This past Sunday, my husband and I completed our very first 5K! We finished in 1 hour and 1 minute, which means we walked just under 20 minutes per mile :) 20 minute miles were my goal, so I'm quite proud of our time! My husband, on the other hand, became pretty competitive once the race began.
I had no idea how many people take these 5Ks super seriously! About 75% at the race were runners and most of the others were serious speed walkers. My husband and I walked at a moderate pace and were towards the end the entire time. He really motivated me because he was TICKED being so close the last people. I, on the other hand, was just proud of us for getting out there and giving this whole 5K thing a try! I don't think I'd have been brave enough to try it 40 pounds ago!
I didn't fall down during the race. And I didn't immediately afterwards, either. In fact, we went to the gym and lifted for a half hour and then came home and went swimming. We were VERY active for the first half of Sunday. And then I realized I had been doing all this activity without putting fuel into my tank and I was starved.
And I ate my normal lunch. And then I ate a few chocolates I'd been saving for a time when the craving hit and I need to satisfy it. And then I ate Laughing cow cheese and crackers. A lot of them. And then for dinner we ordered pizza and I ate three slices! It was a terrible binge. And seemed to negate all the sweat I'd shed during my hours of exercise.
But, it's over with and I must forgive myself. I must let go of the guilt. I'm truthfully having a difficult time with this. I don't feel badly when I plan and chose to indulge in a meal that I know is going to have extra calories. But this Sunday binge was NOT planned. And I've been allowing myself to dwell on HOW FAR I have to go and how much work it's going to take to get there. Today I feel like, man, I have 50 more pounds to lose and six months to do it in. Is it even possible? I know it is, but I know that I have to stop making huge mistakes like the ones I made on Sunday if I am going to reach my goal of 200 pounds by Christmas. I know I have to work out two hours a day three or four days each week, and do my 45 minute DVDs on the other two days each week. Frankly, it's making me tired just thinking about it!
And I'm still wrestling with some anger. Why, why, why is it SO much harder for me to lose a pound than it seems to be for some others? Why can I work out and write down every single thing to pass my lips and still only lose a half pound in a week? Or worse-- not see the scale move at all?!
I know it's a waste of time to even think this way, but the devil leads me down this path sometimes.... I see what other people eat and I see what kinds of exercise they do. I work out like a beast! Every time I leave the gym, I am COVERED in sweat. Disgusting sweat-- my ears and nose even perspire. That's how much intensity I put into my workouts. Somewhere metabolism and genes kick in and I wonder how I wound up with such crappy ones!
Enough complaining! I guess I need to find another 5K to train for!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Remembering
I’m seeing a therapist. No, it’s not a bad thing- it’s actually a very good thing! I’ve had about four sessions with the therapist and the reason I sought him out is because I’ve had ongoing problems with anxiety for the past several years. After a particularly bad panic attack about a month ago, I decided I just didn’t want to have to deal with them anymore. I get the terrible chest pains, shortness of breath, nauseous, and pains in my arms. It's just plain uncomfortable. After the attack subsides, I feel like crap and experience symptoms similar to a hang-over. I figured, I’m working really hard at becoming healthy in all the other areas of my life—I might as well conquer this one, too.
So, I thought I was seeing a therapist mainly to get over anxiety and panic attacks. In my first meeting with the therapist I told him I’ve always had body image issues, (hello?! Who WOULDN’T have body image issues when their weight has had as many peaks and plummets as mine?) and that I’d like to address these at the same time as the anxiety issues. Turns out that the therapist thinks a contributing factor to the anxiety disorder is, among other factors, my weight.
It’s not the fact that I’m physically heavy that’s contributed to developing anxiety disorder, but the emotional repercussions from the horror, anger, and pain of growing up an overweight female.
First, let me say, I did not misuse the word “horror” in this statement. It IS horrifying to be aware of being fat for as long as you can remember. At six years old, your main concern should be playing with dolls—not learning you can’t wear a two-piece bathing suit like all the other girls-- unless you lose weight-- because you’re just too big. It is horrifying to be picked on mercilessly by the other kids, in grade school, and REALLY damaging in middle and high school. And, as my therapist pointed out, the words really do hurt you—and what these people are saying really stick with you.
