Sunday, December 30, 2007

Are you living with intention?

I walked into a theater today griping about how much it costs to see a movie in this day and age and left wanting to turn around and pay it all over again. This movie, this experience, has left me...changed. It was a chick flick to it's ever lovin' core and it is my new favorite movie. The title isn't especially important. What matters is that it struck more than one chord with me. It made me want to live. I don't mean live in the get up every day and go through the motions sort of way, but in the way I've clamored on about throughout this entire blog if not the last decade. In it there is a girl who is so focused on what she doesn't have and what she hasn't done that she forgets the value of everything that is right in front of her until it's too late. She spends the rest of the movie reliving memories and being made aware of what great things she had. It takes a great loss in her life to really bring her to her senses and start living with intention.

Why are we so inclined, why am I so inclined, to come to realizations far beyond their expiration dates? Why do I give up on myself so quickly? Why have I never followed through and completed anything in my entire life? Why do I feel that everything is beyond my reach and my life, this life, is as good as it's going to get for me? What am I so afraid of?

It is minutes away from New Year's Eve. Resolutions will be made and broken before most clocks have finished striking midnight tomorrow. I have many things I want to accomplish this year, weight loss being only one of them. I think my biggest, and most important, commitments this year can be summed up best by Mary Anne Radmacher "Live with intention. Walk to the edge. Listen hard. Practice Wellness. Play with abandon. Laugh. Choose with no regret. Continue to learn. Appreciate your friends. Do what you love. Live as if this is all there is." That's what the year has in store for me. What will you be doing in 2008?

Friday, November 30, 2007

A little less conversation, a little more action

I started this writing experience three years ago this month. I've had much to say and little to show in that time. In those three years I've had very few triumphs, but quite a long list of failures. I have proclaimed numerous attempts at recommitment only to quickly step into the proverbial confession booth to ask for forgiveness. I have lost and gained the same 15 or 20 pounds over and over rarely accomplishing much more than frustration and a desire to give up all together.

In those three years I have learned a lot about myself as well as what reasons there may be behind my weight and the ways that I choose to eat. I've developed far more good habits than bad and even though I may not be the perfectly healthy eater, I am far more successful on a daily basis then I ever was in the past.

In those three years I have acquired many weight related injuries and diagnosis: Shin Splints, Plantar fasciitis, PreDiabetes, and now...Diabetes. Yes, you read that right. My attempts at putting off the inevitable just weren't good enough. I pretty much resolved myself to the fact that I would get diabetes because I'm genetically predisposed to this little gem, but because I didn't try hard enough...soon enough...I brought about this diagnosis a good 20 years before I should have. I don't have a lot to say about my diagnosis just yet. It's a fresh wound. I meet with a dietician just after the new year and I'm sure I'll have a lot more untapped feelings to face at that time.

I have lost over 30 pounds, but am currently facing the struggle of living back at home. Thanks to my troglodyte of a roommate, I had to find new living arrangements. I figured giving my money to mom and dad instead of another landlord was a wiser monetary decision, but it may well prove to be the biggest challenge to date for my attempts at weight loss. There is food everywhere and most of it isn't healthy. Meals are usually lacking any sign of vegetation and, because they are pretty much cooked by the time I get home from work, I have little say in the choice of ingredients. I follow in the footsteps of my mother in our love for ice cream, but whereas I tried to keep it out of the house, she tries to keep it in the house. Almost every evening is ended with a small bowl of ice cream. I've purchased my own diet ice cream bars to have at that time, but more often than not, I just have what they have.

It's very difficult to find yourself back in the very environment where you learned all of your bad habits. It takes more willpower than I've been able to muster to stay out of the pantry, cupboard, and refrigerator I found such comfort in when I was young. And similar to when I was young, I find myself trying to hide half the bad stuff I'm eating. I'm finding myself eating what they eat because I feel overcome with a sense of unfairness. If they're eating it, why can't I? Why do I have to be the only one left bellied up to a bowl of shredded wheat while they eat biscuits and gravy for breakfast. I'm slowly reverting back to my 10 year old self.

If ever there were a time for my say:do ratio to even out, it's now. I have to stop talking about what I need to do or what I'm going to do and just flat out, no excuses, go for broke, do it!! I'm going to go to the gym whether I feel like it or not. I don't have to accomplish much of anything, I just need to go and get in the habit of being there. I need to make getting there part of my routine. If I'm only there for 10 minutes, so be it. At least I got through the door and that's far more than I can claim for the last couple months. The excuse of using moving as my exercise is long gone. No more excuses.

The undeniable truth is that I have a choice. I can say that I'll do it after the New Year and be 5 pounds heavier, or I can choose to take action now and be 5 or 10 pounds lighter. I can choose to be achy and stiff because it's easier to sit on the couch watching TV and reading a book or I can choose to feel better and more limber by reading the same book at the gym. I can choose to live a life that will have me on diabetes medication and testing my blood sugar twice a day for the rest of my life or I can choose to live a life that is medication free because I took action and can control my diabetes with diet and exercise. I can choose to focus on how my life would be if I were thin and consider all the things I haven't done or can't do because of my weight or I can choose to lose the weight and live the life I've only dreamed of. The CHOICE is mine. I choose to live.

Friday, October 12, 2007

What's that Lassie? Timmy's in the well?

I've witnessed filth the likes of which I have never seen. I haven't just witnessed it, but I've allowed it to move in. As you're aware I got myself a roommate. Well, not so much a roommate as a walking, talking reason for rubber gloves and bleach. To say that he is disgusting would be the understatement of the century, if not the millennium.

I try, with all my might, not to be made witness to his slovenly behavior, but sometimes I'm left with no alternative. For example, I opened his bathroom door to put a note on his mirror and was overcome with the most foul odor imaginable. He's got a bouquet all his own, that one. Let's see if I can describe it...sweaty shoes, dirty clothes, Irish Spring, old books, the natural funk of a gross boy, and the grime of not having cleaned that bathroom the entire time he's lived there. Voila! After I threw up in my mouth a little bit, I turned on the light. I peered in. Yeah, I'm NOT settin' foot in there. His sink, counter, and mirror were covered with shaving gel, toothpaste, garbage, toiletries, and blood. EW! I left the note on the outside of his door.

Then I had to go into his room. I've opened the door and tossed something in a time or two, but never went in because of all the clothes and garbage and whatever that is all over his floor. You quite literally can't see carpet. Well, he has recently decided that turning his alarm off if he's not going to be home isn't anything he has to do so 3 or 4 times now it has gone off without him there to turn it off. I listen to the beeping and try to gauge just how annoying it is. It gets progressively louder in case the owner of the clock is in a coma and didn't hear it for the first 15 seconds. It just kept beeping, and beeping, and beeping. Someone make it STOP!

Lola and I stood at the ready outside the door. I looked down at her and said, "I'm going in." She looked up as if equally fearful. I opened the door and looked in. Oh the agony of it all. I flipped on the light switch. Nothing. His lamp is apparently not plugged into the light switch. It was across the room. Since my night vision goggles were in the shop, I had to go in blind. I went in, hoping that Lola was in tune to her inner Lassie and that if I didn't make it back out she'd scratch her way out of the apartment and get help. She stood at the entrance of the room as I accomplished the mission, but I could just tell she was ready to provide backup.

