear "snow day" and my body takes it immediately to heart. We're talking instant hibernation mode. I become lethargic and slothful and no matter how much I try to get things accomplished around here, I can't seem to do more than a few simple chores before I hop back on my computer to mindlessly peruse Pinterest. What a waste of time. Plus, looking at all of those recipes is something akin to water boarding myself. And my own kitchen has become Gitmo.

Thank goodness for one of my best friends who called during a near moment of weakness. I love that she didn't mind spending 2 hours gabbing away on the phone with me, even helping me talk myself out of turning the big old batch of overripe bananas hanging out on my counter top into a big old no-no of a dessert. When life hands you lemons, you're suppose to make lemonade, right? Well, if life hands you overripe bananas, I'm pretty sure you're supposed to make a cake. What? ...Is that not a saying? Perhaps not. But let's just say you have no idea how much your gift of conversation helped me today, Val. I am forever grateful.

Days like today are harder than others. It might be sacrilegious to say this as a teacher (we generally tend to covet our snow days), but I like it better when I am at work and busy. I don't want to be an annoying dessert-deprived whiner, but I feel like I've had more than my share of a few idle days at home like this recently and this blog is my outlet to vent about them. Besides, if I'm typing, I can't be jamming my face with food.

Days like today demand that my mental willpower kicks into overdrive. I have to somehow summon Superman strength to avoid whatever food kryptonite might be lurking in the kitchen. Or as I'm calling it these days, the Devil's Lair. Apparently, I have reached the dieting stage where EVERYTHING is tempting now - even that gross half-eaten bag of stale tortilla chips that has been hanging out on top of the radiator for weeks (why the hell is it still there?). Even that looks good to me. It's as if my taste buds have no shame. They beg to be slathered in something, anything, that isn't in the fruit, veggie, or protein family. Carbs and sugar, baby. That's the ticket. That's what they want.

Why are some people seemingly pre-wired to crave sugar like heroin? (Hand raised high right here). My friend and I talked a little bit about that today - the fact that she doesn't really have a sweet tooth. Yeah, I don't get it either. I was born with a mouth full of sweet teeth. It's fair to say I have had a wicked sugar addiction from the moment I could eat solid foods. Some of my earliest (and best) childhood memories involve having a hefty thick square of chocolate cake smothered in fudgy icing....for breakfast. I simply cannot fathom what it is like to NOT want sugar. I wish to all that is holy that I did.

Of all the things I am proud of since beginning this journey, the fact that I have not gone off the rails of this crazy train and caved into that addiction is at the top of the list. I've done everything possible to stay away from sugar as much as possible. I've admitted to having some chocolate and one or two cupcakes from a birthday treat at school - but that's really it. And for me, that is saying something - big time. I think about it constantly and have to talk myself out of giving in to the desire daily. In a way, I feel like a recovering addict. I wouldn't give a shot of vodka to an alcoholic, and I shouldn't give myself a "hit" of sugar either. The stakes aren't quite as high, but they're high enough. I have to keep reminding myself of that.

Cleaning out dresser drawers and putting away laundry certainly does not bring me the same joy as baking and eating a banana cake with cream cheese frosting, but it did help me get over a rough patch today, and for that, I am thankful. Talking to my friend was a saving grace as well. In other words,  there are ways to get around the enemy. I'm learning.

If Mother Nature has her way, I'll be staring down another day like today, tomorrow. Luckily for me,  I have a pile of laundry that isn't going to wash itself and some serious school work that needs doing. Friday should be back to normal.

Just in time for the weekend. 

Working it Out

Normally I don't get much time during the week to post, but since Josh is still working and I have a few moments to breathe before I make dinner, I thought I'd share a little insight into what has been bouncing around in my brain today.

As I mentioned in my last post, although I was supposed to begin my exercise regimen last week, it simply didn't happen. There's really no excuse why - it just... didn't. I didn't agonize over it, until of course I got on the scale on Friday and the stupid needle hadn't budged - not even a smidge. Then I started to kick myself that I hadn't made the effort.