Not knowing what to expect each day when you go to school creates constant anxiety. 12-15 years later I’m still dealing with the repercussions of being that terribly anxious 8th grader who the boys tried to trip as she walked down the narrow aisles of desks, spit on from the balcony in the lunch room, and literally made fun of right in front of the Math teacher—who pretty much just joined in the bullying. Can you imagine, for an hour every single day, being bulllied almost the entire class period while the teacher KNEW it was happening? A 40-something-year old teacher, with children of her own in college, accepting, allowing, condoning, even encouraging the taunts of particular popular students as they made terrible comments and actions against the unpopular me? As a teacher myself for the past seven years, I just despise that Algebra teacher. No wonder I didn’t learn anything in Algebra my 8th grade year. I was too busy trying to survive.
As I’m focusing on healing and eliminating anxiety, both generalized and attacks, I’m finding more and more of these memories are vividly coming to the forefront of my conscious mind again. I can’t recall the last time I thought about these things. I don’t remember thinking about them when I rode the weight loss rodeo ten years ago. Perhaps that's why I was unsuccessful in keeping the weight I lost off-- the fact that I don’t think I EVER dealt with all the pain I felt from those years of kids picking on me, targeting, and making me feel inferior. I know Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent,” but when you are child I’m not so sure that’s true. We believe what the world around us tells us, and unfortunately it wasn’t only the kids telling me I was inferior.
My parents did the best they could do, but they worried about my growing size. As I stated earlier, I was put on a diet at six. What does that tell a six-year-old? Food is bad, you need to control your food, you’ve done something wrong. My mom was frustrated that as she tried to control my ballooning weight, I only seemed to grow larger. She didn’t want me to suffer from obesity like her mother did, but her controlling only seemed to make things worse. Plus, my parents had terrible eating habits. How can you tell a child to lose weight, but serve pasta and bread for dinner most nights? How can you have cookies and sweets in the house for a younger sibling, but deny and hide these same cookies from the older sibling? It was conundrum that I don’t feel my parents dealt with that entirely well, but I also don’t blame them for it. People do the best they can do and they were only equipped with a certain amount of knowledge and emotional maturity. Childhood obesity wasn’t the epidemic it is now and there wasn’t the information available that is out there today.
Aside from my parents, there were extended family members who always had something to say. I remember being in 3rd grade and three aunts of mine taking me on a three day trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania. One of my aunts I didn’t know very well because she’d been living overseas for years with her army-employed husband. One night, as I’m standing right there, she started speaking to the other aunt about my weight. “She really should do something about her weight! Doesn’t it bother her”—something along these lines. The other aunt replied, “umm, you do realize Jackie can hear you and is standing right there…” and pretty much changed the subject. But I heard the comments the first aunt had made, I heard the disgust in her voice. I wasn’t the “normal,” adorable eight- year-old with braids and cute little outfits—something I really didn’t need my grown aunt to point out for me. Trust me, the kids at school had already begun to make this fact evident, if I couldn’t tell by just looking at myself in comparison to the other girls my age.
Thinking about this memory today, which only surfaced again recently, makes me so angry! What did the eight-year-old girl do that was so wrong that an adult should say these things about her body with disgust? I was eight! I was a baby. My body shouldn’t have been a source of shame for me at that point—an eight-year-old doesn’t make her own choices on what she’s going to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She doesn’t drive herself to the grocery store and choose her foods for the week. At that point, she’s fat because of her genes and the eating habits her parents have taught her. I’m not saying that at 29, this is still the case, but at eight?
What if a kid had an unusually big nose? Would extended family, parents, etc, feel the need to say comments with disgust about how the eight-year-old has a terrible nose and should really fix it? Would they put the nose on a diet? Would the comments these adults make have an undertone of just disgust that would make the kid feel ashamed? What can an eight-year-old DO to "fix" what others perceive as an ugly, unusually large nose without the tools/help of these same adults? Give me a break.
Skinny people may not see where I am coming from with this, but just think about it for a moment. I’m telling you, those comments you hear at 6 and 8 and 12, they stick with you. And I never dealt with them before; I never spoke about them. I just ignored that they had even happened. I ate and stuffed away the feelings as if they never existed. I was embarrassed, ashamed, and guilty, but I am only just now remembering and realizing the full extent of these feelings.
And here’s the thing—I actually wasn’t an OBESE kid. I didn’t hit that obesity mark probably until I was a teenager, around 8th grade. Honestly, as a little kid, I was just chunky. If everyone would have left me the freak alone, would I have turned out with this huge problem? Maybe, maybe even probably, but maybe not.
Finding myself “remembering” all of these injustices that I feel I suffered as a child has been tough. It’s been tiring, and I feel on the verge of tears sometimes thinking, talking, or writing about it. In fact, being aware that I used to eat to NOT feel the pain of these things happening around me has kind of made me want to eat more—there’s comfort in your old practices. But I’m pushing through….
