Monday, November 20, 2006

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away

Whatever freakish testing phenomenon happened when my blood was taken caused a false negative. Either that or my blood changes it's mind more than, well, a woman. Prior to my last entry I tested at 90. Totally acceptable. Then I got all kinds of blood work done at my yearly (I think you know what I mean) and it came back 114. Grrrr. Foiled again. They wrote down on my results that I should call and schedule an appointment "to discuss". I did my usual internet research and determined that 114 is still considered Pre-Diabetes. I'm not scheduling an appointment (paying for an appointment rather) just to be given the same schpeel they gave me 2 years ago. What's she gonna tell me that I don't already know? That I need to lose weight? That I need to exercise? That I need to eat differently? That if I don't I'm going to get Type II Diabetes and potentially go blind? Lose a limb? DIE? I’m oh so crystal clear on that little tid-bit of knowledge. That little nugget of wisdom is in the vault people…it just doesn't seem to MATTER.

Dustina and I worked out 2 or 3 times a week in October and then in November we were both so stinkin busy that we haven't worked out once. I've done it on my own a few times, but again…stinkin busy. Tack on having had the flu AND a cold within a matter of a few weeks and working out hasn't really been on the top of my list of to do's. Also, there is an equation that rings true for me more often than not. If B equals Busy and P equals Poor...B + P = FAT. Not only do I not have the time to cook a healthy meal, but I don't have the fundage to purchase said food to cook. I end up rollin through a Taco Bell drive through in my frenzy to get home and get things accomplished. I TRY to go to a Subway instead, it just doesn't usually work out that way.

This is also the first time in YEARS that I have stayed home on Halloween and had to deal with candy buying and that whole demonic ritual. I had no idea how many kids I'd get in my apartment complex so bought plenty. I didn't get one single knock on my door (unless they came while I was vacuuming) thus leaving me with 3 bags of chocolate. Three bags of chocolate that I put a healthy dent in before taking it into the office where the vultures laid wait. I even went so far as to bury my scale in the back of the closet because I just couldn't bare to see the damage I was doing.

As of Friday I've started counting points again, though I'm not sure why I didn't wait until after Thanksgiving. I've got some fancy schmancy spreadsheet set up in Excel to track it all. I think it'll be easier to track points this time because for the last month or two my breakfasts and snacks have been virtually the same every day. My lunches are usually Subway or something else easy to track. It's just dinner that will be all the work. My scale is back out of the closet so I can face the music and hold myself accountable. Luckily Halloween didn't cause as much ruin as I had anticipated. I can easily pick up where I left off and make some big things happen. Maybe I should put my food journals online. If people can actually SEE what I'm eating how can I not do well? The question then becomes…how honest will I be? Will I confess every last bite of ice cream, every trip to Taco Bell? Hmmmm…maybe that's exactly what I need to do. Stay tuned!

Friday, September 29, 2006

Knick knack paddy whack, God threw me a bone

As previously reported I got my blood sugar tested again a week ago. To say that I was expecting bad things would have been an understatement. I fully expected to be told I had Type II Diabetes. After all, I was told I had to lose weight or my high sugar levels would be my eminent demise. If you hadn't noticed, my ass size has increased not decreased since then. They mail your results to you so I've been waiting not so patiently and getting more and more anxious. I hadn't checked my mail in a couple days so this morning I finally did it. I grabbed my mail, jumped in my car, and away I went with it on the seat next to me just calling my name. When I got to the first stoplight I dug through my stack of mail and there it was…my results. I set it on the seat next to me and worked up the nerve to look. I debated not looking until I got home tonight because I didn't want to have to fight back tears all day at work. I figured I could spend the weekend coming to terms with the bad news and then resolve myself to a life full of new rules.

As I came to another stoplight, I committed to sucking it up and reading the bad news. I grabbed the envelope and opened it. I slowly pulled out the smallish piece of paper that was folded in half. The only side I saw as a pulled it out of the envelope was the side where the doc writes her comments. There, staring at me in black ink, was a smiley face. I thought, "You sick bastards. How can you draw a smiley face when telling me I'm diabetic? Hello, inappropriate!" Then I saw the checkmark in the box stating "No change in your treatment is necessary…" I got excited thinking that HAD to be good. That I was still pre-diabetic and it wasn't too late.

Then things got REAL crazy. I looked at the other checkmark stating that my blood test was "normal." Huh? What do you MEAN normal? I flipped to the back of the paper…nothing. Flipped back to the front…normal. Say what? Convinced it was a mistake, I called my doctor's office. I said, "Look, I'm not about to get excited over this until I make sure it's right. Here's the deal. I know you're supposed to fast for 12 hours before partaking in a test like this so what if you fasted for 18 hours? Would that throw off the results? Are those extra 6 hours toying with my emotions right now? Cause this here says I'm A-OK and not even pre-diabetic." It's like my dumb ass was begging them to give me bad news. She told me that I was on the high side of normal, but still normal. So like a Taco Bell Crunch Wrap Supreme…I'm good to go.