From all the years I have been on and off this dieting roller coaster, I know that I am most successful when I stick to a daily caloric goal of around 1250 calories AND move my rumpshaker at least a few times a week. It's not rocket science, you know? I am not completely devoid of understanding what it takes to shed some poundage. It's pretty simple, actually. Eat less, move more. So far, I've been working on the first part of that sentence. Last week proved to me that it's time to focus on the back half (no pun intended, although my own back half could use its own focus of sorts - in the form of squats). The time has come - I've got to peel myself off the couch and get this butt moving.

I'm definitely not one of those people who embraces exercise with every fiber of my being. I know a few of those types of people (my husband is one) and I try not to hate them... too much. Of course - I kid. It's more accurate to say I'm in awe of them. In fact, I would give my eye teeth to have the sort of drive, dedication, and desire they have to move their bodies on a daily basis. To those people, exercise is a way of life. It is enjoyable and fun and is viewed as something they look forward to doing.  Me? Well, I suppose I sort of have a love/hate (mostly hate) relationship with it. Once I'm doing it, I'm ok, but it's the extensive "psyching-up" I require prior to starting the whole shebang that I detest so much. I pretty much go into it kicking and screaming.

So even after Friday's weigh in and with the entire weekend wide open, I avoided exercise like the bubonic plague. It's not that I don't have any exercise equipment here. I do. It's not that I don't have 100 DVD's I can pop in to get my ample arse moving. I do. What I don't have is any acceptable reason why I didn't do it. And yet...

Truth time. I spent the weekend thinking about it. Yes, I said thinking about exercising. A lot. If only thinking about exercise burned as many calories as actually exercising, I'd be a total rail and there would be absolutely no need for this blog. Alas, (sigh) it does not.

I remember when I was younger and still living at my parents' house, I'd watching Gilad Janklowicz's Bodies in Motion on TV. There I'd sit on the couch for 30 minutes almost everyday watching Gil and his two long-limbed exotic-looking female cohorts do aerobics on their mats high up on a lush green hill, overlooking gorgeous turquoise waters, in what I always assumed was Hawaii. I was entranced by how seemingly effortless it was for all three of them to work out for 30 minute straight, in the hot sun, barely working up a sweat while I sat on the couch, sweating from just watching them. I was envious by how easy it seemed for them to move about from one pose to another. One fluid movement blended with the next. They were graceful, svelte, and coordinated. They looked like they were born to aerobicise.

As for me, I have never felt all that comfortable exercising. I feel clumsy and awkward and heavy and ugly. It's not a natural feeling process for me at all. I have never looked, nor can I ever imagine myself looking, remotely athletic or in shape (unless you count round as a shape). Even when I weighed the lowest I ever have in my adult life (40 odd lbs. ago, right before I met Josh), and was frequenting the gym and putting mega miles on the elliptical, I did not feel comfortable. I felt better....but not comfortable. Sure, I felt like I was doing something good for myself...but I did not feel like I was a natural part of that elite group of people that considers themselves fit or athletic. Maybe I just never gave it enough time????

It's tough to put all of my insecurities about how I look and feel when I exercise on the back burner but I have to, because keeping them in the forefront of my mind is poisonous. Those feelings nag at me and provide me fodder to conjure up a million excuses not to work out. Those negative thoughts make me simply not want to do it. And let's face it. Not doing it... is not an option.

I am proud to report that today, I finally took the first step. At 3:30, I locked the door to my classroom, pulled my shades down tight, changed into my unstylish workout duds, and put a Latin Dance DVD in the player, which projects up on my Starboard. For 30 minutes I white-girl sambaed and booty-shook my way through that DVD. All I can say is, thank the Lord there is no mirror in my classroom or I'm not sure I'd have the nerve to try it again.