On a positive note, I believe I weighed 260 when I blogged last. My weight has been vacillating, mainly I think because I’ve been building muscles and toning with my workouts. I’m down to 254ish right now, so I’m proud of that. My work may not be showing on the scale as much as I think it should ,but it’s showing in my clothing. I’ve been shopping because most of the things in my closet are just falling off of me-- even after I've shrunk them! I’m fitting into size 22’s, which is progress for me! My brother-in-law is visiting and made me feel really good about my accomplishments—he said I look thinner than I’ve ever looked as long as he’s known me and he’s really made me feel good about what I’ve done!
I’m signed up for a 5K race on July 27th here in Orlando! I’m excited to start training for it and am trying to get a group of girlfriends to do either a 5k or ½ marathon with me October 31st! You know, I may not have a 100% on plan day with my eating every day—and I don’t, I still just really enjoy food--- but I think if I can balance it out with a good amount of exercise I’m okay. And you have to live life. My mom won’t ever eat real chocolate, just sugar free stuff, but I’m not doing that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a piece of chocolate every now and then. I think you just have to balance it out. And some weeks aren’t going to be good weeks, but, baby, I’m in this for life! I just can’t let a bad day turn into a bad week turn into a bad month turn into a bad year. I love myself too much for that now.
So, I thought I was seeing a therapist mainly to get over anxiety and panic attacks. In my first meeting with the therapist I told him I’ve always had body image issues, (hello?! Who WOULDN’T have body image issues when their weight has had as many peaks and plummets as mine?) and that I’d like to address these at the same time as the anxiety issues. Turns out that the therapist thinks a contributing factor to the anxiety disorder is, among other factors, my weight.
It’s not the fact that I’m physically heavy that’s contributed to developing anxiety disorder, but the emotional repercussions from the horror, anger, and pain of growing up an overweight female.
First, let me say, I did not misuse the word “horror” in this statement. It IS horrifying to be aware of being fat for as long as you can remember. At six years old, your main concern should be playing with dolls—not learning you can’t wear a two-piece bathing suit like all the other girls-- unless you lose weight-- because you’re just too big. It is horrifying to be picked on mercilessly by the other kids, in grade school, and REALLY damaging in middle and high school. And, as my therapist pointed out, the words really do hurt you—and what these people are saying really stick with you.
Not knowing what to expect each day when you go to school creates constant anxiety. 12-15 years later I’m still dealing with the repercussions of being that terribly anxious 8th grader who the boys tried to trip as she walked down the narrow aisles of desks, spit on from the balcony in the lunch room, and literally made fun of right in front of the Math teacher—who pretty much just joined in the bullying. Can you imagine, for an hour every single day, being bulllied almost the entire class period while the teacher KNEW it was happening? A 40-something-year old teacher, with children of her own in college, accepting, allowing, condoning, even encouraging the taunts of particular popular students as they made terrible comments and actions against the unpopular me? As a teacher myself for the past seven years, I just despise that Algebra teacher. No wonder I didn’t learn anything in Algebra my 8th grade year. I was too busy trying to survive.
As I’m focusing on healing and eliminating anxiety, both generalized and attacks, I’m finding more and more of these memories are vividly coming to the forefront of my conscious mind again. I can’t recall the last time I thought about these things. I don’t remember thinking about them when I rode the weight loss rodeo ten years ago. Perhaps that's why I was unsuccessful in keeping the weight I lost off-- the fact that I don’t think I EVER dealt with all the pain I felt from those years of kids picking on me, targeting, and making me feel inferior. I know Eleanor Roosevelt said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent,” but when you are child I’m not so sure that’s true. We believe what the world around us tells us, and unfortunately it wasn’t only the kids telling me I was inferior.
My parents did the best they could do, but they worried about my growing size. As I stated earlier, I was put on a diet at six. What does that tell a six-year-old? Food is bad, you need to control your food, you’ve done something wrong. My mom was frustrated that as she tried to control my ballooning weight, I only seemed to grow larger. She didn’t want me to suffer from obesity like her mother did, but her controlling only seemed to make things worse. Plus, my parents had terrible eating habits. How can you tell a child to lose weight, but serve pasta and bread for dinner most nights? How can you have cookies and sweets in the house for a younger sibling, but deny and hide these same cookies from the older sibling? It was conundrum that I don’t feel my parents dealt with that entirely well, but I also don’t blame them for it. People do the best they can do and they were only equipped with a certain amount of knowledge and emotional maturity. Childhood obesity wasn’t the epidemic it is now and there wasn’t the information available that is out there today.