Excuse me whilst I do a chair dance. I'm downright giddy. Uh huh, I said it, GIDDY! It's not too late. I can still fix this, and by God, fix it I will. The big man upstairs has thrown me a very large bone and offered up the opportunity to take one last stab at this. This is exactly what I needed…a second chance.

So, what’s my plan? For the last week I’ve been drinking ridiculous amounts of water and will obviously keep that up. I started exercising on my own, but tonight Dustina came over to discuss our plans. Who is Dustina? I’ve briefly mentioned her before, but she’s the kinder, gentler, prettier, more estrogen infused version of Trainer Guy Todd. She’s my new trainer. We’re going to trade skills (pause for a Napolean Dynamite moment)…training skills for web design skills. She’s going to come over to my apartment around 10 times a month and workout with me. Keep me on the straight and narrow so to speak.

What’s great is that she suggested doing the very thing that always works best for me. She said I should make slow changes in my habits. That this week I upped my water intake so next week I should add another change or two until it all falls into place for me. If I make such a drastic change in my overall lifestyle then I’m not going to be able to keep something like that going for very long. If it’s more gradual then it’s less noticeable…it becomes habit. Yay her for being NOTHING like Trainer Guy Todd. When she looked at my food journal and assessed what I’d eaten this week she said I needed to eat more. That’s funny for a girl of my size to hear. I mean, I get it, but it’s odd. I’m doing well with eating often; I’m just not eating enough. So this week she wants me to add lean protein to my breakfasts, a “good” fat with my snacks, and up the veggie intake. Consider it done.

So here I am, 10 pounds lighter, and standing at a veritable crossroads. This is my chance to find my inner Robert Frost and take the road less traveled. How important IS my life? How much do I value my health? I’ve been shown time and time again that “it can’t happen to me” does not apply in my world. It can, and often does, happen to me. I’m done riding the bench while everyone else gets to play in the game. We’re in double overtime, down by one, and God has called for a sub. To that I say…put me in coach!

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Desperate times call for desperate measures

Well, it’s official. I’ve, without a doubt, pulled out the very last stop. Is it because I looked at the before picture of me that shows what I look like from behind and was stricken temporarily blind? Possibly. Is it because waiting for the blood sugar results has caused me to go insane? Likely. Whatever the reason, I’ve now gone too far.

Today I came home and was catching up on Tivo. I was watching Oprah. She’s sneaky that Oprah. There I was, cozied up on the couch with my laptop basking in my laziness, when she did it to me again. She had on Matthew. For those asking “Matthew who?” TISK TISK!! It was brief (unfortunately) and he was sporting the scruffy look, but I didn’t even care. He is about 20 kinds of yummy. I just wanna put him in my pocket and go about my day.

Now, I’ve never been particularly star struck per say. I’ve never plastered my walls with every picture published of someone. I’ve never written a stalker like letter professing my undying love or even put forth the effort to know every sorted detail of their over publicized life. I am; however, a fan of Matthew McConaughey. I can’t help it. From his dimples to his southern drawl, I’m plotzing. I’m not even Jewish and I’m plotzing. I can’t even sit here and say I just want him for his chiseled good looks. Look at everything he’s doing for the Hurricane Katrina effort. Quite the giver that Matthew is.

So what did I do that has me so dumbfounded? Why am I confessing my momentary lapse in judgment? Because I need more help than a team of the world’s finest therapists can provide. This week’s events (more than I even wrote about) and another glimpse of Mr. McConaughey paired with my wireless internet caused something to come over me. I went to and, dare I say it…I emailed Oprah (or her producers rather). No really, I did. Stop it! I did!

I, essentially, suggested that they should track my attempt to lose 200 pounds, linked them to this website so they could get a glimpse at my personality and what would be in store for them if they did and then asked them to dangle a carrot in front of me. What’s the carrot you ask? More like WHO is the carrot. Matthew is my carrot (if only carrots looked like that…what a healthier bunch we’d be). She’s in the habit of reporting weight loss success stories and in the habit of introducing fans to celebs. I told them I wanted to meet him, but only if I lost the weight. That there is nothing particularly spectacular about me that warrants such a meeting, but if I lost 200 pounds I think that officially has me earning a day with Matthew.

Do I expect to get a call from a producer of the Oprah show? No. Am I hopeful? Natch! I mean come on. If they shot me an email stating that they’ve read my website, find me intriguing, and would like to offer me a chance to meet Matthew McConaughey I do believe the pounds I’d be a sheddin’. Is it tragic that it might take a carrot of that size to get me serious about this? Obviously. At least I’m honest. I did workout after I sent that email though. It’s a start.

