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 Oprah.com 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.

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?

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 358...it'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 me...is a dog. I'm tired...of being ME.

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.)

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!

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 hook...it'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.

Another Thanksgiving under my belt...

and on my thighs, my hips and my ass. I’m still reeling from the insanity of it all. Mom initially vetoed the green been casserole but was in favor of my sister’s, for lack of an official name, Sugar Filled Sweet Potato Mush professing her well intended desire to keep it healthy. I quickly pointed out that while the grease fried crunchy onions weren’t what one might call nutritious, green beans were still considered a vegetable in most states and that with proper use of 98% fat free Cream of Mushroom soup this delectable dish could still pass for healthy (at least when juxtaposed to Sugar Filled Sweet Potato Mush). After careful deliberation she conceded and Green Bean Casserole was once again back on the menu for my 29th Annual Thanksgiving Day Eat Til You Puke Extravaganza.

Mom called me a couple nights before the event to give me the entire menu run down and it was right then and there that I knew one thing for sure…I was going to need a VERY stretchy waistband. My eyes glazed over as she read the list: turkey, cornbread stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberry sauce, spoonbread, fried okra, rolls, green bean casserole, sugar filled sweet potato mush and for dessert pumpkin pie and caramel apple pie. Am I the only one privy to the fact that, aside from the turkey, the green bean casserole is probably the healthiest item mentioned? I’m just sayin.

Fear of dehydration during the drive down to mom and dad’s had me starting my morning with an Eggnog Latte (hello fattening). Upon arrival and preparation of the green bean casserole I was quickly greeted with a cheese ball and wheat thins. Luckily it tasted slightly odd to me this year (mayhaps from the eggnog latte coating on my tongue) so I didn’t eat near as much as I usually do. Shortly thereafter it was time to gorge. I ate a healthy serving of everything but the mush and the spoonbread while drinking Mountain Dew and Eggnog. Later I shared TWO PIECES of pumpkin pie with my nephew. Oh, and less I forget, my cousin stopped by after dinner with additional rolls that one couldn’t possibly pass up as they were from my Aunt’s recipe that we don’t get very often.

Whew! I was feeling all right until I got home and sought refuge on the couch. I couldn’t even begin to get comfortable. I was bloated, sleepy, my stomach felt as if it would burst and, oddly, I still couldn’t stop thinking about those rolls. Luckily, I refused to take home any leftovers. Eating that way for a day is one thing. Eating that way for an entire week is a wee bit more than my waistline can handle at this point.

So my official, starting over, post 29th Annual Thanksgiving Day Eat Til You Puke Extravaganza weight is…wait for it…352. UGH! Anyway, let’s just see what kind of miracle I can work between now and Christmas shall we? Happy Holidays!

I'm a big ol' juicy liar

My last entry guaranteed success. I winced when I typed those words knowing my track record yet I still typed them as if it would secure my place in the weight loss hall of fame. I did post a couple sad excuses for entries between then and now but somehow (evil grin) when I transferred the old blog to it’s new home I lost them. OK, so, I confess…I just plain didn’t LIKE those entries nor do I want more professions of my being in the “zone” again published for all to see. Why? Because the zone came and went like a 2-dollar whore thus leaving one ashamed and hoping no one was the wiser.

I joined Weight Watchers meetings AGAIN and just last week decided to quit because I’d pretty much only been gaining and I’d rather spend my money on something that DOESN’T make me feel worthless. I also decided to stop doing the spa parties and though I’ll miss the extra money I will NOT miss schlepping spa stuff to and fro during my weekends. I’ll still maintain consultant status but ix-nay on the arty-pays. I tell myself that those weekends will now be spent working out and working on flutterBy (my greeting card company) but so far its just involved a lot of quality couch time.

Last week I got the gumption to fill out the forms for the next season of The Biggest Loser and when it came time to make the video I froze. Not so much by the thought that it wouldn’t be very good but more by the realization that during the first few shows of the season those ladies are getting up there half naked. They get on those scales in a sports bra and spandex shorts. That, my friends, is a fork in the road that I will NOT be taking on this journey. I’d rather have each individual eyelash plucked from my lids than withstand that hell.