Aside from my parents, there were extended family members who always had something to say. I remember being in 3rd grade and three aunts of mine taking me on a three day trip to Hershey, Pennsylvania. One of my aunts I didn’t know very well because she’d been living overseas for years with her army-employed husband. One night, as I’m standing right there, she started speaking to the other aunt about my weight. “She really should do something about her weight! Doesn’t it bother her”—something along these lines. The other aunt replied, “umm, you do realize Jackie can hear you and is standing right there…” and pretty much changed the subject. But I heard the comments the first aunt had made, I heard the disgust in her voice. I wasn’t the “normal,” adorable eight- year-old with braids and cute little outfits—something I really didn’t need my grown aunt to point out for me. Trust me, the kids at school had already begun to make this fact evident, if I couldn’t tell by just looking at myself in comparison to the other girls my age.
Thinking about this memory today, which only surfaced again recently, makes me so angry! What did the eight-year-old girl do that was so wrong that an adult should say these things about her body with disgust? I was eight! I was a baby. My body shouldn’t have been a source of shame for me at that point—an eight-year-old doesn’t make her own choices on what she’s going to eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She doesn’t drive herself to the grocery store and choose her foods for the week. At that point, she’s fat because of her genes and the eating habits her parents have taught her. I’m not saying that at 29, this is still the case, but at eight?
What if a kid had an unusually big nose? Would extended family, parents, etc, feel the need to say comments with disgust about how the eight-year-old has a terrible nose and should really fix it? Would they put the nose on a diet? Would the comments these adults make have an undertone of just disgust that would make the kid feel ashamed? What can an eight-year-old DO to "fix" what others perceive as an ugly, unusually large nose without the tools/help of these same adults? Give me a break.
Skinny people may not see where I am coming from with this, but just think about it for a moment. I’m telling you, those comments you hear at 6 and 8 and 12, they stick with you. And I never dealt with them before; I never spoke about them. I just ignored that they had even happened. I ate and stuffed away the feelings as if they never existed. I was embarrassed, ashamed, and guilty, but I am only just now remembering and realizing the full extent of these feelings.
And here’s the thing—I actually wasn’t an OBESE kid. I didn’t hit that obesity mark probably until I was a teenager, around 8th grade. Honestly, as a little kid, I was just chunky. If everyone would have left me the freak alone, would I have turned out with this huge problem? Maybe, maybe even probably, but maybe not.
Finding myself “remembering” all of these injustices that I feel I suffered as a child has been tough. It’s been tiring, and I feel on the verge of tears sometimes thinking, talking, or writing about it. In fact, being aware that I used to eat to NOT feel the pain of these things happening around me has kind of made me want to eat more—there’s comfort in your old practices. But I’m pushing through….
On a positive note, I believe I weighed 260 when I blogged last. My weight has been vacillating, mainly I think because I’ve been building muscles and toning with my workouts. I’m down to 254ish right now, so I’m proud of that. My work may not be showing on the scale as much as I think it should ,but it’s showing in my clothing. I’ve been shopping because most of the things in my closet are just falling off of me-- even after I've shrunk them! I’m fitting into size 22’s, which is progress for me! My brother-in-law is visiting and made me feel really good about my accomplishments—he said I look thinner than I’ve ever looked as long as he’s known me and he’s really made me feel good about what I’ve done!
I’m signed up for a 5K race on July 27th here in Orlando! I’m excited to start training for it and am trying to get a group of girlfriends to do either a 5k or ½ marathon with me October 31st! You know, I may not have a 100% on plan day with my eating every day—and I don’t, I still just really enjoy food--- but I think if I can balance it out with a good amount of exercise I’m okay. And you have to live life. My mom won’t ever eat real chocolate, just sugar free stuff, but I’m not doing that. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a piece of chocolate every now and then. I think you just have to balance it out. And some weeks aren’t going to be good weeks, but, baby, I’m in this for life! I just can’t let a bad day turn into a bad week turn into a bad month turn into a bad year. I love myself too much for that now.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Shopping is Exercise....Really?!?
People who don't have a weight problem rarely understand what it is like to be someone like myself. I guess this probably goes without saying, but someone who has been blessed with a wonderful metabolism or doesn't really care all that much about food just can't understand what it is like to have to watch every little thing you put in your mouth.
