Meeting of the Mind-set

I'm eating a bowl of blueberries for breakfast....
That, my friends is what you call progress. I have officially decided to end my love affair with my gigantic (seemingly bottomless) bowl of Raisin Bran Extra I have become so infatuated with eating each morning, because I finally realized where all that "Extra" was going. (See pic from yesterday's post if you need clarification).
There is something about today that makes me feel like I am truly on the road to success. Granted it is only Day 2 of this re-dedication to my weight-loss journey, but I feel a little like I have been given a renewed sense of purpose, pride and strength and for whatever reason, I'm confident that I can do this.
Maybe it's because when I stepped on the scale this morning, it was moving in the right direction. I was at 232.25 today....a small gift from the fat gods for behaving yesterday, perhaps?
Or maybe it's because the sun in shining and it's the first day in a looooong time the temperature is going to hit near 70 degrees and the feeling of spring is in the air. It's been a long cold winter, that was filled with many days of eating comfort foods until my heart was content. Look at where that got me. I need to remember this moment, complete with the shooting pain in my knees, and draw on it the next time I think it's OK to fall off the wagon.
It may be time to stick that bread machine in the basement for a while. Sorry, honey.
As a part of this weight loss process, I have decided to take a serious look at those things that have not worked in the past - and also to look at those things that I tried to do, but maybe not exactly whole-heartedly, therefore hindering the shedding of the weight. What I have been thinking about the last few days is the fact that often when I eat, I am not even doing it consciously. That has always been a huge issue with me and I think a pretty good indicator of how I have packed on the pounds throughout my life.
The other day I found myself grabbing a bag of croutons off the counter and just sitting in the living room, talking to Josh, shoveling them in my mouth as if I was in some kind of contest to see who could eat the most salad toppings in one sitting. I mean come on - croutons???? I probably downed half the bag before I realized what I was doing. Granted, they weren't M&M's or french fries - but the problem remains the same. I was eating without really realizing it - or caring that I was doing it.
These are not normal eating habits - it's grabbing anything in sight and feeding the disease.....I can't tell you if I was hungry, bored, or simply out of control. All I do know is that croutons are not a meal, and I had no right to be treating them as such.
So, no more of doing that. If I pick it up to eat it, I better damn well at least know if I am even hungry. And if I am, I won't be eating croutons. I'll eat an apple.
Little changes are what is going to help me do this. Conscientious thinking....being aware of what I really need, instead of what I think I want.
No more being jealous of others. That too, I realize gets me nowhere fast. Instead I need to keep the focus right here - on me. One day at a time. It sounds cliche but that's my approach. Don't look too far in the future. Get through today, get through tomorrow and eventually, once all those tomorrows are in the rearview mirror, I can look back and see how far I've come....

Time is a Thief

I cannot remember a time ever in my life when I felt thin. Maybe that's because I never have been. Even when I was younger, I remember being very much bothered by my weight. When I was in kindergarten, my neighbor Tina and I had matching bikinis - hers was bright green and mine was florescent orange. Even at age 4 or 5, I remember distinctly comparing our bodies because she was so much taller and thinner than I was.
This started a life time of comparisons. I would constantly compare myself to other people and loved to play the "am I fatter than her" game with myself, trying to figure out if I resembled anything like other people I saw that I deemed to be "fat" and have a "bad" body type. I would desperately try to imagine what it was like to live inside a thin body - but never could even come close to understanding what it would be like - to be lighter, thinner, less embarrassed by how I looked or felt. I just wanted to feel more - what's the word? Oh, I know....free.
I remember being about 190 lbs in high school (a weight I would give my eye teeth for right about now) and thinking how gigantic and out of place I felt - and by most accounts, I guess I was. There were not a plethora of obese kids in my high school. I always felt sort of like an anomaly. I did have one good friend that was quite a bit bigger than me and I recall sadly that it gave me a sense of being "one-up" on her because in a world of teenagers, I thought, hey, at least I'm not the fattest one. But for the most part all of my friends were much skinnier than me. I was the token fat friend. They shopped in the Jr. department at Macy's. I shopped in the Missy department (this was before I "graduated to plus sizes" - although even at that time my closet was peppered with the occasional Lane Bryant garment). I remember my friend Kristin wearing all of these cool Esprit clothes and there I was wearing something akin to what my my mom might wear because after all, we did shop in the same clothing department. While I may have been a junior in high school, trust me when I say my ass never fit in to anything in the junior clothing department, that's for sure.
Fast forward about 20 some odd years and here I am, still envious of those around me. The creation of Facebook has given me a whole new reason to feel inferior to my classmates as I scan through pictures of them, still thin, still fit - even after having multiple kids. It is hard not to feel jealousy toward them, and it's hard not to feel anger and disappointment toward myself. I have had ample amount of time to get this body thing right, to make changes in my lifestyle, to get healthy and here we are - I haven't done it. And I am at a loss for the reasons why I struggle with this - why I have such difficulty in taking control of this aspect of my life and facing the facts that it is something I not only want to do (or so I tell myself and others), but also that I NEED to do, if I want to live any kind of quality of life in the future.
Because whether or not I choose to admit it or want anyone to know it, there is a huge difference in the way I am right now and who I was back in high school....or, if I am honest, even who I was last summer. I hurt. I have pain. Everyday. All the time. Even after I take my stomach ulcer causing Aleve far more often than I should. My knees are screaming at me constantly, reminding me that no woman who is 5 feet tall (on a good day) should weigh in at 234 pounds.
Yes - 234.....let's look at that number again. Two hundred thirty-four. Fucking. Pounds.
In other words, back to square one. ALL THE WAY BACK.
Let's take a look at what 234 pounds looks like, shall we?
It looks a lot like this.....