So here I sit at 350 pounds (note: 5 pounds from my all time heaviest) and just kickin my own ass for my inability to control this monster. I mean come on, it’s hard work, but brain surgery it is NOT. Just eat right and exercise for crying out loud. Stop self-medicating with food. Stop putting myself last on the list of things to take care of and bump me right up there to the top. Stop saying “I can’t do it!” and “It’s too much weight to lose.” and just DO IT! Ok, now that I sound like a shoe commercial I think I’m done.

I’m not professing entry into any mythological zones and I’m making no guarantees. I’m just letting you know I’m back and diligently searching for the testicular fortitude to git er done. For those still sticking with me and rooting me on, clearly you have more patience and sticktoitiveness than I do and so in your honor I’ll give it another shot and try to post often. Oh sweet CHRIST let this work to my favor.

Skinny to fat sweat ratio

Meaning...if I were skinny would I be sweating this much? It's like 97 defrickingrees outside and I'm sitting here, in front of a fan, still sweating. Typing is apparently too much exercise for someone of my size in this kind of heat. I'm already starting to feel dehydrated and I'm only 4 sentences and a title into this blog entry. I feel like there should be a table across the room with volunteers passing me water so I don't cramp up. At my size I can only take off so much clothing before my dog needs therapy and it's times like these that make me wish I were skinny. OK, wait, I wish I were skinny EVERY day...or at least a little less fat...but TODAY it would be some kinda nice. I mean it's like I was born with built in thermal underwear or something. Just a 24/7 Eskimo Parka.

My point? Well, I'm not sure if you got the memo but this is my last summer fat. Uh huh, next summer I will be a raging hottie tooling around in my convertible VW beetle (yes, I finally got one) and I will finally know how thin people deal with this frickin heat. I'm moving in 2 weeks to an apartment closer to work so that I can save money and buy a house in a year. SO, I will move into my new house thin, or at least close to it. I figure my apartment will be a good half hour from anyone I typically hang out with and the city I'm moving to isn't exactly high up on the "Places That Are Action Packed" list so what else will I have to do besides work out and start cooking healthy meals. I will probably become a hermit (other than working) and when I come out of my cave in a year...voila...skinny.

OK, so the above paragraph might closely resemble that of a Dallas dream sequence minus the shooting of J.R. but let me just point out ONE simple factor that could make it all reality. Turning 29 has sent me into a complete tailspin. I wasn't expecting it. It sorta clothes-lined me out of no where. I thought 30 might be painful but as I hit 29 I have one mindset and one mindset only...I have a hell of a lot of things I need to accomplish before I hit 30. I feel like the last 11 years (if not all 29 but I'm cutting myself some slack since most kids don't accomplish much) of my life have been a complete waste. It's like God hit the pause button on his TIVO and forgot to come back and restart my life. So, now I've taken over, hit the fast forward button, and have rapidly begun to catch up...hence the car I've wanted for 8 years, now I've got it.

I took a break from Trainer Guy Todd hoping my foot would get better but it's not. I've determined that it will only get better if I lose more weight. I haven't worked out in a good 3 weeks so, it's time to get back on it. I called him and told him we needed to hit it and finish my sessions because when I move I'll be going to a different gym. I'm not going to drive alllllll the way back to SE Portland all the time to work out with him no matter how great he thinks he is. My apartment also has a 24 hour mini gym where I can work out in the mornings or whenever I feel like it. There are some GREAT neighborhoods around it with nothing but HUGE houses where I can walk Lola and keep reminding myself of the house I'm working to get.

So, tomorrow morning I'm going to weigh myself and then I'm packing my scale in a box. I'm going to bust ass over the next two weeks and I'm not going to weigh myself again until I unpack that scale in my new apartment (at which point I hope it's kind). I haven't given up for those of you still reading this. I haven't been losing weight but at least I've been maintaining for a while. The next blog entry will be reporting nothing but success...guaranteed.