My wonderful aunt came to stay with me and Nathan for a little over a week. My aunt is 57 and wears a size 10 or 12-- and she likes her clothing to fit big. She is in fantastic shape for any age, but especially for someone her age. She loves to eat, but doesn't gain weight. Her husband is quite large, and her and I have always been close, so she definitely is compassionate towards people who are heavy and/or trying to trim down. BUT she has no idea what it takes for someone like me to lose a pound, let alone 52!
She thinks exercise is walking through the mall. For me to get exercise I feel proud of, I need to spend an hour on the elliptical!
She thinks splitting a piece of cake at lunch is not eating dessert.
And she LOVES to eat out--- doesn't even have to be great restaurants where you can order healthfully, she just likes going out to eat.
Lastly, she's a food pusher. I obviously don't need anyone telling me to eat, but she'll order an appetizer and say, "go ahead, we'll split it. Here, take more." It's so hard for someone like me to say "NO" to an entire week of this!
I did really well the first half of the week, but the second half was a struggle. I succumbed and took half of the Black Forest cake at lunch-- but I only ate half of my half and salted the rest so I wouldn't eat any more. Strategies like this helped.
And then there is the fact that my body rebels now when I overeat! I feel sick if I eat too much-- just nauseous and not at all pleasant. Also, if I'm eating unhealthy foods, I just don't feel GOOD. I get all bloated and indigestion. It's gross-- all I want to do is lie down. I am pleased that my body literally can't take the junk food anymore. I must be doing something right if my body rebels when I eat something fried or eat out too many meals. I found I like feeling GOOD too much to put all that crap into my body.
I love my aunt, but I was happy when her visit ended because I wanted to get back on track with my eating and exercise. Even Nathan felt badly from the eating out! We must be doing something right if we are excited to get back on our plan!
And we've been back on our plan for three full days now, doing wonderful!
My latest weight was 260! Hurray! Pretty soon I'll be in the 250's and closer to 200 than 300!
My wonderful aunt came to stay with me and Nathan for a little over a week. My aunt is 57 and wears a size 10 or 12-- and she likes her clothing to fit big. She is in fantastic shape for any age, but especially for someone her age. She loves to eat, but doesn't gain weight. Her husband is quite large, and her and I have always been close, so she definitely is compassionate towards people who are heavy and/or trying to trim down. BUT she has no idea what it takes for someone like me to lose a pound, let alone 52!
She thinks exercise is walking through the mall. For me to get exercise I feel proud of, I need to spend an hour on the elliptical!
She thinks splitting a piece of cake at lunch is not eating dessert.
And she LOVES to eat out--- doesn't even have to be great restaurants where you can order healthfully, she just likes going out to eat.
Lastly, she's a food pusher. I obviously don't need anyone telling me to eat, but she'll order an appetizer and say, "go ahead, we'll split it. Here, take more." It's so hard for someone like me to say "NO" to an entire week of this!
I did really well the first half of the week, but the second half was a struggle. I succumbed and took half of the Black Forest cake at lunch-- but I only ate half of my half and salted the rest so I wouldn't eat any more. Strategies like this helped.
And then there is the fact that my body rebels now when I overeat! I feel sick if I eat too much-- just nauseous and not at all pleasant. Also, if I'm eating unhealthy foods, I just don't feel GOOD. I get all bloated and indigestion. It's gross-- all I want to do is lie down. I am pleased that my body literally can't take the junk food anymore. I must be doing something right if my body rebels when I eat something fried or eat out too many meals. I found I like feeling GOOD too much to put all that crap into my body.
I love my aunt, but I was happy when her visit ended because I wanted to get back on track with my eating and exercise. Even Nathan felt badly from the eating out! We must be doing something right if we are excited to get back on our plan!
And we've been back on our plan for three full days now, doing wonderful!
My latest weight was 260! Hurray! Pretty soon I'll be in the 250's and closer to 200 than 300!
Sunday, April 4, 2010
History of My Fat
My childhood is full of such memories. My mom was tall and thin when I was young, but my dad was always heavy. Mom’s mother was obese for most of her life and died at 56, due to complications from diabetes. My paternal grandmother was always heavy as well. My parents obviously saw the genetic tendency to gain weight manifesting itself in me at a very young age. Combined with the passion for food common my Italian-American families, it was a recipe for disaster. Mom monitored my weight closely because she didn’t want me to wind up like her mother, and (probably a bit out of rebellion, among other factors) I grew larger and larger the older I became.
When I was 18 and had never been kissed, something clicked and I decided to lose weight. I went from 276 pounds to 168. I looked amazing! Unfortunately, my main focus on that weight loss journey was to simply “get skinny.” I wasn’t concerned with building healthy eating patterns I could live with the rest of my life.