My work out today is nothing to write home about, but it is a start. And the hope is that within time, I will make friends with exercise and find the activity that feels like the most natural fit to me. And while I may never be like Gil and his beach babes on Bodies in Motion,  that doesn't mean I can't find a motion that feels right for my body.

Here's to discovering the perfect fit for my fitness goals. To be continued....

What Type of Dieter am I?

Happy Friday!

I thought I'd try posting this evening, despite my previous insistence that I am a useless bump on a log on a Friday night. Be warned, however,  that I have poured myself a glass of wine - one that wouldn't necessarily be described as "small" - and that whatever these fingers pound out on the keyboard is entirely dependent on how quickly all this liquid gold hits the bloodstream. Let's face it, friends - I give myself 10 minutes before this entire post is complete and utter gibberish. I best type quickly...

I suppose I'll just get right to the thick of this post - which is my weigh in today. I'm feeling a bit conflicted about the whole thing, and here's why. Although there was no gain this week (insert silent cheer here), there was no loss either (insert silent boo hiss here). As I mentioned last week, there is a part of me that feels like this early in a weight loss game of this size (pun intended),  there is no excuse for a "weak week" so to speak. Meaning, with so much weight to drop, it should be easier, rather than harder, to kiss more fat cells goodbye in the beginning of this journey. So, when I have a week like this week, or even last week, I seriously start to question my dieting integrity.

I am so in awe of the outpouring of support and encouragement I have received from friends and family upon my announcement to become a healthier me. I can only hope Bruce Jenner is receiving the same kind of support for his announcement! In all seriousness, please know that your comments on Facebook or my blog mean the world to me and I take to heart each and every word you have lovingly taken the time to write. When I post my weight loss, or in today's case, weight stall, there are encouraging words all around me telling me that essentially no gain is a loss (thanks, Jamie) and that I should go easy on myself in this journey (thanks, Kelly). The rational side of me applauds those comments and knows in my heart of hearts that they are right. This will probably be a journey of epic length and filled with trials and tribulations from the tiny to the grandiose. It's not worth it to go all Fight Club on myself because if I do that, I fail in more ways than one.

The other side of me - the Fat Nazi - is angry. She thinks I'm slacking and wants to kick my ass ten ways to Sunday because she KNOWS I can do better. In my heart of hearts, I believe she is right too...
When I think of the week I had and the kind of food that I allowed to pass the lips, pass the gums, watch out stomach here it comes - I can't say the non-loss is a huge surprise.

Here is the thing. I'm not eating McDonald's on my way home from work. I'm not eating donuts in secret, in my car, in the parking lot of Wegmans. I'm not eating crunchy Cheetos until all of my fingers are coated in bright orange whatever-the-hell-that-is. I'm not eating 4 slices of pizzeria pizza and washing it down with 3 beers. I'm not eating bowl after sugary bowl of Peanut Butter Cap'n Crunch for dinner when I'm too lazy to cook. And I'm definitely not baking anything in my kitchen that resembles a dessert of any kind. As a matter of fact, I have not had any dessert since the commencement of this new weight-loss journey. No matter how much I have thought about, craved, and desperately desired to do all of the above.

Not doing that stuff right there? That is what winning a battle feels like.  Have I had some white rice this week? Yes. Have I had a slice of lasagna this week? Yep. One medium slice. And trust me I could have sunk my whole chubby-cheeked face into that entire pan, it was that delish. The important thing is, I didn't. Have I indulged in 2 adult bevvy's last Friday night? Hiccup - Affirmative. Did I sneak a few small pieces of chocolate this week? Oh, you betcha. But I stopped after 3 Hershey Hugs. I said three. I'm not sure if you can completely appreciate the restraint that took because in the past, I can assure you 100%, that entire bag of Hugs would have been my bitch. Oh, and exercise? That was suppose to get kick started this week. Did it? I'm going to guess you already know the answer to that one.