Illegitimis non carborundum

This is a British World War II phrase. U.S. General Joseph W. Stilwell (1883-1946) then adopted it as his motto and to that I say "BLOODY BRILLIANT!" As of this morning it is now Kelly Anderson's (1976-soon if I don't lose weight) motto. I'd come across it somewhere before but was reminded of it today after expressing my complete and utter disdain for myself to a very wise lady (E, consider this your shout out). It means "Don't let the bastards grind you down." and it is EXACTLY the mindset I need to adopt.

I am currently in the midst of a full blown spell of self-loathing. I've been having these days more and more lately. I've wasted hundreds and hundreds of dollars working out with a trainer only to stay the same size because I can't stop eating the wrong things. I was already hating myself yesterday when I got to the gym and having a tough time keeping it together when TGT (Trainer Guy Todd) announced that it was time to check my stats. I told him I didn't want to and explained that it was a self-loathing day and that I could already tell him that nothing had changed. That if I had tangible proof that nothing had changed it would probably smack me right into a full blown bout of depression. Yeah, he didn't care because stat checking he wanted so stat checking he did. I'm a pound heavier than I was when I met him, body fat has barely gone down and the measurements showed little to no change (some up, some down). While he did my measurements he asked what happened that had me having such a bad day...he doesn't understand that nothing has to "happen" for me to hate myself.

When we were done TGT then proceeded to very enthusiastically remind me that a little improvement is better than no improvement. I didn't agree. I only felt more like a failure. He then said he wants me to get up every morning and do 30 minutes of cardio on top of going to the gym at night and what does HE need to do to make that happen. I told him he'd have to come drag my ass out of bed at 5:30 every morning. He said he could do that...I didn't take him up on it.

With a half hour left to our allotted workout time he managed to unleash in me a sense of complete and utter hate. Surprisingly, it was more for myself than for him (though I'm not gonna lie to you, I really wanted to smack him upside his sunburnt head). I winced as he started setting up a lil circuit he intended for me to do. Lift this weight, do these leg presses, get on the floor and do a bridge, ride this bike, now lift these weights...and hurry up because we have to do it alllllll over again. There is only one part of that equation that reigns supreme at bringing out the hate...the bike. 3 different times I had to get on that thing and I didn't just have to ride it I had to pedal pretty f'n fast (for me anyway) for 2 or 3 minutes (determined by how pissed off he wanted me I think). We'd worked the bike in before and he had me keep it at 80...I could barely do it. This time he wanted me to keep it at 90...riiiiiiiight. TGT's crack addiction is now blindingly obvious.

My head started pounding and I COULD NOT BREATHE!! All these people were around so I tried not to make it completely obvious that I wanted to pass out or that I couldn't breathe and all of THAT (duh) only made it worse. When we were done I grabbed my stuff and walked out. None of the joking around and funny ha ha's that we usually toss around as I leave. I replied with a cranky goodbye and I hyperventilated my way out to my car where I sat and cried. I've been welling up ever since so I'm sure I've solved the latest water retention issue.

"Illegitimis non carborundum!" Though I have many "illegitimis" in my life that are trying to sabotage my efforts and grind me down I'm the biggest bastard of them all. I'm harder on myself than TGT ever will be. I derail my efforts more than anyone else does. I hear all the speeches about how I haven't quit and how I'm faithfully going to the gym even on the days when I don't have to meet TGT but right now it all just sounds like Charlie Brown's teacher to me (You know, "wah waaaahh, wah waaaahh wah."). It's not ENOUGH! I've got to do better and I've got to stop letting the bastards (me) grind me down.

Scale haters UNITE!!

