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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away

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

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

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

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

Knick knack paddy whack, God threw me a bone

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.