It's fair to say that my clean eating has contained a few, a-hem, dirty spots.  If only they made Oxy Clean for diets. The question is: Am I ok with that? Do I want to be the type of dieter that understands there will be bumps in the road and as long as I am making some significant NSV's (non-scale victories), I should be happy, because that means I am seriously changing my relationship with food? Or do I want to be the type of dieter that gets fast results because I am steadfast and hardcore and use a take no prisoners approach to clean eating?

My fear is that by taking an "easier" approach where I adopt a more turtle versus hare role, I won't stay as focused. I'm afraid I'll become too lax and there will be more weeks like this week than there should be and weight loss will slow to a painful crawl. On the other hand, if I am too militant about this dieting thing, I'm going to snap and eventually wind up french kissing the frosting off a three-tier cake with a bag of french fries in one hand and a tub of Ben and Jerry's finest in the other. Screw the spoon.

What I want to know is: Is there a balance? If there is, I haven't discovered it yet - but I would like to. So many stories I have read where people are successful with weight loss take that extreme approach. They go balls to the wall with eating and exercise. It works for them. Will it work for me? Should I even try it?

I have always believed that food is the epicenter of life. So many of life's events, big or small, revolve around it and boost its importance. I've had an unhealthy relationship with it my whole life, despite my undying love for it. What I think I am discovering is, I can't go from one extreme to the other. I honestly don't know if I can go from having a steady, heavy relationship with cheese and pasta and pizza to having none at all. Perhaps I should cut them out cold turkey, but for now, significantly reducing the amount of time those drool-worthy guys spend hanging out in my mouth needs to be good enough. Maybe the less I let them in, the less I think I will need them. A girl can only hope.

For now, I suppose I will keep on, keeping on. I sincerely want to get better about monitoring my weekly menu. For example, if I do happen to have a serving of pasta during the week, it might be wise to skip the rice the next day. AND the next day. In other words - it's ok to make one or two mistakes, but not four or five. And let's not forget where exercise factors into this entire plan. If I had stayed on course and worked out this week as planned, I doubt I'd be making this post tonight. Or maybe I would. Who knows?

There is a new weekend and week ahead and I feel ready to embrace them both. In fact, I feel ready to embrace all the days ahead because they are coming, no matter what. I may as well be as prepared as I can be. Here's to more victories - both on the scale and off!

Weight Just A Minute....

It's Sunday afternoon and I am in complete denial that a full week of school is staring me in the face. After about 6 or so weeks of an abbreviated weekly schedule - Mother Nature created or otherwise -  it is back to reality and perhaps some normalcy this week, as there are no imminent snowstorms or holidays on the horizon. In a way, I'm looking forward to it because the less time I spend at home camped in front of the TV,  the less I think about making a chocolate cake and inhaling it in one bite.

I know I said I would post on Fridays to give an update on my weigh in. I'm still weighing in on Fridays but the posting at week's end has sort of proven to be an epic failure, simply because come Friday night, I'm utterly useless. My apologies, but until the summer rolls around, I'm thinking Saturdays or Sundays will fit my blogging schedule a tad better.

My weigh-in this week revealed another pound had packed its bags and said an emphatic"arrivederci" to my bod, never to be seen again, if all goes as planned. I'll admit, I wasn't ecstatic over what I consider to be a small loss so early in the game. But if there is one thing this girl has learned over time, it's that a loss is a loss is a loss. And when the loss in question is about that fat monkey on your back that's been weighing you down your whole life, you take it and you don't complain. In the 4 weeks since I began this new journey, I have lost 9.25 lbs. Sure, I had hoped to hit an even 10 lbs, but as Mick Jagger once said, you can't always get what you want.

