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.