Then there's just this last Sunday. I accidentally opened his kitchen cupboard because I'm used to my coffee grinder being in there. I go to close it in realization of my error and catch a glimpse of something unusual. Dishes. My dishes. In his cupboard. DIRTY! What the? Who does that? I put them in the sink and promptly wrote a note that pointed out his disgusting nature and told him to get out by the end of the month. Oh yeah, I did. He replied with a note saying that I would owe him $400 for moving costs if that was the case and said I needed to be more flexible and have I ever lived with anyone before as if his behavior is normal and I'm just unreasonable. I wrote back stating that I owe him nothing and he'll be moving by the end of the month or I would and he could finish out our lease on his own. Nothing else has been said.

I started to think maybe it was me. Maybe I'm just being impatient and making a big deal out of nothing. I decided I needed photographical evidence of which I speak so I can gauge my pettiness by other's reactions. I put Lola in her kennel. An innocent puppy need not be subjected to this. I got my camera and my rubber gloves. I said a prayer and I opened the door. Oh, sweet Jesus. I just snapped pictures left and right and got out as soon as I could. I loaded them on my computer and started to look at them. I felt dirty. I felt sick. I felt like crying. I emailed them to a friend. I emailed them to work. Today when I got to work I emailed them to more friends, to family, and almost to a priest so I could inquire about an exorcism. Apparently, I hadn't been clear when I said he was disgusting because everyone almost relived their breakfast.

I'm not sure which part was more disturbing. Could it be the small soap box on his counter that he's collecting his dirty Q-tips in? The blood on the counter that's mixed in with all the other dirt and grime? The toilet that I opened that revealed pink mold and stains and a smell that would make small children run crying to their mommies. No, I think it was the tub and the fact that the loofah he washes his body with every day sits by the drain in mold and funk.

This is another fine mess I've gotten myself into. My skin crawls at the mere sight of him so I've pretty much been hold up in my room anytime I'm home just so that I don't have to see him come through the door. Usually, though, he doesn't get home until I'm already in bed. Thank God for small miracles. Between this fiasco and family health issues, I've been a wee bit stressed. I didn't eat so very well this week, but fear not, I still managed a loss and am now at 29 pounds down. I refuse to let this freak of nature ruin what I've accomplished. I refuse to let him turn me into an eating machine again. He must go, or I must go, there's no alternative.

Monday, September 24, 2007

We interrupt this blog for important breaking news

This just in...

Fat girls can't play guitar. Well, they can, but it's gonna be one hell of a struggle. I mean, if your big belly and ginormous tatas aren't in the way making reaching the damn thing virtually impossible, then your fat frickin' fingers will make things like an E Major Triad a God damn circus act. How do I know? Because last week I got a guitar.

When I first broke out what seemed like an innocent string instrument from the bag with which it came I was naive to it's true colors. I knew nothing about the beast within and sat down to introduce myself and get to know each other. As I plucked at the strings and got a feel for things I quickly discovered that Mary had brought her little lamb and we put it away in a manger. I deemed myself a natural talent...a daggum prodigy. Five minutes in and I have 2 classics in my pocket. That night I put in the DVD that came with it and learned a couple chords. I'll be playing flamenco in no time.

My friends that play had warned me that my fingers would hurt until I built up "calluses." I was pickin' up what they were puttin' down. I was feelin' a little tenderness...a little numbness, but all was good. I was gettin' it. Holy fires of HELL did I underestimate the power of the E Major Triad. I couldn't do it. My DVD introduced it to me a half hour into my practice time tonight (I wanted to recap what I had already learned first) and it was at this very moment that I knew...Fender is just a code name for Beelzebub. Essentially, this chord requires you to have your second and third fingers on the 5th and 4th strings and your first finger on the 3rd string. My first finger couldn't keep it's girth off the second string and the fat on my palm was curling over hitting the first string. I didn't ONCE get it to sound right so I deemed guitar fat girl inappropriate and put it away.

I watched TV for about an hour and the more I thought about it the more it devastated me. Not only because I just spent money on a guitar I might never be able to play, but because I've been dying to play an instrument my entire life. My predominantly Dutch genes gave me more than freakishly large hands good for milking cows, it gave me an unparalleled stubbornness the likes you've never seen. I looked at my fingertips and said, "You're not bleeding so you must still have some fight left" and took the guitar back out. I got my fingers into position and pressed down. I plucked each string individually, blocking out the pain as I contorted myself as necessary to make that one string sound right. I got to the point where each string was in tune and not muted, took one good strum of Beelzebub and then held my fingers in place, pressing down hard, praying that God and muscle memory would be on my side the next time I tried to play it. I took my cramped hand from the neck of the guitar and tried to straighten my fingers. I decided it was no use and just let my lifeless digits fall to the side to rest. Once, at least I got it ONCE. A few minutes later I tried it again and got it once more. Then I tried the A Major Triad and got it a time or two. It was at this point that I determined that, though not bloody, my fingers had nothing left to give.

B.B. King has Lucille and I've got Beelzebub. I got that thing with the intention of not allowing myself to get lessons until I reached my 10%. Because I'm so close to that, I changed it and I am now planning to get lessons when my scale says 299. I haven't been 299 since my 27th birthday. I'll play it every day and ache to be better. I'll have my friends play it or go see bands play to stay motivated. I will reach 299 and I will get my lessons. Stiff, numb, and what I'm sure will be permanently indented by the strings, my fingers have taken one for the team to prove to me that, though difficult, this fat girl will play guitar. You might as well get my autograph now.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Sometimes life just gets in the way

I hope the plethora of posts you were pummeled with was enough to hold you over for a while. It would appear that life got in the way of the freakishly up-to-date posting habit I had going on for a while. So, here I am to make you abreast of any noteworthy situations.

I am now a brunette. Tis true. I decided I was in need of a change from the light brown with blonde highlights I was sporting. In an attempt to pinch pennies I somehow got it in my head that color was something I could now do myself. After work one day I went to the grocery store, went to the appropriate aisle, and just stared at all the options before me. Now, other than feeling like switching things up entirely by going dark, I only had 3 real pressing bits of criteria. 1. I do NOT want my hair to be any shade of orange, 2. I do not want my hair to fall out, and 3. I do not want my scalp to burn like the fires of hell. I think it helps when venturing into this sort of thing not to have especially high hopes so, high hopes I had none. Here's where I got REAL brave. I got permanent color. Seriously!

I've only colored my hair at home once before and my sister did it. That's how I know that I'd rather my hair not be any shade of orange. Once I got it all done, rinsed, conditioned and wrapped up in a towel I kinda postponed actually looking at it. Not so much out of fear, but more so just the plain excitement of looking different for a change. I've looked the same way, with the exception of hair length, for so long that this was very cool to me and I wanted it to last.

I eventually stepped back into the bathroom and took the towel off my head. I looked in the mirror and I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. It's like I'm a completely different person. My hair is always dark when it's wet so I quickly broke out the hair drier. It barely phased it. I now have dark hair and when the light shines on it there's even a hint of red. I dig it. I also cut it (not myself, I’m not a crazy person). It was to the middle of my back and is now resting nicely on my shoulders. It’s flippy and layered and I have a hint of bangs now. We’ll try it out for a while, but I might be growing it back out.

I got a tattoo. I know. That's about the speed at which I ripped that bandaide off for my mom, too. It's less painful that way. I don't know your opinion on tattoos, but I love them and this was my first. It was my reward for losing 25 pounds. My parents are anti-tat, but my sister forced them to warm up to the idea when she started getting them years ago. She first got a little daisy on her ankle. When I asked mom what she thought of it she sternly said, "Tattoos are for sailors and whores." I said, "Well, mom, she's not a sailor."

When choosing my first tattoo I opted to get something that would pay tribute to my Dutch heritage as well as my grandpa that passed away all the while lessening any whorish labels from my mother. I got (down by my ankle on the outside of my leg) a wooden shoe, tulip, and the word "pake" (which means grandpa in Friese). When I reach the 50 pound mark I will be adding another tulip and a windmill. When I told mom about it she actually laughed and when she told dad he laughed, too. I think I managed to elude whore status.