For those keeping track, yes I know this is the second entry of the day but it can't be avoided. I've either witnessed a miracle or I'm in the process of uncovering a sinister plot to get people to keep buying training sessions. As you know from the last entry the results have been less than impressive. It would cause one to reconsider the mass amounts of money being thrown to and fro (I don't know which way fro is exactly but work with me here). It took all the energy I could muster to get my butt to the gym tonight knowing I would have to ride the bike the whole time because of the foot issue (not a big fan of the bike and don't last as long). As I was pedaling away Trainer Guy Todd (miracle worker or evil doer? Hmmmm, I wonder.) came over and at some point I told him we needed to break out the fat % machine and check on the status. He told me that would involve checking my weight and after much cringing I got off the bike and headed in to face my demons. I got on that scale (like the one at the doctor's office) and slid the black doohickey allllll the way over to what I knew it should be. Dropped like a rock when I got on there. I nudged the weight higher figuring I'd forgotten how these scales worked and that dropping down meant I must have gained. As fellow scale fanatics know, dropping down means you need to LOWER the weight. I kept nudging and it stayed put. OOoook, let's try the other way but it'll only be a pound or two. Insert miracle here because it said I'd lost 13ish pounds in the last month whereas my scale at home, well, about a gain of a pound or two in the last month.

Now, my good senses tell me that it is bloody WRONG but the inner diva wants it to be so very right. It would mean that my scale at home is wrong (which at this point I'm willing to live with all things considered). It would mean that all the failures I've convinced myself of over the last month haven't happened. It would mean that I AM a rockstar. Ugh, I HATE scale inaccuracies. When was the last time someone calibrated that bad boy for cryin out loud? All in all I KNOW I shouldn't even go by the scale and I should go by how I feel and how my clothes fit and how the measuring tape says I've done but come on, I'm a woman and like all women (minus I think 3 of them) I judge myself by the number on that scale. GRRRR dagblasted scale. Can you even imagine how many confident women we'd have out there and the lack of eating disorders if scales were, well, abolished? I mean, when you're obese you're obese...you don't need a number to tell you just how big of a failure you are. Why can't we just lose enough weight to feel good...to be healthy. Why's it have to be a specific number we try to force ourselves down to. So I'm "supposed" to weigh 155. Well damn it, maybe I'll be perfectly content at 175. Maybe I'll like my ass at 170 and find no desire to annorexia myself down to what I'm told I should weigh. Maybe, just maybe, the world is already too full of skinny frickin women and I don't want to be another one. Ok, that's going overboard. I've clearly worked out too hard. I still think scales suck though!

(Update: Friday the gym scale was back to normal and I've lost NOTHING!!!)

In memoriam

Oh how I do miss my pastas, my sugar, my red meat. We've been so close for so many years and now I turn my back on them as though they've done something unforgivable. A few months ago I could have fed most of Somalia with the amount of bad carbs I ate in a month and now my container of uneaten jasmine rice sits on top of my fridge as if dead to me. My cupboards full of Pasta in a box and Hamburger Helper and soups with potatoes in them are rarely opened and as the cobwebs begin to spin I think "WHYYYYYYYYY????" Why must you raise my blood glucose to ridiculous levels and find comfort in the recesses of my butt, thighs & stomach? We could have been great. We could have gone the distance.

My hamburger has been replaced with ground turkey and my pepper steaks are a thing of the past. Why? Trainer Guy Todd. He's anti-red meat along with pretty much everything else I eat. Every session I bring him my food journal and it ends up riddled with bright orange highlights over what I SHOULDN'T have eaten. I mean, yes, the trip to Olive Garden deserved a highlight or two and the margaritas after the baseball game, perhaps, but the Fat Free Cottage Cheese? The Subway sandwich that didn't even have cheese or mayo? Apparently the more cottage cheese you put in your mouth the more cottage cheese you put on your thighs.

I have, I'll admit, found religion at the gym. Not only is Todd the devil but I'm quite often found uttering, "Oh my Godddddd!" when trying to lift more than I can handle and "Christ!" when he tells me 25 reps at the aforementioned weight I can't handle. Here is where you're probably wondering how all this sadomasochistic behavior is paying off. Well, I'm one for being honest so let me just say...IT'S NOT. I mean, it might be. I mean, not well enough. I mean (insert big sigh here), it's all my fault. I have not been eating in a fashion that is conducive to excellent results so all the working out I've been doing is probably only preventing me from ballooning even more. I've been holding water like the Titanic because I haven't been drinking what I should with all the working out I'm doing (though I remedied that Tuesday when I drank 96 ounces of water...I've been in the bathroom ever since and over night I was 6 pounds lighter). I have a foot injury that I haven't been taking care of and I've been in pain for pretty much 2 months now.