At 168 pounds, I was finally kissed—and wound up engaged to a man that was all wrong for me. After a rocky three-year relationship I never should have been in in the first place, I found out he was having an affair and called our wedding off a few short months before it was scheduled. I was devastated (stupidly) and the weight I had lost quickly piled back on.
Within two and a half years, I had gained back all of the weight I had lost, plus extra. My wonderful husband and I were dating, moving towards marriage and I weighed 299 pounds. We joined Weight Watchers together and I got down to 270ish. Then I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis and spent the next two plus years pretty much sick all the time and constantly going off and on steroids.
By the time my ulcerative colitis went into remission and I was able to get off the steroids, I’d ballooned to 316 pounds. I hated my body.
It’s been almost a year since then and I’m down to 266. My number is going to steadily go down. By this time next year, I hope to be down to 166 (OR LOWER) again. But this time, it’s coming off for good and I’m focusing on HEALTH, not just on becoming HOT! I’m going to be 30 next year and I plan on being HOT!
Monday, March 8, 2010
Weight Loss: It's NOT about Vanity Anymore!
This week is posed to be a week of "abnormal" eating-- a good amount of celebrations and eating out await Nathan and I. Family will be visiting the latter part of the week and working out may become more challenging because of this interruption to the normal "routine." However, I'm still four days away from any abnormalities to my rountine, and here I am struggling to get to the gym. I think I've already found ten other things to do rather than go work out (one of which is writing this blog!) I've been perusing the internet to spark some motivation, and I'm getting there...
I guess I really must look at the situation from this angle: my husband and I desperately need to lose weight. We have no choice. Nathan (the hubby) has a host of health issues that will only worsen if he doesn't take some serious poundage off. Already troubled with sleep apnea, gout, high blood pressure, high cholesterol-- all ailments that need to be improved upon, that I am not going to claim as Nathan's!
I have my own health ailments that have manifested due to the excess weight. High cholesterol, PCOS, enlarged liver, risks of diabetes-- all conditions I am just not going to claim for myself.
This weight loss issue is not just a vanity thing anymore-- it's survival, quality of life, and longevity.
If I fail, Nathan fails-- let's face it, the only reason he is trying to become healthier is because I am the driving force behind him. If it were up to him, he'd still be chomping on pizza, McDonald's, and whatever other fast food he could get his hands on-- that was his normal diet when we met three plus years ago. He's taken and kept off a little over 50 pounds since parting ways pretty permanently with those fast food monsters-- I'm proud of him, but like myself, he's got another 100 pounds to go until he's really healthy.
So, if I can't get myself motivated to go shake my booty at the gym for myself, I guess I will have to do it for Nathan! If I fail, he fails-- and I just can't allow that to happen! But really, all I need to do is think about my future--- aren't I just so tired of worrying about these pounds and how they are affecting my health? Off to the gym...
I guess I really must look at the situation from this angle: my husband and I desperately need to lose weight. We have no choice. Nathan (the hubby) has a host of health issues that will only worsen if he doesn't take some serious poundage off. Already troubled with sleep apnea, gout, high blood pressure, high cholesterol-- all ailments that need to be improved upon, that I am not going to claim as Nathan's!
I have my own health ailments that have manifested due to the excess weight. High cholesterol, PCOS, enlarged liver, risks of diabetes-- all conditions I am just not going to claim for myself.
This weight loss issue is not just a vanity thing anymore-- it's survival, quality of life, and longevity.
If I fail, Nathan fails-- let's face it, the only reason he is trying to become healthier is because I am the driving force behind him. If it were up to him, he'd still be chomping on pizza, McDonald's, and whatever other fast food he could get his hands on-- that was his normal diet when we met three plus years ago. He's taken and kept off a little over 50 pounds since parting ways pretty permanently with those fast food monsters-- I'm proud of him, but like myself, he's got another 100 pounds to go until he's really healthy.
So, if I can't get myself motivated to go shake my booty at the gym for myself, I guess I will have to do it for Nathan! If I fail, he fails-- and I just can't allow that to happen! But really, all I need to do is think about my future--- aren't I just so tired of worrying about these pounds and how they are affecting my health? Off to the gym...
Friday, March 5, 2010
Out with the old, in with the... old?
Today I cleaned out my closet.
I’ve needed to clean out the closet since Christmas, but I’ve kept putting it off. I thought I was putting it off because it’s such an arduous, time-consuming task, but after today’s work I wonder if there is another reason I dreaded the closet clean out.
