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.