Friday, September 22, 2006

Too little, too late?

Today I had to go to the doctor. The whole way there I worked up the nerve to get my blood tested. For those still catching up, two years ago my doctor told me that I had Pre-diabetes. I haven’t seen her since. I still haven’t because she’s not there on Fridays, which is why I chose to go then. I avoided the lecture, got seen, and got tested. Now I wait…and wait…and wait.

I suppose I deserve what I get. I had the opportunity to do something about it before it was too late and I didn’t. It’s my fault. Getting the news about pre-diabetes when I did just destroyed me. Not that it’s ever a good time to get news like that, but that was a REALLY bad time. I was already going through things and I just, well, gave up. I stopped caring, stopped trying to lose weight, and stopped expecting anything better for my life. I buried my head in the sand and was content to stay there.

I’ve finally peeked my head back out. By no means am I taking the world by storm, but I think I’m ready to face whatever is next for me. Hence, the blood test. If I have Diabetes then I better get it in check. If I don’t then I better get it in check. My body is not at all happy with me right now. My knees, my feet…they’re all going on strike. My blood pressure is about the only thing still on my side.

As bad as that sounds, being this big takes so much more than a physical toll on you. What it does to you mentally is devastating. I really don't know how to get that across. Putting aside how society makes us think about ourselves, think of how you felt when you failed at something you really set your mind to. What did it do to your self-esteem? Your confidence? Your happiness? Chances are good, even if briefly, that it caused a bit of a set back for you and caused you to re-evaluate your worth. At the very least you were a little bummed. Every day that I wake up and don't eat in a manner that brings me closer to my goal is a day that I fail because every day I try. That's a lot of failure.

People tell me that my size shouldn't matter. That I should just love myself and be content with who I am. If you failed every day would you be content with who you are? It would be one thing if I were trying to lose this to get a man, be in a size 2, fit into the mold of what I'm told a woman should look like. Then I can understand people suggesting that to me. I'm losing this weight to live…in every sense of the word. The question is…is it too late?

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

The Sisterhood of the Shrinking Pants

I've come to the realization that when it comes to bra shopping and weight loss there is one aspect that you cannot live without…SUPPORT. I would like to take a moment to suggest that Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, and the like watch their back because there's a new group in town and it's called "The Sisterhood of the Shrinking Pants." And we're not just your run of the mill weight loss group. We are, well, INTENSE.

A girl's gotta eat, and eat we do, but we all bring something healthy. It's a once a month gig and during our month apart we'll be participating in a monthly challenge and getting support from the weight loss buddy we were paired up with. We'll pass on the clothes that have become too big as we lose our weight. We will bring in other members that show a legit intestest and, dare I say it, I might eventually create a website for us to play on. I do a monthly newsletter, I take their measurements and progress pictures, I come up with challenges, topics, and "fun stuff". What do I mean by "fun stuff" you ask? I mean next month we're doing pedicures and in November, I think, my trainer might come talk to us (I still call her my trainer even though we haven't worked out together in eons because she's my fav and she DID come over Saturday to talk about me doing her website. YES!).

I'm gonna make a bold statement and say...that was the funnest weight loss meeting I've EVER been to. Granted, I'm probably a wee bit biased, but come on. It's friends getting together in a "homey" environment, eating healthy food, supporting each other and actually getting to know each other on a very personal level. We are bitches on a mission. No doubt.

To those suggesting that I'm taking on too much…I have to. I do NOT do well at losing weight unless I am completely and utterly obsessed with it. With exercising, with every bite of food that goes into my mouth. It must consume every single thought (ok, most of them) and be the end all be all most important thing in my world. To an extent, I am now responsible for the success of these meetings. These ladies are excited and very much looking forward to our monthly rendezvous and I feel obligated to keep it that way. Look out Ya Ya's…there's a new sisterhood on the block.

Monday, June 19, 2006

On the road of life,

…there are passengers and there are drivers: Drivers Wanted! I find it funny that I’m a Volkswagen owner considering their tagline. I’ve treated life as if it were a spectator sport and played the role of passenger since day one. I feel like Wolfgang Von Volkswagen himself will show up on my doorstep in his lederhosen and revoke my privileges because I'm such a disgrace to all things VW. It's almost as if I've been told that my life is on the 13th floor of a very superstitious building and I just keep taking the elevator up and down (like you thought I'd take the stairs…pshhh). I never venture out onto any other floor. I never grab the bull by the balls (horns are for pansies) and say "Screw this, I wanna live a 1st floor kinda life." I just keep waiting…convinced that it's just a matter of time before we get to my floor.