I have a roommate. This is far more painful than the tattoo, I assure you. Oh, how to describe him. Imagine if you will the perfect roommate. Clean, responsible, considerate, quiet, mature. Someone you can actually be friends with and hang out with. Someone you thank God for every day. Now picture that roommate's complete polar opposite and you have my roommate. At this point, all I'm really thanking God for is that he hasn't yet killed me in my sleep.

He has even caused me to consider never getting married because I fear that his slobbish and inconsiderate nature isn't a random occurance, but more so a specific gene typically present in the male species. I can't live with a slob. I've only lived with this tool for a month and it is no longer a question of IF I'll ask him to get out, but WHEN. Every time I think I can hang on for a couple more months he does something else (like slamming Lola's head in the door last night) that makes me want to kick him in the nuts and shove him out the door screaming "Once I fumigate and have disease control give the all clear, I'll send you your things."

The thought of getting a DIFFERENT roommate has crossed my mind as this is all to try and get a house, but I don't think I can cope. I don't think Lola can cope. As a first step to cutting back on my spending I cut off my home phone (I'll just use my cell) and dropped my cable down to the bare minimum. Now, that in and of itself doesn't sound so bad, but dropping my cable down meant I had to give my DVR back. Any of you that have DVR or Tivo or the like know how that pained me. I almost offered to give my first born or my left tata in it's stead. I've come to rely on my DVR far too much. Every time Lola needs out (which averages about every 20 minutes in the summer) I just hit pause and come back to my show gaining the ability to fast forward through the commercials. Two shows on at the same time? No problem. I could watch one while the other recorded. Oh the agony of it all. Don't ANYONE call when my shows are on. I can no longer pause live tv. WAHHHHHHH!

So there you have it. The latest on multiple fronts. Nothing too exciting. I'm just a tattoo'd brunette whore with a roommate I can't kill cuz it might interfere with my shows. Over and out.

Sunday, August 5, 2007

Tiny made me his bitch

I'm awe struck. I'm almost scared to type the next sentence for fear it will jinx me, but it must be said. My relationship to food has changed (knocking on wood, or is it Formica dressed up like wood?). For the last few weeks I have had the stress level of a homophobic man in prison and this weekend, well, let's just say Tiny made me his bitch. My stomach was in knots most of the weekend and by Saturday evening I was about to lose it. Lola could tell things weren't kosher and when I came into the room she was just sitting on the couch shaking. I sat next to her, scored a snuggle, and cried.

The reasons for my stress aren't important to this entry. What is important is that I didn't binge. I didn't turn to food for comfort. Normally, Taco Bell and I would have spent all weekend together having a freakishly unhealthy affair and I probably would have had another threesome with Ben & Jerry. I did not deviate from the plan, people. The most I did was go to McDonald's and have a small vanilla cone (one on Friday and one on Saturday), but they are only 3 of my WW points and I had the budget for them. This isn't just huge, it's ginormous.

I don't know what brought about this change in me, but bravo to whatever it was. Even in the past, in the beginning of this journal when I was doing well, I wasn't this in control. I still had unplanned binges brought about by stress or emotions. I still struggled often to keep things in check. It's like I now have my very own Jason Bourne whispering in my ear saying "Stay to the left. Ok, there's a Taco Bell 20 meters ahead on the right, take a left here. OK, duck through this door, now wait. The ice cream truck is passing. Wait. Wait." and when I suggest that I know what I'm doing and want to make a break for it he puts me in check by screaming "STOP!!! It's not safe! That burrito will go straight to your ass!" (you HAVE to see Bourne'll know what I'm talking about) I really hope this is a lasting change and not just a fluke. I hope that my very own Jason Bourne keeps me on the straight and narrow, although, it would be nice if he occasionally pointed out how hot I look too.

Friday, August 3, 2007

School is back in session

Today I'm trading in my witty writer hat and busting out the old school marm garb. My glasses are on, the bun is sufficiently tight...let's get educated. What's the lesson you might inquire? PLATEAUS!

It happens to almost everyone, no matter the weight loss program you choose, and it has happened to me in the past. This time I'll be prepared to trudge on and break through to the other side by having listed, right here, everything I've learned. Will it work? I don't know. Even if these suggestions don't work for me, there's a chance they'll work for someone else so I shall proceed as planned.

Note: I am not a nutrition expert; I don't even play one on TV. These are just my thoughts and advice from personal experiences or conversations with others...carry on.

Here is what I've learned to be true from both my numerous attempts at WW and from what my trainer has told me. YOU HAVE TO EAT. That's why the new points system WW has, though scary to most, still makes sense to me. It's allowing us to eat more than it has in the past and people are having a tough time comprehending how you can lose weight and eat MORE. Your body only shows losses for so long when you start cutting back its food. After a while it's going to slow your metabolism and hang on to the food you give it. The body is phenomenal and it adapts. You have to keep it guessing and never let it get too comfortable. You have to feed it so that it never feels like you are starving and that it needs to kick into survival mode. After a few weeks, maybe months, your body is going to be a well oiled machine and it is going to efficiently use every nutritious thing you give it. It will even more effectively use the NON-nutritious things you give it. Anyone that's been eating healthy for a while knows, eat crap and you'll feel sick. You're body has re-learned what isn't good for it and it tries to purge it from your system.

On the note of "keep your body guessing," here are my suggestions:

Don't do the same exercises week after week. If you've been riding the bike for a few weeks, switch and do treadmill or elliptical (if you can, I can't). If you've been casually walking on the treadmill then up the speed, up the incline, make it harder. If you've been lifting weights then change machines, lift differently.

Don't eat the same foods all the time. It's easy to get in the routine of eating the same things every day because you know the points/calories and it's easy, but you're body can get entirely too used to that too. If you do the same job every day, don't you just start going through the motions? If you drive the same route every day, haven't you ever ended up at your destination and not remembered half the trip? Toss in a new task to your day or an extra errand on that route and you have to think and act differently. Eat something different and your body has to do the same thing.

If you are exercising more you should be drinking more. 64 oz of water is the minimum for an average adult at rest. When you exercise ESPECIALLY IN THE SUMMER you need far more water than that. My trainer wants me drinking at least 100oz a day...working out or not.

Have a cheat day! I'm not saying eat whatever you want all day long, one meal perhaps. There was a lady at one of my past meeting locations who had lost over 100 pounds and had kept it off for 5 or so years (I've referenced her in another post). When they asked her how she'd break plateaus she said she'd eat fat. She'd have a big ol' burger or whatever she was missing and shake things up.

So there you have it. Not very entertaining as far as posts go, but hopefully I scored points for informative.

Tuesday, July 31, 2007

It's a daggum tragedy

I am wearing my favorite jeans today and it makes me sad (you know, the jeans that miraculously fit me a few entries ago). How is that a tragedy? Because now they're too BIG for me. I'm in no way giving up on them just yet, but it won't be long. I can't even buy time with a belt because they have no belt loops and I'm pretty sure I can't pull off the suspenders look (nor should anyone try save for hot men in suits where it might be considered appropriate) so, their days are numbered. I can, if motivated, pull them down without unbuttoning or unzipping them and they are dragging on the ground because as you lose weight your clothes get longer from not having been stuffed to the gills.