Now, I say it isn't working because the number on the scale isn't going down; however, my logical self says "Yes, silly girl, it is working...you're just looking at the wrong numbers." I know it is working because I can feel and see muscles that weren't there 2 months ago and I'm sure that if I tested my body fat again or maybe even broke out the measuring tape I would be impressed. I know it is working because I can climb a flight of stairs without passing out. I know it is working because people have told me that they can see it. I know it is working because when I go to that gym I feel more like I belong there because I fit in than I belong there because I don't fit into anything.

There is nothing like going from a place where you think everyone is watching you and judging you and taking bets on how long you'll last this time to a place where someone is actually routing for you. A few weeks ago I was lifting weights with Todd and he had the weight at some crazy level and I could barely do half my set let alone finish it. I looked around and there were a good 10 guys on the machines around me and half of them were staring at me as I kept trying and telling Todd I couldn't do it (one should also note that while most men grunt and groan and make hideous faces when the weight they are lifting becomes too much to bare, I laugh hysterically so that's a sure fire way to draw attention). Todd started helping me a little and making me finish them. Laughing through it all, him too at this point, I got it done. I looked up and one of the guys gave me a wink and a thumbs up. A "You go girl!" if you will.

The last few days I've been doing really well in the eating arena as well as the water so hopefully it's all falling into place now. So, goodbye bad carbs and sugar and red meat. You will be missed and I will never forget the good times we've had but our times together will be few and far between now. You'll have to find another ass to enlarge because THIS ass is shrinking on the daily.

If thou seekest the Devil...

he works at Bally's. And I would have told you sooner but as I headed into my office to write this entry I realized I had a couple things I had to get done first. One being putting my garbage out on the curb. I took the first step down my porch and had to stop and ponder just how important garbage pickup was this week because my legs actually did NOT work. Twenty minutes later the 5 minute job was done.

Then I packed up the stuff I needed to wash for my spa party tomorrow night and headed to the washing machine. This is when I realized my washing machine is in the basement. I considered moving out but determined that was not an immediate solution (though I'm still considering it to avoid any future incidences). Let me see if I can put it into perspective for you. Imagine, if you will, that someone has physically removed your thigh muscles. Thigh muscles, I might add, that control the momentum at which you descend a flight of stairs. I ask this because as of right now I have no control over my thigh muscles and they might as well have gone temporarily AWOL. Now, in an attempt to not just plummet head first down said stairs you put most of your weight on the railing of the stairs (thank God for railing). You call into action the rest of your leg muscles to somehow coerce your foot onto the next step. All of this taking quite a bit of time.

Once I reached the bottom of the stairs and put my clothes in the washer I headed back up. As I climbed back up I noticed a definite quiver in my thighs but it was easier than going down. I got up those stairs with a sigh of relief and then almost cried when it dawned on me that in a half hour or so I would have to do it all again to get my clothes and bring them up to the dryer.

So, this is probably where you're wondering what ritualistic acts were performed at my first work out with Trainer Guy Todd. We did upper and lower body but there are two things responsible for the pain I will be in for my birthday tomorrow. Squats and lunges. Hmmm, squats & lunges. Just doesn't have the nice ring to it that Ben & Jerry does. Anyway, I thought I would die and the only comfort I could find through the whole ordeal was that we were in the gym where they do the aerobics classes and the lights went out and no one could really see me hyperventilate. And he told me I wouldn't be doing squats and lunges yet because of my knees...lying bastard.

I did tell him that he has one year to whip my butt into shape though. One year because I refuse to hit 30 in this condition. One year because I'll be getting ready to go to Italy. One year because it's time I start living my life instead of simply observing it. So, ya'll better step aside because if I survive whatever Trainer Guy Todd puts me through next...there will be no stopping me.