Well, F%$& that. I turned 30 just over 2 weeks ago. Nothing makes you take a life inventory like a whole new decade. I moped around the entire week because "oh, woes me" I had nothing to show for my life. I was still fat, still single, still broke, still renting not owning, still not traveling, still frustrated with my job, still making well intended promises to myself, but doing NOTHING to follow through. I'm 99.9% sure it's all my fault and even more sure that I'm the only one that can change it. I finally moved out of the backseat, but I never grew a pair and got behind the wheel.

How fabulous that the most critical endeavor (losing weight) is the most challenging for me. As of Friday I’m back to 360 (AGAIN) and confronted with the fact that last year I said I would not be entering my 30’s this big. I said that I wouldn’t spend another summer fat. I said a lot of things that I haven’t done a damn thing about. I’m probably well beyond the PRE-diabetes phase and staring full blown diabetes right square in it’s beady little eyes. They diagnosed it almost 2 years ago and I’ve not gotten tested since (you don’t have it if no one tells you that you do…duh).

So here I sit, back at my all time high weight, my life spinning out of control and me wishing it were different. Let this entry mark the beginning of some life altering changes. I'm finally going to take control of my life. I’m going to start with 3 of the most important to me: saving money for a house, losing weight, and my home business. Call it growing a backbone, call it getting some testicular fortitude, call it what you will...but I'm doing it and no one is going to get in my way. I will not spend the NEXT 30 years wishing I "woulda" done or "shoulda" done and those that try to sabotage my attempts will be amazed at just how unphased I am by their efforts this time. I lost quite a bit of weight the last time I felt like my life was out of my control. I most certainly feel that way now…but not for long. Bring it, bitches!

Saturday, May 6, 2006

A letter to my younger self

Slow down. Life has a funny way of sneaking by and before you know it, you’re 30. Enjoy it. Bask in every aspect of being young because when you get older, you’ll wish you’d have done everything differently. You’ll wish you’d have cried less and laughed more. You’ll wish you’d have buckled down in school and gone to college. You’ll wish you’d have TRUSTED yourself more, RESPECTED yourself more, LOVED yourself more.

Know that everything you’re stressing about today will be insignificant to you in just a matter of years, if not months. The boys will be forgotten and the catfights will be laughable. You will eventually have a great relationship with your dad, don’t give up. Spend more time with your family because they will probably leave too soon and you’ll regret not having done it. Don’t be in such a hurry to be in love, you just might save yourself some heartache. Don’t change who you are for anyone, be less than you are for anyone, compromise who you are for anyone.

Lose the weight now, before it affects your health, but if you don’t…recognize right now that you are BEAUTIFUL, that you are SPECIAL, that you are WORTH IT. Understand that you are so much more than your weight. A lot of the decisions you will make in your future will be based on your self-esteem and your self-worth. Your path in life will be determined by those decisions and there will be moments in your life that you will beg to do over again. Moments that will have a negative effect on the rest of your life. Moments that, had you thought more highly of yourself, would never have happened.

Don’t settle for less than you deserve because you deserve all the world has to offer. The hand you’ve been dealt isn’t the hand you have to play. Take control of your life, stop taking a backseat, and be fierce…before it’s too late.

Wednesday, April 26, 2006

This above all: to thine own self be true

So I've been boycotting men for a little longer than this blog has existed. Why? Well, aside from a string of bad decisions, even worse luck, and other aspects of my psyche we should leave untapped for the time being, I just plain needed a period of reevaluation. I needed to figure out just who I was and where I wanted my life to be before bringing anyone else in. I needed to completely get over any wrong doing from my past so that it wouldn’t continue to affect every relationship in my future. Everyone has baggage from their previous relationships. It’s a matter of keeping that baggage to a manageable level. I personally prefer carry on versus full-fledged LUGGAGE.

The single life has actually been quite nice. For the first time in my life I was wholeheartedly content to be single. No unnecessary drama. No emotionally draining conversations about various censurable acts. My self-worth was no longer determined by whether or not I had the interest of some guy. I learned that the only one that has to like me was ME…and Lola (but all you have to do is give her a treat and a belly rub and she's yours, the whore). It was empowering…it was HEAVEN!

The last few months I’ve started baby-stepping my way back out there. I’ve met a few people, but nothing substantial has come out of any of it quite yet. Nothing substantial, that is, except an undeniable realization that I am so very different from the girl I used to be. She rears her ugly head every so often but for the most part, she’s gone. The raging insecurity, the insane shyness, the complete inability to take risks due to a disabling fear of failure and rejection…I have found a way to stifle it. I’ve started my own business for crying out loud, that’s the biggest risk of my life. I have failed at losing weight more times than Susan Lucci has been nominated for an Emmy, but I keep on trying. I’ve gone from believing I’ll never have and never do to taking control and making things happen all on my own.