They're super cozy, but I'm left pulling them up all the time. What's worse is, when I climb the stairs with my hands full, I feel them slipping ever so slightly lower with each step. I'm left at a veritable crossroads at this point because only part of me hopes they'll stay up long enough for me to free my hands of clutter. The other part? Oh come on, how awesome would that be to have your jeans just fall right off due to weight loss. Sure, they'll laugh, they'll stare, they might even ridicule you, but I'm pretty sure you'll be over it pretty quickly and be basking in the glory of your super huge jeans. It's at this moment, though, that your mother's sage advice of making sure your undies are in check would come into play. Oh, and the Europeanesque legs probably would NOT be too kosher in most circles, so lets keep things tidy ladies, shall we?

Sadly, this isn't the only pair of pants I'm struggling with. I had a pair of black jeans that were made of a stretchy demin and, alas, they were worn well past their expiration date. I finally had to cut the legs off and make tug toys for Lola. Even worse, a brand new pair of capris that didn't fit before are on the verge of falling down now. Good thing it's summer. I can wear the heck out of them for another couple months and then make my peace with their departure.

Woes me, that frickin' ROCKS! Are you kidding me? I'm 24 pounds down as of today (based on the home scale anyway) and do NOT consider this complaining. It's just sad to blaze through clothes that have been there for you through the fat times. Through all the ice cream, gelato, and Taco Bell runs. Through all the friction caused by my thighs rubbing together.

Tonight, after my WW meeting, I will reintroduce myself to various other members of my wardrobe that I've not spent much time with lately. I will hopefully find a few old friends willing to rekindle what we once had. If not, it's ok. I will just give them a few weeks and reapproach. I won't give up. Not this time.

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Side order of perspective, please!

I'm convinced that Nicole Richie weighs an estimated 80 pounds. That, of course, being when she's chalk full of bling, lathered in tanning oil, sporting sunglasses that cover her entire upper cranium, and carrying the latest in kick dog fashion. Do I have any desire to look like her? H, to the E, to the HELL NO! Looking like I'm fresh out of Auschwitz might score me a primo seat in Hollywood, but it's just a hint of creepy in my opinion.

I will, however, use her to help you gain perspective on what I'm trying to accomplish. The aforementioned weight estimate being true, I have to lose 2.5 Nicole Richies to even be in the same neighborhood as a healthy weight range. Two and a half people, albeit, abnormally small people, but two and a half people nonetheless. That being said, bitch better pack her bags. I'm 2 weeks into makin' a strong come back and have 3 primo motivators for following through.

1. I'm getting a roommate. Thus far it looks as though it will be a guy. Like I'm really gonna belly up to a pint of Ben & Jerry's with a guy sitting there watching me. I will probably hit the gym all the time to impress him, regardless of whether or not I even like him, just because I don't want to be the fat girl chillin' on the couch. He has actually suggested going to the gym with me. Sweet! A work out buddy.

2. My clothes are starting to fit better and I'm starting to get rid of old stuff that I have no business wearing anymore. That, and I have hand me downs that others shrank out of that I've never worn and need to make room by throwing away obese girl clothes.

3. Probably the most important motivator on the list. My friend has a time share in Tahiti, or her parent's do rather, and we are planning to go in about a year. She's mentioned it before and I deemed it impossible in a hurry. Me, in Tahiti? Me, on a tropical beach? Are you kidding me? Well, I'm gonna do it!

Now, said friend dives. So does said potential roommate. I have told him that he has 1 year to turn me into a diver so that I can experience the total package when I'm playing island girl. Latest poles would suggest that big girls don't dive. I must remedy the situation by no longer being a big girl. I must lose a ritchie and a half before the trip.

Monday, July 23, 2007

There's gold in them there hills

In this case, gold equals cheesecake and hills equals kitchen. Mmmmm Cheesecake. I won't cave! I musn't cave! I'm going to probably weigh in this afternoon because I can't make my meeting tomorrow. I can't go get on a scale after eating cheesecake for crying out loud.

I'm being confronted by one diet conflict after another. Did George W. just win presidency over my weight loss attempt because it's just one battle after another. It's WAR...but so far I'm winning. My first week back on the WW bus had me battling a cocktail party and a company picnic. The second week offered bagels and cake in the lunch room, brunch and gelato with my sister, and now frickin' cheesecake. What's in store for the third week? Girl's Night Out at a mexican restaurant and a surprise birthday party for my cousin. There's also the possibility of lunch with a potential roommate. Yowza!

Fast forwarding to post meeting weigh in.

I chugged a LOT of water this morning. I was floatin' boats all mornin' long. I decided to go to a 12:15 meeting instead of catching one after work. I thought I sufficiently handled the water issue before driving over, but I had to go again by the time I got there. Alas, I didn't have time. I took my chances and got on that scale anyway. Result? Down 3 more pounds. That's 8 in the last two weeks. Cheesecake be damned!

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Clean up on aisle 6

cuz I could pee myself I'm so stoked. Aisle 6 just happens to be at my front door. Confused yet? Good, I'll explain. I just got my first online grocery delivery. Oh yeah, I'm hooked. It's easy like Sunday morning, Baby, and I just might never go back. I'll save my grocery ventures for the hip and happenin' joints like Trader Joes, Whole Foods & Wild Oats.

I'd been wanting to try this rumored online grocery shopping experience and investigated the services of the grocery store I do most of my shopping at. Delivery prices seemed beyond reasonable (first delivery was even free) and when you account for my time and gas money, I almost feel like I should pay them more. I'm not doing this out of laziness if that's what you're thinking, although, it did save me like 4 trips up and down those stairs.

When I go grocery shopping 3 things usually happen. I wander back and forth looking for things and wasting lots of my time, I grab things I wouldn't have thought to get simply because I see it thus resulting in spending WAY more money than anticipated, and I often lose the battle when trying to stay away from the ice cream isle or an equally daunting distant cousin.

Here's the best part. I was just minding my own business, cleaning and reorganizing, when the thunk thunk thunk of a dolly making it's way down my stairs rang in my ears. I ran to the door, opened it, and there he was. My cute delivery boy, er, man. After signing and watching him bring in all my groceries, all that was left for me to do was to check to make sure I had everything and put it away. I pulled all of the stuff out of the bags and layed it on the counter. Mounds and mounds of produce and healthy goodness. Nothing I didn't plan on getting and nothing I would feel guilty for eating later. I grinned ear to ear as I put it away. It took me, what, 10 minutes? I have very little joy in my life people, you're gonna have to give me this one. When I'm thin and rich and wondering what to do with all my free time don't come crying to me for the website info. I'm going to go bask in the glory of my effortlessly well-stocked fridge now.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Missing link

Paper links to be exact. Once upon a diet I started a paper chain and added a link for every pound lost. It helped me really see the progress I was making. For some reason I just can't get a grasp on it without visual aides. I've carried around something that weighed the amount of weight I'd lost and that helps, but for a quick visual aid you just can't go wrong with a paper chain. That diet was sabotaged long ago and the links since thrown away, but a few months ago I had started another one. When all of my yo-yoing started I stopped paying much attention to said chain.

This evening I was working on reorganizing to make room for a roommate and noticed the sad and neglected paper chain hanging on the wall. I had stopped at 10 links and never bothered to update as I struggled with every pound. I wasn't wholly confident that I wouldn't just be taking links off again. I use colorful scrapbook paper cut into little 6 x 1/2 inch strips and staple them together to let the length speak volumes for my progress. When you only have a couple links it all seems kind of silly.

I pulled that little chain from the wall to move it to my bedroom, right next to my closet, so that every morning when I go to get dressed I am reminded of what it is I'm to accomplish for the day. Before hanging it up I decided it was time to update it. I should be down over 20 pounds by my next weigh in so I optimistically added another 10 links. After adding the last link, I picked it up off the desk and held it up. Wow. 20 pounds IS so much more impressive than 10. I hung it up and stepped back to look at it.