There are a few pieces of my own personal weight loss puzzle that may have contributed to the smaller loss this week. Key pieces that don't quite fit what I'm trying to do which make me more than a smidge nervous.  Although I may talk a good talk, deep down, I know I am far from truly having a firm grip on this healthy eating thing. Dieting - or to be less demoralizing about it - changing my lifestyle toward a healthy existence - is an extremely slippery slope for me. Those that know me best have heard me speak convincingly of my plans to banish the weight many times before. They have seen me make attempt after attempt, all of which have not been successful long term. Here I am again, making the same pledge, and try as I might, it's tough to tune out that nagging voice in the back of my mind asking me why it's going to be any different this time around.

I know all about the poison that negative self-talk brings. It invades the body like a parasite and courses through your veins until it consumes you. It causes you to believe all of the untrue bullshit you've conjured up about yourself until you decide to just give in and let it take over. Maybe that's what has happened to me in the past. I often wonder if every single time I have decided to lose weight, I just didn't believe I could do it. Perhaps that nagging voice had more power than I knew. Doubt had a choke hold on me and with every slip up, no matter how small, made me believe there was no way I had it in me to see this journey through to the end. Maybe I didn't give myself the gift of time and patience to let it become a reality. Maybe I thought that anytime I made a mistake in my choices, whether they be diet or exercise related, meant that I didn't want it bad enough. Whatever it was, whatever the reason or reasons it didn't take hold in the past, I am going to do everything in my power not to let history repeat itself.

During this process, slip ups are going to happen. They have happened. Eating-wise, I'm noticing areas of weakness - cracks in my foundation, if you will - that are in need of immediate repair. Breakfast, as long as I make time for it, hasn't presented any glaring issues as of yet. My go to foods in the a.m. are either a Fage Greek yogurt with fruit or a chicken sausage with an egg. I'm still trying to get a handle on what clean eating really means in order to allow for weight loss, and what foods I need to limit or exclude, at least for the time being. Lunch has been tricky. I'm ashamed to say I've been using Lean Cuisines as a steady crutch, which I didn't want to do. They have too much sodium, are carb-heavy, and quite frankly, are rather tasteless and unexciting. However, on the plus side, they are convenient, portion-controlled, low-calorie, and require little thought or planning. Always looking for that silver lining!

This past week, dinners and snacks were where most of the damage occurred. I'm not measuring anything right now, and I'm beginning to see how those mindless, random handfuls of nuts here and there, along with a gob of peanut butter to accompany my perfectly-lovely-on-its-own apple, and eating hummus straight from the container, can easily pack on fat and calories, and put the brakes on my weight loss. Sure they're healthier alternatives to a heaping plate full of tortilla chips and melted cheese, but as with anything containing calories and fat, quantity does make a difference. Can I just say that the thought of measuring and weighing food makes me want to lash out like Kanye defending Beyonce at the Grammys? But I fear it may be a necessary evil in the upcoming weeks in order to keep that scale moving in the right direction. Sigh....

One of my best friends recently gave me some good advice. She told me to think back to what I ate the first week I was on plan and had a loss I was happy with, and try to stick as closely to that menu as possible. I'm certainly not expecting 4 pound losses each week, but with as much weight as I have to kiss goodbye, I don't think 2 is unreasonable. That first week, I had a sound meal plan and although it was simple, it did pay off. Meals were lean protein, salad and veggies. Carbs were low, sugar was totally buh-bye, minus the natural sugar in fruit, and yes, it all seemed to work. The past week or so I have not been as planned, or as careful, and it shows. It's so easy for bad habits to creep in, and I need to make sure that the few slip ups I have had do not turn into full-blown landslides from which I cannot recover.

As for the nagging voice that is sometimes louder than I care for - I'm trying very hard to ignore her. I do know that this time it's the real deal for me. I've resolved that it is going to be slow, and I want to learn how to be ok with that. It's not easy to be patient when I see what long road I have ahead of me. I'm so worried about having to travel uphill for such a long way. But when I think about it, being fat has been an uphill battle too. One that seemed to have no ending - just a steeper incline for me to trudge with each passing year. At least with this fresh, new journey, there is a summit for me to reach. And I will get there. No matter how long it takes.