I can’t say I’ve got great self-esteem, I don’t. I can’t say that I wake up every day happy with how I look, I’m not. I can’t say I’m never insecure, no one is. I can say that now I know how to regulate it. I know how to pick myself up and re-motivate myself. I know how to maintain an attitude of “If you don’t like me, that’s your loss.” and moreover, BELIEVE it. Ya’ll, I am a catch. My friends have been singing my praises for years and I’m finally beginning to come to the same realization they came to long ago. If someone doesn’t like me just because of my size then they are tragically misguided because I am so much more than that. Sadly, those same people will settle for someone with a quarter of my personality just because they fit what society says a woman should look like. You can’t just pick up a personality at your local Louis Vuitton store, meanwhile, all I have to do is lose this weight. I think I got the better deal.

Will I have setbacks? Most likely. Something will happen that will make me question all of it, but I’ll recover and move on. They say you aren’t ever really going to be successful at losing weight until you accept yourself (faults included) and love who you are. Maybe now is my time. I’ve always BEEN fierce…I just didn’t see it.

Friday, April 21, 2006

I'm gaining more than I bargained for

A lot has happened in the last couple weeks. My weight is teetering back and forth. One week I do well, one week I don’t. I’ve been working out with a new trainer (love her) once a week for the last couple months and I’ve gotten nowhere. Thanks to stress and my emotional eating issues I’ve been putting food away like I’m preparing for Y2K and the working out has simply kept me from gaining pound upon pound. What I have gained, though, is an immense amount of perspective.

Last weekend I was confronted by the fact that my parents are not going to be here forever. My parents no longer wear the superhero garb they donned when I was little. As they are sneaking up on 60 I wonder where I’ve been the last 20 years. I mean I’m vaguely aware that birthdays have been happening, but I didn’t grasp the fact that they were also getting older. I guess I just expect them to always be there and I don’t appreciate it when someone or something tries to prove otherwise.

It’s odd that someone can have a dozen things go wrong with their health and, though concerned, nothing makes as big an impact as the word “lump”. In my family that word really only means one thing. In my family there isn’t a worse 4-letter word in the book. Luckily, this time, the 4-letter word was a false alarm.

I was laying in bed last night thinking about the last few weeks and the impact bad news would have had on the family and it made me start to ponder my own invincibility. It’s been almost a year since I found out I was pre-diabetic and I’ve done virtually nothing about it because in my head…I’ll be just fine. I flirt with a heart attack every day, but I know it could NEVER happen to ME. I think it’s time to get my priorities in order. I think it’s time to stop writing about what I’m going to do and actually DO IT. I think it’s time I realized that most superhero garb is made of spandex and at my size…I just can’t pull that off. I think it’s time to find that girl that wanted to be fierce. Here goes.

Monday, March 20, 2006

Can you say "Money well spent"?

How much is a good old fashioned ego boost worth to you? I’m not just talking about a generic compliment in passing evoking, at best, an “Aww, isn’t that sweet of you.” I’m talking about a bonified “Holy ish, maybe I’m NOT the hideous heffer I thought I was.” Apparently, to me, it’s worth about 25K and it comes in the form of a little Mellow Yellow ray of sunshine called a 2005 Beetle Convertible. This thing is a veritable dude magnet.

It all started yesterday when Portland experienced a rare phenomenon called sunshine. Having grabbed life by the gonads last summer and finally getting the car I’d wanted for years…you know I couldn’t resist. I put my cute on, put the top down, and headed downtown. It was HEAVEN. I love that car. Downtown has never looked better than when tooling around in a convertible. You just can’t appreciate the buildings when the view is hindered by the roof of your car. You’re only option is to stick your head out the window, but then you get the urge to stick you’re tongue out and start barking at people.

The first ego boost came at a stop light. I was going straight and the culprit was turning left. I had glanced at the car when I came to a stop and then another car pulled in-between so I couldn’t see. As the light changed I was looking in their direction but not AT them until one of them caught my eye. I looked over and he was waiving at me. I smiled and went on my way as there was no chance of more unless I got Jason Bourne on his ass and started blazing through the streets as if chased by secret agents.

Then, as I was driving around NE Portland seeing what houses were for sale I was completely and utterly awestruck as I was officially macked on. For a once shy girl this was quite a surreal experience. I mean, yes, I’ve been subject to drive by flirting before, but nothing ever came of it. Anyone that may have approached me before was shot down as I assumed their advances WERE just because they wanted to know how I was. They couldn’t POSSIBLY be attempting to strike up a conversation with me. So I was going by a house that had a bunch of people outside. I looked over as I went by and heard a few people yell at me. Not yell at me in a threatening manner but in a “Hey, you’re hot” sort of way. I hit the stop sign about 4 houses down and looked in my rear view mirror because there was still yelling and someone was coming up the street. He told me to back up. I did, a little, and he came up and talked to me for about 10 minutes.