1 pound in the grand scheme of things seems like nothing. 1 pound is not going to get me to my goal fast enough. I always strive for the 3 or 4 pound losses because in my head THAT is progress. That is me getting to my end result. But look at that chain. It's riddled with 1 pound loss after 1 pound loss. Just a link at a time and now it's a couple feet, if not three feet, long. I have to stop fixating on the length of the journey and simply focus on the journey itself. If I can just take it one day at a time, one pound at a time, one meal at a time...I will get there.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Oops, I did it again

It's no secret that I haven't lost anymore weight. I've been back and forth between a 16 and 18 pound loss more than Paris Hilton has been in and out of jail. I haven't been going crazy, but I definitely haven't paid enough attention to what I've been eating. Let's discuss why...shall we?

I am financially challenged. By the time I pay bills, I don't have much left for grocery money. I have proven time and time again that I do my best at this when I have a fridge chalk full of options and options I've been a lackin' lately. So how do I plan to remedy this? A roommate (God, help me). I signed up for this online roomie findin' service and don't have anyone YET, but hopefully will soon. That will give me oodles of extra money for groceries...just less room in my fridge. I was looking for a McJob to do on evenings and weekends, but I really don't think that's gonna work for me. I have a dog that would never see the light of day and a home business I'd never have time for. Just when would I hit the gym and prepare healthy meals if I was working a good 70 hours a week? When would I have fun? When would I go to my Weight Watchers meetings?

That's right, I've done it again. Last night I attended my first (part, like, six) Weight Watchers meeting. I'm giving it yet another go. In the past I have typically quit because of those very same financial reasons. Not only would said roomie help me find the money for my meetings, but WW also has different payment plans now. A once a month payment option that makes the meetings cheaper per meeting as well as removing the hassle of having to pay every week. I didn't always HAVE the money by the time the next meeting roled around.

The hour before the meeting I had butterflies. I don't know why. I'd been through the joining process entirely too many times. I know the program. I was still nervous. Then I got on the scale and realized why. I must have subconsciously known that I would suddenly be 11 pounds heavier. ELEVEN people. That GOD DAMN (sorry) scale weighs me ELEVEN pounds heavier than the one at home. That's just asanine. I expected a pound or two difference, but I was NOT ready for that. I had even intentionally eaten a huge lunch, drank a bunch of water on the way over, left my shoes on, and put my keys and cell phone in my pocket to try and get my starting weight with them as close to where I had REALLY started so it would be a true reflection of how far I've come. Well, at this place you can't see the number when you step on the scale. Had I seen it I'd have been like, "Woah, Nelly, lemme take my shoes off and OOPS my keys and cell seem to still be in my pocket. Oh, and let me go to the bathroom first." It had me weighing in at 365.2. I know!! That's 5.2 heavier than when i restarted.

I had a moment of "Holy Shit." when I sat down and read what she had written. I knew I had eaten a lot. I knew I was bloated. I knew all the things that could have contributed to the number, but not THAT number. That was painful. When I got home I got on my scale wearing and carrying all the same things. I had multiple thoughts race through my head. 1. Wow, that number was a lot lower this morning when I was naked and had an empty belly. 2. OK, thank God there is a drastic difference and I haven't really gained that much weight and then 3. What the F$%@? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, what the, 6, 7, 8, you gotta be, 9, 10, ELEVEN? Ouch!

I don't know what I'm going to do about the scale differences, but I do know that I have to make a go of it this time. I don't think I've ever lasted long enough to get ALL of the information they pass out to you. I think it's the first 10 weeks that they give you new program info at every weigh in. I think I've made it to 9. How sad is that? I could be mistaken, but it's not likely. I know for a fact I've never made it to the 16 week mark when you get a lil recognition charm. I'm lame. Maybe I have commitment issues. Either that or a fear of success. With my luck, it's probably both. So, while I figure out which weight I'm going by, route for my success at not being a WW drop out again.

Wednesday, May 30, 2007

Are you who you want to be?

So, check it. Sunday my sister and I made our first '07 jaunt over to the beach. It has become custom since I got my convertible that she come over, we get topless (Hello? Did you catch the convertible portion of this sentence? You dirty bird!), head to Cannon Beach and have lunch at the Warren House Pub. They have a perfectly fetching little garden where you can bring your dogs and nosh. OK, I'm getting off track. My point is that when we left the beach I had a moment. Last year when we were there I was completely out of breath when I made my way through the looser portions of sand that greet you when you make your way to the water. This time I noticed as we were leaving that not only had I not broken a sweat, but I wasn't hyperventilating. Hell, I wasn't out of breath even a little. This is monumental.

After lunch we went on a gorgeous drive up to Astoria and over to Washington. I was so diggin' this day. The weather could not have been more perfect, I was stoked about my lack of hyperventilation on the beach, the view was stunning, the top was down, the music was cranked...ah yes, the music. A song came on that caused me to get the chills. In it they say "This is your life...are you who you want to be?" It was all I could do not to shout out a resounding "Helllllll NO!" Did I not just post about letting my light shine and living my life as I see fit? Creepy. I am SO far from who I want to be. I am; however, currently edging ever so closely to a path that will completely change my life. I'm doing what I need to do to lose weight, I'm not letting people walk on me anymore, I'm even looking to change careers (still keeping that on the double downlow).

The song went on to ask if your life is everything you dreamed it would be. Ohmigod, No! And why? My weight. Point blank. It has held me back from doing almost every single thing I've wanted to do. It's almost got me hesitant to try for this career change. Ok for God's sake. You just don't look pretty when you beg. I want to start bartending. I want to go take a 2 week class that teaches you all you need to know and then start bartending. Why am I hesitant? Because I don't want to spend the money for the class and then not be able to get a job because of my size. I've got personality on lock down. As for ability...I won't be getting all Coyote Ugly on their asses, but I'm anticipating I'll be pretty damn good at it. I want to score a gig that will pay enough to eventually be able to quit the day job and focus more on my home business (which just scored two shops that want to carry my cards). The best way to make good tips is a busy place like a club. Now, I don't frequent that of the club that often, but I know damn well that I haven't seen any hefty bartender chicks schlepping drinks to and fro. I see super cute skinny chicks willing to shake their asses on the bar and flash tatas for days. Oh wait, tatas I've got. I am so IN THERE!

So, what have we learned today? Basically, if your life isn't what you want it to be...shut up and change it. Don't sit there and whine about it and hope for better days. Don't continue going through the motions until you're 10 years older and wishing you had back ANOTHER decade. Don't continue to wake up every morning agonizing over the day ahead of you. We all deserve to look forward to going to work. Love yourself enough to find out what will make you happy and make it happen. Over and out!

Friday, May 25, 2007

Let your own light shine

I’ve always appreciated a good quote. One that really makes you pause to consider it’s meaning and how it relates to your current state of things. I have my favorites (many of which are at least popular enough to make magnets out of), but here is something that every time I’m reminded of it, flat out gives me the chills.

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?” Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.

- Marianne Williamson

I know, right? Anyone else have a moment of goosebumpedness? I am SO that person that steps back and “plays small”. I’m taken advantage of, talked down to, treated less than I deserve. The worst part is…I LET them! I question myself more than I question others regardless of how right I may be. Or at least I used to. I’ve apparently grown very tired of being expected to bow down to anyone and everyone. I say things that I would never have previously considered, I stand up for myself, I don’t avoid causing ripples just because someone might not like it, I no longer feel the need to keep the peace. I am not Switzerland for God’s sake. Treat me badly and I will call you on it. Try to stifle me and I will only get louder.