I literally have a woman’s clothing store in my closet. I’m not joking. I have a quite large walk-in closet and up to a few hours ago it was stuffed to its breaking point.
My weight has fluctuated so steadily for the past six years, that as I cleaned out my closet I found clothing sized large, sized 18 (from a regular, non-plus size store), all the way up to sized 28 from Lane Bryant.
About a quarter of the clothing in my closet doesn’t fit because it’s too small. These pieces are the clothing I have memorable attachments to and just could not give away when I originally grew too large to where them (besides, I always knew I was going to eventually get down to a lower weight, and I knew I’d get to wear these items again).
I decided to donate about a quarter of the closet’s contents to Goodwill. First, all the articles I’ve already shrunk out of went into the pile. Everything “wintery” went into the pile, even if it still fit. All the “holiday” clothing, fancy pieces included, went to Goodwill, too. By the time I will be wearing winter and holiday clothing again, I will be too small for these items! Feeling confident enough that I WILL be that much thinner by December 2010 that I needn’t hold onto those clothes was empowering, but also a little frightening. The tiny voice in the back of my head piped up with “are you sure you want to do that? What if you need them again?” But I quickly told that voice to shut up.
I then went through and sorted all the clothing into piles of when I thought I would be able to fit into them again. So-close-to-fitting-I-could-practically-taste-it clothes went towards the front of the closet, while those size larges and 18s settled in the nether-regions.
Bittersweet was the feeling when I was finally finished with this task. I was proud for committing myself to losing this weight so much that I donated clothes knowing I won’t fit into them when it’s time (seasonally) to wear them again. But I also wondered how I had ever let the weight slowly (or was it?) creep on. I have lost weight before and when I got down to 166 pounds in college, I swore it was never coming back on. But then I went gained all of the 100 plus pounds I had lost, plus an extra 25 to 35! How had I made myself blind as I grew bigger and bigger? Why didn’t I stay healthy and thin?
I don’t know the answer to these questions, but I do know I must have willfully made myself “blind” as I grew. And I know I would justify things to myself and say “well, it’s okay that you’ve gained back 25 of those pounds you lost—you still look good.” Until I woke up last year, weighing 316 pounds and just didn’t look good anymore.
So, it’s out with the old, in with the old again! At least I have some killer clothes, with great memories attached to them, which I will be wearing as I progress on my journey!
I’ve needed to clean out the closet since Christmas, but I’ve kept putting it off. I thought I was putting it off because it’s such an arduous, time-consuming task, but after today’s work I wonder if there is another reason I dreaded the closet clean out.
I literally have a woman’s clothing store in my closet. I’m not joking. I have a quite large walk-in closet and up to a few hours ago it was stuffed to its breaking point.
My weight has fluctuated so steadily for the past six years, that as I cleaned out my closet I found clothing sized large, sized 18 (from a regular, non-plus size store), all the way up to sized 28 from Lane Bryant.
About a quarter of the clothing in my closet doesn’t fit because it’s too small. These pieces are the clothing I have memorable attachments to and just could not give away when I originally grew too large to where them (besides, I always knew I was going to eventually get down to a lower weight, and I knew I’d get to wear these items again).
I decided to donate about a quarter of the closet’s contents to Goodwill. First, all the articles I’ve already shrunk out of went into the pile. Everything “wintery” went into the pile, even if it still fit. All the “holiday” clothing, fancy pieces included, went to Goodwill, too. By the time I will be wearing winter and holiday clothing again, I will be too small for these items! Feeling confident enough that I WILL be that much thinner by December 2010 that I needn’t hold onto those clothes was empowering, but also a little frightening. The tiny voice in the back of my head piped up with “are you sure you want to do that? What if you need them again?” But I quickly told that voice to shut up.
I then went through and sorted all the clothing into piles of when I thought I would be able to fit into them again. So-close-to-fitting-I-could-practically-taste-it clothes went towards the front of the closet, while those size larges and 18s settled in the nether-regions.
Bittersweet was the feeling when I was finally finished with this task. I was proud for committing myself to losing this weight so much that I donated clothes knowing I won’t fit into them when it’s time (seasonally) to wear them again. But I also wondered how I had ever let the weight slowly (or was it?) creep on. I have lost weight before and when I got down to 166 pounds in college, I swore it was never coming back on. But then I went gained all of the 100 plus pounds I had lost, plus an extra 25 to 35! How had I made myself blind as I grew bigger and bigger? Why didn’t I stay healthy and thin?