I, for once, did well at keeping the conversation going even though it’s just in my nature to assume that the poor boy was highly disappointed when he actually got to the car and got a better look. Once the conversation lasted longer than 2 minutes I determined he must be interested, but wasn’t completely sure until he asked for my phone number and he gave me his. About 10 minutes after I pulled away he called to make sure I had given him the right phone number.

It was insane. Was it the car? Was I hella cute yesterday? Was it both? More than likely it was just the simple fact that Oregonians get down right giddy when the sunshine starts coming out. In any case, considering I’ve been boycotting men for a good year and a half, this was exactly what I needed and making those car payments just got a lot easier.

Thursday, February 16, 2006

One day you'll see the clear blue

Beyond the gray sky

(Poignant little ballad by 311)

It’s funny to me how the simplest things can snap you back into reality just in time to keep you from completely giving up. Things you take for granted any other day may mean the world to you on a day (or a series of days) that, in your current state of mind, couldn’t possibly be worse. The laughter of a child, a sunny day after months of rain, a song that couldn’t possibly have struck a bigger chord, or the kisses of a dog that recognizes your world is crumbling (though she doesn’t quite understand how a toss of her tennis ball doesn’t make everything better). Sometimes you just need help seeing beyond the gray sky.

I knew that one of two things would happen if I ever got out of bed. I would either quickly eat my way to 400 pounds or I would take a stroll over to the opposite end of the spectrum and finally start losing some serious weight. Good news…I’ve lost 14 pounds. Ten of that is in the last couple weeks. I opted not to console myself with pint after pint of Ben & Jerry or the like. I didn’t wallow in Grilled Stuft Burrito after Grilled Stuft Burrito. Instead I kept so busy that meals almost slipped my mind half the time. I didn’t even think I was doing well until this morning when I discovered that my new scale isn’t just off by 3 pounds. It’s off by 5 one day and 8 the next and I’m pretty sure it’s starting to develop horns and a spiked tail. It’s being turned over for an exorcism and then I’m getting rid of it. A couple pounds is one thing but EIGHT POUNDS means the difference of a middle digit and that is psychologically colossal.

My self-esteem is still shot and I don’t think I’ve felt worse about myself but last week a new friend that happens to be fond of girls of my size told me that I was the prettiest he’d seen and didn’t think I’d give him the time of day. That, in essence, it took him 6 months to work up the gumption to actually talk to me. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to be the “pretty girl” that “thought she was too good”??? I’m so NOT that way but I at least wanted to qualify for the option to be. How great would it be to know that men aren’t talking to you because they are intimidated by your beauty not because they are intimidated by your size.

People don’t realize how much the things they say to someone can affect them. You never know how bad a person’s day is. They may create the illusion that everything is fine when in all actuality they are using every last ounce of strength they have to just keep it together. One small criticism or well-intended bit of advice can cause a person to crumble whereas one seemingly inconsequential compliment may help a currently devastated girl, well, see beyond the gray sky.

Tuesday, February 7, 2006

Pity? Party of one?

Now that my depo drama seems to have subsided, perhaps now would be a good time to assess my over all state. As of a few days ago I'm the owner of a new all time high...yay me. 362. Yep. I know. At the rate I've gained weight over the last month, I'm bound to reach 400 by summer. Now, my new scale has me 3 or 4 pounds heavier than my old scale but anyway you slice it, 362 or's still an all time new high weight. I'm going with 362 because that really helps sink in the fact that I'm a complete failure.

I've been in bed for days now. Last Friday I was having an exceptionally rough day and then one of the principals of the company came up to me and told me about a diet book I should read. My heart sank. After weeks upon weeks of intense self-esteem issues due to that very subject someone sees me, clearly ponders my hugeness for a moment, and then feels compelled to pull me aside to "help". After a "Wow, that's great." and an "I'll be sure to look into it." I sat at my desk and could not keep from crying.

But wait, there's more. After finally gaining composure the aforementioned individual emailed me to inform me that he's been made aware of the fact that he hurt my feelings and that, in a nutshell, he is devastated that that happened. GREEAAAAATTTTT! Could this day GET any better? Now I'd gone from wanting to crawl in a hole to hoping that another "helper" would come along and shovel all the dirt back in on top of me. I emailed him back assuring him that I never thought he was trying to hurt my feelings and that, in all actuality, I was just oversensitive that day. I then quickly shot an email over to his informant letting them know that not all my problems are theirs to solve and went home and crawled in bed.