If only I could apply this to my weight loss struggles. If I could stop being afraid to be gorgeous, afraid of getting that attention I’ve never had, afraid of being fierce.

Friday, May 18, 2007

Calgon, take me away

Better yet, just totally kidnap me and lock me in a spider filled dungeon somewhere. Feed me protein shakes and salad while I watch others eat ice cream. Make me watch Facts of Life reruns by day and blast Boy George songs by night because right now even THAT would be paradise compared to what currently makes up a typical day for me. Send a ransom note made of glue-sticked letters clipped from magazines demanding a drama free work environment and order all persnickety bitches bent over and caned on their mollycoddled asses for my safe return. And believe you me, the list of canees is long and extensive. Just make sure I'm forced to watch said caning (against my will, natch) as part of my "torture".

I am super stressed out. Can ya tell? I'm so stressed out that I'm beginning to show signs of Alzheimers. I'm losing words. I can't remember if I want to use heel or heal, past or passed. I mean, NOBODY knows when to use affect or effect, but HEAL? Am I curing Malaria or buying Manolo Blahniks? It's a damn miracle that I'm even forming sentences right now and don't ask me how I just managed to use persnickety and mollycoddled in the same sentence. Did I even use them correctly? I've almost quit my job 372 times (this week alone) and I walk around aimlessly because I can't remember what I was about to do. The other day I actually had to call my cell phone to find it. For anyone that knows me, that is HUGE, as it is usually an additional appendage for me. Where was it? In Lola's kennel (don't ask). I feel like I should be huddled up in the corner of a highly padded room with a prozac, valium, gelato cocktail sporting the latest in straight jacket couture. I'm losin' it, man. Don't even get me started on the emotional eating that has kicked into overdrive.

Insert calming mantra here. And…relax.

I've lost 20 pounds. I know, yay me. Problem is…I lost those 20 pounds by the beginning of March and nothing since. No, it's not a plateau. It's the fact that I'm not going to the gym and not eating like a sane person. Yes, damn it, I know, at least I'm not gaining considering how I've been eating. Kudos to me. Despite the calorie burn it would promise, I'm not going to beat myself up over it. Right now it's all I can do to get through a day so what I eat during that day is of little consequence to me. I'm predicting things will turn around for me over the next month or so and then I can get all crazy focused again. I HAVE to get crazy focused again, I have big summer plans. OY VEY!

Monday, March 26, 2007

Damn it, Jim...

I’m a fat girl, not a triathlete. Bones knew his limitations, what seems to be my major malfunction? All that working out has CLEARLY wreaked havoc on my lower back. Have you ever been doing something at a counter that’s too short for you? All hunched over trying to cut up an onion until this backache overwhelms you and you’re like “Ah hell, forget it, this’ll taste better without it anyway.” and straighten out your back as if you were 95 years old? Now toss in the occasional shooting pain and I think you see why I haven’t been to the gym lately. Ouch!

To say that it’s a downer would be an understatement. I’ve been doing so good. Between my trainer and the gym I’ve been consistently working out 4 or 5 times a week. For the average person that’s impressive, but when I do something like that it might be another sign of the Apocalypse. Toss in an earthquake and we’re all gonners. Now I’ve canceled working out with Dustina AND haven’t been to the gym. I’m NOT a happy kid. You can bet your butt I’ll be getting my scale back from her. Oh stop it. I have self-control now remember? I will NOT be getting on it 3 times a day. I’ve learned to value my successes in whatever manner they come. I am a changed woman. Tis true.

How cute was that, all that confidence and what not? Fact o’ the matter is…I’m scared to death. This could very well be a very big setback. This could get me planted firmly back on the couch for the long term. A few weeks ago I had back pain, plantar fasciitis (my lagging foot quandary), and raging shin splint issues that I’m used to dealing with, but were much more painful than usual. I was STILL going to the gym. I ended up getting $120 shoes to help ease the agony. I’m of the opinion that shoes that expensive should not only cure my injuries, but make me skinny by simply putting them on my feet. That is INSANE! Well, my ailments aren’t gone, but they are noticeably better…except my daggum back. Why do I have to have so many obstacles? Sigh!

Friday, March 16, 2007

Praise the Latte at The Church of Starbucks

I’ve decided to start a new Sunday ritual. It came to me today as I took pause from my appointments and errands to sip a bit of sin at a local coffee shop. I brought a book with me and actually sat IN the coffee shop. I didn’t roll through the drive through. I didn’t pull an in-and-out. I went in, ordered, sat, people watched, and read.

I probably won’t be able to afford it every Sunday and other things will prevent my trend, but I’m going to do it often at least. Lately the only books I read are to learn software or web design and the stack of novels I want to read is getting deep. So, I will bring an actual book, that I will probably learn nothing from, and I will read. I will have my morning latte (nonfat of course) and I will secretly hope that someone is enamored with me and will find that clever, yet obvious, way to approach me.

It’s multitasking at it’s finest really. I made a lot of resolutions this year and my Sunday morning inclination covers at LEAST 4 of them. Read more, don’t go out in public looking like a schlumpadump all the time, practice eye contact, and put myself in a position to meet people. Look at that. Check, check, check, and check…off the list. Do I REALLY expect a guy to come up to me in the middle of Starbucks and propose? Yes. No. I can; however, open myself up to possibilities. I know for a fact no one’s going to approach me with my ass planted firmly on the couch in pink pajama bottoms and a sloppy ponytail. Oh, how I wish it were so.

This is a science, mind you. The right time. The right location. The right day. I’m choosing Sunday as I have traditionally made Sunday my day of rest (at least not work so much on the home business). Go too late and they’re probably all at home watching football. Too early and I can assume he LIKES getting up early and would in turn hope that I LIKE getting up early to which I say “Woah, big fella. Have another shot of caffeine cuz you’re dreamin.” Location! Location! Location! Drive through, probably not so much. Cramped and unwelcoming interior, negatory. I have to find one that’s cozy and busy, but not intimidatingly so. I will start my quest for the perfect coffee shop and I will keep you posted…as usual.

Saturday, February 10, 2007

Hello, my name is Kelly, and I am a gelatoaholic

That’s not even a word, but it should be a real condition, and worthy of serious consideration. Possibly even treatment. I’ve been trying to keep it under wraps, but as Spring approaches it’s only a matter of time before I relapse into a full blown gelato binge. I can only thank my lucky stars that I don’t live in Italy, as I would be as big as a casa. Gelato shops around here are few and far between, but rest assured, I’ve tried pretty much all of them.

Gelato is Italian Ice Cream, and if you’ve been reading, you know I’m a self-proclaimed ice cream whore. Now those damn Italians have gone and made it with milk instead of cream so you get to tell yourself that it’s “better” for you because it has less fat. Grazie, my little Italian geniuses, grazie. I don’t know which is a more substantial accomplishment really, the Sistine Chapel or Gelato.

Gelato isn’t just fancy ice cream, it’s an experience. You have to go out and saunter into a quaint little shop where you will be mesmerized by the flavors in the perfectly cooled case. Flavors like Chocolate Frosted Yellow Cake, Tiramisu, Cheesecake, Amaretto, Caramel…ok, my mouth is watering. You differentiate between the sizes with cute terms like “a little” or “a lotta” depending on where you go. And the traditional gelato shops serve your gelato in a little, brightly colored, polygonal, plastic cup with an equally sassy plastic spatula. Seriously? Serioulsy.