I don’t know the answer to these questions, but I do know I must have willfully made myself “blind” as I grew. And I know I would justify things to myself and say “well, it’s okay that you’ve gained back 25 of those pounds you lost—you still look good.” Until I woke up last year, weighing 316 pounds and just didn’t look good anymore.
So, it’s out with the old, in with the old again! At least I have some killer clothes, with great memories attached to them, which I will be wearing as I progress on my journey!
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Wicked Blubber
Did you know that the definition for blubber is cry? It's true. If you go to thesauraus.reference.com and type in the word blubber this is what appears:
Main Entry: blubber
Part of Speech: verb
Definition: cry
How fitting that blubber actually means to cry! Now, I know it's likely in reference to whales, but still. Those of us who have ever struggled with their own rolls of blubber know quite well how appropriate this verb's definition actually turns out to be.
How many times growing up did other kids call me the cliched "blubber?" I used to think to myself: "gosh, be more original! Do you think I don't know I'm fat? We do have mirrors in our household!" Of course, despite the snide remarks I'd be able to contemplate after the name-calling, or in anticipation of the name-calling, none of these rolled off my tonuge. Because blubber hurts. In every imaginable way.
How often have I looked at the rolls of practically glow-in-the-dark white, ripply skin around my hips and thighs and thought resignedly, "oh, so much blubber!"
You cut the blubber off your steak, right? Most of us can't bear to eat the greasy, too-chewy, marbled fat that supposedly makes our beef taste so good. Why can't it be so easy to cut the excess off of our bodies? Well, I guess for some people, it maybe is this easy-- if you have millions of dollars and a great plastic surgeon, maybe you truly CAN cut off your fat in a day or two. But, for the rest of us, the battle with our blubber is much more drawn-out than a few weeks of post-op recovery.
Well, Wicked Blubber is about truth in the definition of the word blubber. This blog going to be about the tears that have brought me to this point in my life, where I now weigh 280 pounds. Boy, do I hate writing that number down. The upside of this wicked number is that it has actually been higher-- 316. So, I am down 36 pounds from where I was last year. But, this number has been much smaller, too. 168 is the smallest number of my adult life.
Wicked Blubber is the cry along the journey to get back to smaller numbers the scale can show. It's about the cry that got me to 316. And it's about the wickedness of being heavy-- the wicked things I have heard from others as well as myself, and the wicked choices I sometimes make, and whatever you want to call the wicked "thing" inside of me that has made me heavier than the average.
Join in me as I fight the wickedness and turn my cry into one of victory.
Main Entry: blubber
Part of Speech: verb
Definition: cry
How fitting that blubber actually means to cry! Now, I know it's likely in reference to whales, but still. Those of us who have ever struggled with their own rolls of blubber know quite well how appropriate this verb's definition actually turns out to be.
How many times growing up did other kids call me the cliched "blubber?" I used to think to myself: "gosh, be more original! Do you think I don't know I'm fat? We do have mirrors in our household!" Of course, despite the snide remarks I'd be able to contemplate after the name-calling, or in anticipation of the name-calling, none of these rolled off my tonuge. Because blubber hurts. In every imaginable way.
How often have I looked at the rolls of practically glow-in-the-dark white, ripply skin around my hips and thighs and thought resignedly, "oh, so much blubber!"
You cut the blubber off your steak, right? Most of us can't bear to eat the greasy, too-chewy, marbled fat that supposedly makes our beef taste so good. Why can't it be so easy to cut the excess off of our bodies? Well, I guess for some people, it maybe is this easy-- if you have millions of dollars and a great plastic surgeon, maybe you truly CAN cut off your fat in a day or two. But, for the rest of us, the battle with our blubber is much more drawn-out than a few weeks of post-op recovery.
Well, Wicked Blubber is about truth in the definition of the word blubber. This blog going to be about the tears that have brought me to this point in my life, where I now weigh 280 pounds. Boy, do I hate writing that number down. The upside of this wicked number is that it has actually been higher-- 316. So, I am down 36 pounds from where I was last year. But, this number has been much smaller, too. 168 is the smallest number of my adult life.
Wicked Blubber is the cry along the journey to get back to smaller numbers the scale can show. It's about the cry that got me to 316. And it's about the wickedness of being heavy-- the wicked things I have heard from others as well as myself, and the wicked choices I sometimes make, and whatever you want to call the wicked "thing" inside of me that has made me heavier than the average.
Join in me as I fight the wickedness and turn my cry into one of victory.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