After a nice nap I went to Taco Bell. Did I take this catastrophe and turn it into a new found sense of motivation? No. I ate...and I ate...and I ate. Then I slept. The next day I spent a portion of the day with my sister and then I got a pizza. Then I slept. On Sunday I finished the pizza for lunch, laid on the couch to watch the Superbowl, ate Burger King for dinner, and then I slept. All that food is probably why I woke up Monday not feeling all that well. I called in sick, and aside from nature calling for me and Lola, didn't get out of bed until 1:00. It is now Tuesday and I haven't been back to work. Though I really DON'T feel good...chances are high that it's all in my head and I just don't want to face anyone. It wasn't until yesterday that I started eating better. Although most of my meals were skipped, at least the ones I had were healthy. Today, well, it's noon and so far I've only had an apple as I type this.

I thought I was doing better emotionally until I got into a conversation with someone and I realized what a complete basket case I truly am. I was pointing out flaw after flaw and they were countering with how untrue it all was. So, since this was a conversation being held online and the only pictures he had seen of me were strategically cropped...I led him to my blog where, as you've noticed, there is the most appalling picture of me. I thought, "Oh yeah, I'll show you!" After a while he said he had to go because of an appointment and would call me in a few minutes. I was like "Yeah right! Told ya." Well, he did call. He called to inform me that it made no difference. That yes, now he understands what I'm struggling with, but it still makes no difference to him. This is when I said I had to go, hung up, and balled so hard it threw Lola into a complete and utter frenzy.

I'm so tired. Tired of waking up every morning disgusted with myself yet putting on a front so that everyone thinks I'm A-OK. I'm tired of trying to blame the dryer for shrinking my clothes when it's just me getting fatter. I'm tired of repeatedly failing every time I try to lose this weight. I'm tired of spending all my time alone, in my apartment, just because that's the only time I don't feel like people are judging me and where the only one who is happiest just being near a dog. I'm tired...of being ME.

Thursday, January 19, 2006

One must tread lightly

A very scary thing happened last night (Michael Jackson scary, not Michael Myers scary). I was overtaken with complete abandon and a stickittothemanesque attitude and said “Hey, who cares that I weigh 355 pounds! I paid for that biatch and I’m gonna use it any way I see fit.” and turned on the treadmill. After all, it’s just paperwork. Say I was a 355 pound MAN…you know those directions would never have seen the light of day and he would have hopped on that treadmill all willy nilly (pause and giggle as you imagine a 355 pound man doing ANYTHING “all willy nilly”…aaaand continue) none the wiser. He would have lost the necessary 55 pounds needed to qualify for treadmill use (faster than any female…the bastards) and he would have been damn proud of it.

Now, I by NO means broke any records. I’m not looking to break the thing…just use it. When I got the notion to throw caution to the wind I actually didn’t even expect to be able to. I expected the contraption to spew forth profanities that even the likes of Emily Rose have not encountered and send me plummeting off the back as the belt snapped and it instantly folded back up into space-saving position. I didn’t even put shoes on just knowing it would have been completely pointless because this just WASN’T going to work. Before plugging it in and turning the power on I said a quick prayer to the treadmill Gods and sacrificed Lola in hopes of appeasing them long enough to not break what I haven’t even finished paying for yet.

I stepped on ever so gingerly and listened for any bursting seems or popping springs and there was silence. I took a deep breath (hoping it would make me lighter) and moved my feet to the side rails as is recommended before starting the belt. They moved under my weight and I thought for a minute that I heard someone say “Oh good Jesus, NO!” I started the belt at 2 miles per hour so as not to test the Gods and stepped on. It stuttered at the strain of my first few steps and then slowly plugged along. I then decided I would only test it for 10 minutes and grabbed the 2 pound hand weights off the built in weight rack (I didn’t grab the 3-pounders fearing the difference of the 2 pounds could make or break this deal) to up myself to a cardio level that 2 miles per hour surely wouldn’t accomplish.

After 8 minutes the biceps started to burn and I put the weights back down. It was at this moment I wished I’d had more faith and turned the TV on before getting on. I probably would have lost track of time and gone over my allotted 10 minutes because I was actually enjoying it once the paranoia subsided. I’m sure you’re wondering what motivated me to take such a leap and the best I can surmise is that I watched Biggest Loser last night and saw more people doing what I wished I could. One couple lost a combined 55 pounds in two weeks. I ached to get on my treadmill throughout that entire show and held back. It wasn’t until 10 o’clock that I determined I was the gamblin’ kind and gave ‘er a go. I know I’ll ware the poor thing out if I go balls out on it at this weight but I don’t see any reason why I can’t continue at the pace I did last night for a longer period of time. I think tonight I’ll do 20 minutes and keep it at that for the next week or so. So, what’s my response to the 300 pound weight limit? Tread on I say…ever so lightly.