I’m addicted to Gelato. There, I said it, but don’t even think I’m going to rehab.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

I'm a girl with a habit

No, not in the nunnish, convent joining sense of the word. Nor is it the “gotta go to rehab” sense either. As previously mentioned, it supposedly takes 21 days to create a habit. Well, habit I have then because this is day 21. I've been working out like a fiend. Sunday is my pre-planned day off. I figure if it was good enough for God, it aughta work for me. Ok, in all seriousness, I chose Sunday because on Mondays I work out with Dustina. I'm well aware of the fact that when I take a day off I have a tougher time getting back at it. I sit around thinking, "Oh, how nice it is to be lazy again." or "Oh look at how much I got done today because I didn't spend an hour and a half at the gym." So, I planned my day off accordingly so that I'm forced to get back at it by keeping my appointment with Dustina.

If you omit the sore muscles, my new grocery bill, and exhaustion from detoxing (no really, I was comin’ off caffeine, sugar, and junk food all at one whack…that's harsh), it's been pretty easy. Well, at least in the willpower department. Nobody has had to bind and gag me to keep me from binging. I've even tried eating things I don't like just because I know they're healthy. You'd be surprised what you can get down once you muscle through that gag reflex. Before you know it, I'll be ready for Fear Factor or Survivor and downing a grub worm, bull testicle, and rotten fish milkshake in 5 seconds flat. I've been subjected to two Girl Scout cookie ordering opportunities and managed to get away without a cookie OR a scratch.

There are plenty of other aspects that are hard though. The time I'm devoting to it is definitely going to take some getting used to. I get home from the gym, cook, eat, clean up and voila…it's already 8:00. Grabbing something on the way home from work had me done by 5:30 or 6:00. Tack on all the entries to the website I'm doing, all the grocery shopping, and the fact that I'm trying to actually sit and enjoy a meal instead of eating on the run and it's completely sent my schedule into a tailspin.

Then there is the fact that I am just prone to injury. I still have the same foot issue I started complaining about a good 2 years ago. My knee will just suddenly go out of whack and then after a day or two it's fine. My neck has been jacked up. It's like my body is trying to force me into submitting to my old ways. What's the deal? You'd think it would be all about me finally taking better care of it, but no, it's doing everything it can to have me plant my big butt back on the couch eating ice cream. I guess you just can't get 350ish pounds movin’ all at once and not damage a thing or two. It's alright. We'll press on, injury or no injury, and prove that big girls can get down with the best of em.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

One for the record books...or at least this journal

You'll have to excuse my french, but holy shit! This here newfound mindset is actually working. On Saturday I was moving clothes from my broken dresser drawer to a shelf in my closet. At the bottom of a stack of jeans were a pair I've never actually worn because they were always a bit snug and uncomfortable. I typically wear a not so loose 26/28 and these are a 26. I bravely unfolded them, stepped into them and pulled them up. They weren't so bad. I zipped, buttoned and assessed. Nah. I'm in them, but it was nothing I could sit in all day.

(enter Tuesday stage left) I was getting dressed this morning and was about to put on the same old jeans I always wear. As I went to grab a pair, I glanced at the aforementioned skinny jeans I had tried. I put my old jeans down and grabbed the newer, sassier, more expensive pair. I don't know why I thought I should attempt it again, but I stepped into them. I pulled them up, zipped, buttoned and reassessed. This is where "holy shit" comes in. They fit. No, they didn't just fit, they were actually comfortable. They are slightly stretchy so I'm sure that helped, but THEY FIT! I really need to toss them into the dryer to shrink the length, but I'm no fool. I'm not gonna ruin a good thing just yet. Maybe in a couple more weeks when I've lost even more, but not yet. Let me just bask in the glory of my jeans.

While at work and fully basking in said glory, the same coworker that told me about a diet book not so long ago (see entry "Pity? Party of One?") asked me how all my working out was going. Last week he had some how found out about my recommitment to the Kel and gave me a bit of kudos for it. So, when he inquired I simply said, "Well, I'm wearing jeans that didn't fit me a few weeks ago." He shook my hand. He asked how much I'd lost and I told him I had no idea because my trainer has my scale. He said he'd heard a lot of nutritionists talking about getting rid of your scale. I explained my scale obsession and how it causes me to quit all the time and he told me to keep it up. Well, now I have to if so many people are watching me.

Forcing myself to focus on other benefits of weight loss instead of trying to get a number to go down on a scale is by far the best thing I've ever done. In the past I've never been able to see a difference when I've looked in a mirror. It's always been an "Objects in mirror may be smaller than they appear" sort of thing because I still saw the fat girl no matter how much I'd lost. I've longed for the day when I could look in a mirror and say "Wow, sexy bitch, you kick ass." Well, I guess I could anyway, but it would be nice to say it to an obviously smaller me. I've lost up to 40 pounds before and other people could see it, but I couldn't. Yesterday I turned to walk away from the sink in the bathroom and had to do a double take as I saw myself in the mirror. I thought I noticed a very slight difference. I convinced myself that my sweater was just more stretched out than usual, but now that I've got these jeans on maybe there really is a difference. A difference in a matter of a couple weeks? Insane.

I'm finally feeling empowered again. I'm feeling like I did when I started this journal. I'm feeling like there is light at the end of a very long tunnel and instead of saying, "Eh, forget that, it's too far away." I'm saying, "Stand back. I got this." There will be days that I struggle and days that I fall off altogether, afterall, I will be fighting this battle for the rest of my life and no one is perfect. I have to be aware of everything I put in my mouth to succeed at this. I have to determine if it's a decision that will move me closer to my goal or further from it and even if I lose all the weight I will still have to think that way. Losing the weight is not my only obstacle. People lose weight all the time. Very few people keep it off. I don't want to go through this only to gain it back AGAIN. I can do this.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Great googly moogly

Something has clearly come over me. I’m still blazing right along. Yeah, that’s right. I have been on track for (counting the days) TWELVE DAYS. That’s not to say I haven’t treated myself here and there, but I did it sensibly (i.e., not buying a pint of Ben & Jerry’s, but getting a small, uh huh I said small, ice cream cone). I worked out 6 days last week and though I started off with the best of intentions, I missed a few days this week. I had a raging stomach quandary and Portland actually got some snow so I was locked up for a couple days. Yes, I know I could have used my treadmill, but did you catch the sick part? Besides, I’m still worried I’m gonna break the thing.

I got back on track yesterday though when Dustina came over for another training session and I went to the gym after work today. It was after the gym that I really impressed myself. Before I went home I pulled into Taco Bell. Anyone reading this knows Taco Bell is my arch nemesis. My goal was to just get a drink because I had other plans for a dinner treat. I pulled up to order and that dang Mt. Dew called to me like a mythical siren. I held my ground and with my newfound sense of fabulosity…ordered a Diet Pepsi.

Right next-door was dinner. I had called ahead and ordered a pizza from Papa Murphy’s. What? A pizza? Fret not my little bootie shrinking supporters. I got their veggie delite thin crust pizza. But wait, there’s more. On the way home I was trying to figure out how to justify eating it two days in a row (provided I didn’t eat it all in one sitting as was custom) and it hit me…mayhaps I won’t have to.

I knocked on my neighbor’s door. A neighbor, I might add, whose name I only know because she had left me a note to warn me that on Christmas Eve our ever-generous upstairs neighbor had puked over their balcony and onto our lawn and to be careful should Lola feel the need to investigate (gross? Yes. Relevant? No…but still a nice little addition to give you a glimpse into the rapport I have with my neighbor) There was no answer. “Foiled again!” I thought. I came back in and, remembering the aforementioned note, wrote one of my own. It went something like this, “I got a Papa Murphy’s Veggie Delite Thin Crust Pizza. I can’t justify eating it two days in a row (to myself or my trainer), so if you want half, it’s yours. Just gimme a knock.”