(note: No animals were harmed in the making of this blog entry. Sacrificing of dogs to Treadmill Gods simply requires dressing them in pink shirts that have rhinestones spelling Diva Dog on the back and locking them in their kennels…which, to her, is a fate worse than death.)

Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Depo Notfaira

For 4 years I had been on Depo Provera (gentlemen, this is an entry that you might want to avoid, but should you choose to read on and aren't privy to what Depo Provera is...the term "the shot" may better describe it for you). I went on "the shot" because Aunt Flo (I think you know who I mean) was on a rampage. Girl was TRIPPIN! I'll save you the gory details and simply say...I should have taken stock out in Tampax.

Depo, originally, was a God send. Aunt Flo packed her bags and headed out for good. She called once in a while but she never said much and kept her conversations short. Now, I got it in my head one day in September that stopping one's Aunt from visiting for FOUR years just was NOT healthy and stopped getting the shot. It has taken that long for it to completely get out of my system and GOOD LORD has December/January been a rough one.

Back in the day I didn't suffer from a lot of the PMS I'd heard about and now that it's all coming back it's like it's taking all four years of hiatus and pummeling me with it all in one whack. You name the PMS symptom and I've not only had it but I've had it with such intensity that if I were a man (which doesn't sound half bad right now) my schnutz would not only have shriveled up but they would have gone inverted. From cravings to bloating to cramps I am the walking, talking poster-child for Midol.

I'm back to my heaviest weight again and my treadmill came yesterday and I'm too fat to use it. I'm so above and beyond the weight limit on it that it's sitting ever so sleekly in my living room mocking me. I'm devastated. I got a treadmill to lose weight and I can't use my treadmill UNTIL I lose weight. Oh the inhumanity. Most of the aforementioned symptoms have gone save for the bloating and the cravings. Now I'm exhausted and disgusted with myself. GRRRRR! So not fair!

Sunday, January 1, 2006

What a difference a week makes

I have been on an eleven-day spree of laziness. Others call it vacation but that would suggest taking time off work with intent to go somewhere or do something. I, however, did nothing...and loved it.

With the exception of when I had my nephew for two nights the rest of the time was spent in a manner that would suggest I was training for the Couch Potato Olympics. I even have a touch of a sprained hand from the frantic channel changing. I think that other than when I vacuumed one afternoon that the most exercise I got was walking to the kitchen for snacks or walking to either go to the bathroom or go to bed. All of which I planned around when Lola needed to go outside so as not to overdo it. I watched movies and slept in. I ate out and ordered in. I read a little and napped a lot. I was the poster child for two of the seven deadly sins (though familiar with Dante's I prefer Brad Pitt's explanation MUCH better). GLUTTONY and SLOTH! That was me.

I also avoided the scale for fear it would be insanely high. Finally on Friday I managed to muster up the gumption to get on the scale and face my maker. I got on and off of it 5 times to make sure the number was right. I had somehow managed to lose 4 pounds. Uh huh, you read that right...FOUR! As of then I was at 344. WOO HOO! New Year's Eve has since come and gone so who knows what it's at now but I'll avoid the scale a few more days and see what Friday brings.

Today I sat eating Taco Bell as a final hurrah to 2005 before I renewed my devotion to me and turned on the Discovery Health Channel. It was show after show of morbidly obese people and gastric bypass surgeries and it was disturbing to say the least. I eventually tried to find something else to watch and flipped through channels (despite my sprained hand) only to be sucked into the Shop At Home channel just as they were showing a treadmill. I've been wanting a treadmill FOREVER!!!!! I haven't gotten one because I don't have the money to shell out all at once like that. They were offering free shipping and you could stretch the payments over 5 months.

I was torn. I couldn't make the decision to call. I'd missed the big description of all it’s features and was just going off what I could see. They showed the little hand weights that come on it for you to grab as you're working out. They showed the shock absorption and made you think intently about how it would save your knees. Then, the's got a built in fan right smack in front of you for while you're working out. Though it's still going to be hard for me I made a mad dash for the phone as I only had 2 minutes to call. I'm such a sucker but come on...I'd just watched a story on the half ton man. It's like the two channels were in cahoots or something. It worked like a charm.

In 21 days I will be the proud owner of a treadmill (no, not a towel rack). It will be big. It will be pretty. It will call my living room home so it can stare and me while I'm sitting on the couch and guilt me into exercising. I will walk on it while I watch TV so I can't ever say I couldn't do it because my show was on and it was in the other room...besides, the invention of TiVo pretty much ruined that excuse for me. I will do it every day and I will turn into a svelte hottie before your eyes.

My week of gluttony and sloth has left me feeling rested and ready for the journey again so I'd say this vacation was a smashing success. I'm going to need that week of rest to make up for all the over time I'm going to have to put in to be able to afford my treadmill. 2006 is my year...mark my words.