After I had baked it, ate mine, and cleaned up she knocked on the door. I thought she was my savior, but alas, she was there to inform me that she had just stopped and picked herself up some Taco Bell. After my split second of envy, I asked her if she wanted it for tomorrow. She said she would check in with me tomorrow, that she was trying to be good too. I thought, “You’re trying to be good, but you just went to Taco Bell?” Anyway, I assured her that it was good and veggie and had an ever so thin, barely there crust and to please come get it tomorrow or I would be forced to finish it. I’m not so sure it worked, but at least I tried.

Now you know dang well that’s a vast improvement of willpower and determination. The last time I got a thin crust pizza I ate that whole thing for dinner. Granted, I should have had a salad or something too, but I’m still gonna chalk this one up as a victory. Where I did fail in the willpower department was at the gym. I went into the ladies locker room with the sole intention of weighing myself. I got in there, hopped on the scale, and realized it only goes to 350. I was fully clothed with shoes and all, there was no way in my 12 days of near perfection that I was going to qualify for scale usage with all those clothes on and this addiction sure as hell ain’t worth strippin’ for like I do at home.

So, I still have no idea how I’m doing. I’d love to give you a number, but it just wasn’t in the cards. I really only wanted to weigh myself there so I had a starting point and could check down the road. Guess that’ll have to wait for another month or so. I’m surprised it took me that long to cave. I’ve been to my sister’s and didn’t get on hers (though I know hers wouldn’t have worked for someone as heavy as me). I’ve been to Mom and Dad’s and they have the same scale as I do, but I didn’t get on it. I am most definitely a work in progress, but progress I’ve made and progress I will continue to make. Ferreals.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

To do list :: Item no. 1

I've rearranged my life's to do list and moving up the list from last priority to first is--check it--ME! Not my home business, my family, my friends, my love life, but quite simply put…it’s all about me. I'm pretty much giving up a couple hours a day in an already busy schedule just to take care of me. What do I mean by taking care of me? Working out both with my trainer and on my own, actually taking the time to prepare meals instead of stopping off somewhere and grabbing something quick, and paying more attention to this website because this is where I collect my thoughts and gain perspective. This, for all intents and purposes, is where I give myself my own little pep talk.

I’m also talking nicer to myself. That doesn’t just mean I’ve stopped looking in the mirror and calling myself a cow, but I’m doing the daily affirmations that Dustina requested I do over breakfast. I sort of decided I needed more than that though. After 30 years of convincing myself that I was disgusting, 10 minutes over breakfast isn’t going to change a mindset. I do it, well, all the time. Even if it’s only reminding myself (or trying to convince myself) that I can do this.

I rejoined the gym Tuesday night and I’ve been Wednesday, Friday, and today. I may not have been breaking any records, but I was there dang it. I know that if I keep it up I will be feeling better and gradually be able to do more and more. Even today’s workout was far better than Wednesdays. Gotta crawl before you can walk. And I must say, the eye candy that has sprouted up since I was last there is mighty impressive. That right there is enough to motivate a girl to keep coming in if not get her heart rate up all together.

Dustina came over Thursday night for another workout. First she checked my body fat. Ouch! 49.6%. I'm half fat, people. Then I briefly mentioned that I had done arms at the gym the night before, but that did not matter like I thought it would. We did a lot of arms. And we not only did planks again, but we tossed in, ahem, BEAR CRAWLS! My hate for planks and bear crawls is really only paralleled (thus far) by squats and lunges. I have doc's permission to omit squats and lunges right now because of my knees, but alas, no mention of planks and bear crawls. You'da thought there was a Big Bad Wolf convention for all the huffin’ and puffin’ that was goin on. I told her that this is the most she’s kicked my ass and she told me she wanted me to remember her over the weekend. Clearly a fond remembrance wasn’t her priority.

Before she left, as promised, I gave her my scale (hereforeto known as "The Mechanical Demon") and I'm not going to lie to you, parting was such sweet sorrow. As I stood in my room getting ready for bed I peered into the bathroom at the empty space that used to be home to The Mechanical Demon and I longed for the days when I could weigh myself before bed. Then this morning I really wanted on that thing because I'd been doing so well the last few days and needed to see more payoff. Come on. I'm an instant gratification kind of girl and now I have to WAIT for my payoff. All of my victories will have to come from other places. It's good though, it's good. I will no longer be obsessing over a number. How I do on my diet will no longer be determined by whether or not The Mechanical Demon is cooperating. It will be based solely on how I feel, how I look, and how my clothes fit…it will just take a while.

So I’ve learned that putting myself on the list isn’t enough. I have to put myself at the top of the list. I have to stop making everything BUT me a priority. They say it takes 21 days to create a habit. Count this as day six of my 21, day six of taking care of me, day six of putting myself at the top of my to do list, and day six of finding my way back to something I lost quite a while ago…being fierce.

Tuesday, January 9, 2007

And so I bid farewell

The holidays are over (thank the Lord above) and Dustina and I started working out again yesterday. It was a really tough workout. She tried to work on the mental part of Kelly just as much as the physical and it took its toll. I love Dustina. She's a great person and will probably end up saving my life, but last night she really (whether intended or not) made me come to terms with some things. I actually had a hard time keeping it together during the workout. I ended up starting to cry shortly after she left so I took Lola for a walk so that I was forced to keep it together.

She asked me what our plan was; I thought "I really have no plan anymore." She asked me what she could do to help me; I thought "I really don't know how anyone can help me anymore." She asked if I ever say anything nice about myself, any positive affirmations; No, of course not. When would I fit that in with all the negativity I'm spewing? She asked me if I truly believe I can lose the weight; In a nutshell? No, I don't. I mean, I do SOMETIMES. I have those moments of divine inspiration when I feel as though I could conquer the world, but for the most part, after how many times I've failed or lost it only to gain it back, no. She told me that I'm not going to be able to do it until I BELIEVE I can do it. I felt defeated. She seemed so completely and utterly genuine in her desire to help me succeed at this that I don’t just feel like I’ve been failing MYSELF, but now I feel like I’ve been failing HER too.

The real clencher came when she told me that she should take my scale. I had actually CONSIDERED having her take it not that long ago and now that she had actually offered...I freaked out. I was like "Nooooo! Thursday, I'll give it to you Thursday." I was already having separation anxiety. I felt like I had to get on it just one more time before I could give it up. How sick is that? I've often thought that I would do so much better if I just went about my day eating what I needed to eat and not worrying about the number. That I would know I lost a good amount when people started noticing or clothes started fitting better and that I should just gauge it by that (which is essentially what she's trying to have me do), but I just could never get rid of the scale. I am controlled by the number. I know I shouldn't be, but I am. I have a sickness.

So Thursday it is. Thursday I bid farewell to my scale. I'm giving it to Dustina for a while. I really, in all honesty, will have withdrawls. I know it's silly and no one can comprehend it, but I'll be sneaking onto scales far and wide every chance I get. Down to mom and dad's? Scale. Over to my sister's? Scale. If I rejoin the gym (I'll keep you posted)? Scale. I won't be able to walk by one and NOT get on (Are you kidding me? There is a REASON she's taking it away), but I will at least not be on there 3 times a day. Yeah, you read that right, three. Not every day, but at least once a day…sometimes more. I don't know why. Sometimes it's to make sure I'm simply keeping it in check and not gaining and gaining and gaining. Other times it's with the hope that the number has actually gone down. I teeter totter back and forth between the same few pounds so much right now that I feel like I need to know if my teeter is overtaking my totter. Starting Thursday I'll have to find my balance another way…at least for a while.