Not a pretty picture is it? Is it any wonder I am holding a box of Prilosec? I probably had heartburn from the donuts I had for breakfast - or the ungodly amount of candy I had consumed. Who knows - it could have been from any one of those things.This picture was taken in January 2011 at my in-laws open house. I may have even been a few pounds under 234 then....but I was close. Anyway you dice it, it's not pretty....I can see the wall of fat around a face I used to recognize. Now I hate even looking in the mirror.

Now let's look at what being 189 looks like, which was probably one of the lowest weights I had (for a fleeting second or two) in my adult life. This was about a month before I met Josh.....in February of 2008.


Much better, isn't it? And that isn't even anywhere NEAR what my goal weight is. It's at least 60 pounds off the mark - not the 100 lbs I am currently looking at having to lose. As a matter of fact, losing that much weight seems like such an unattainable award at the moment that in order to preserve my sanity, I cannot even think about it - but rather I need to concentrate on the smaller successes that will come in between now and then. I need to first allow myself to develop a plan that I know I can and will stick with so that THIS time, I make that goal - no matter how far into the future it may be.
Ultimately I think it boils down to this: I have to believe in me. I have to believe that this time, I can do it. Because my body is telling me that it's not giving me another chance. It is tired of lugging this shit around and wants and deserves to be healthy. I have been denying it that for nearly 40 years and it is far time I stop being so damn selfish.
So, here I am today - St. Patrick's Day 2011 - recommitting to myself and the world to shed 100 pounds. It won't be easy and it won't be pretty but I WILL get there.
I am thinking about starting a whole new blog because I feel like, much like the pounds I carry, I need to shed the old one which was filled with goals related to losing weight for my wedding. I need a new start...and as weird as it may sound, that includes a new start with writing about this new journey.....
Stay tuned for my blog's new home as soon as I work out the details.....
In the meantime, if you are reading this, thanks for your support. I appreciate it more than you know....

'Elastic is my friend' and other untruths about being fat

I had a "Eureka" moment the other day when after getting out of the shower, I found myself reaching for a pair of clean pajama pants instead of putting on real clothes - such as jeans. Instead of going with the flow like I usually do, I actually stopped myself a moment and thought about why, after taking the time to take off my pajamas and get showered, would I opt to go and put pajamas back on....in the middle of the day. The word "elastic" flashed in my head like a bolt of lightning. Apparently I have started to equate my pj's with the only comfortable clothes I own and that, my friends is a dangerous zone to be in. What it says to me is that I no longer feel happy or good in the "day clothes" that I have. This is a problem in more ways than I care to think about.
I can't believe that I didn't realize this before but, I think it's only fair to get the word out that diet help need not come in the form of powdery shakes or pills that make us jittery....The simple solution is a rigid waistband. That's right....in other words - DITCH THE ELASTIC.
I quickly mentally reviewed my wardrobe for the past 4 or 5 months and sure enough, what I remembered wasn't pretty. For the most part, with the exception of nights that I have class or go out with friends (which has been minimal since the wedding, sadly), I have been parading around the house in the comfort of my stretchy pants. Whether they be of the pajama variety or "athletic" track pants, it doesn't matter. They all have the same common denominator: an elastic waistband and that "hey, there's plenty of room in here" feeling that until now, seemed like a good friend. Twenty some pounds later, I have come to the conclusion that I've not only been sleeping with the damned enemy, but I have been spending nearly every lousy waking moment with it. Spandex, elastic, nylon - they're all bad news as far as I'm concerned. I cannot believe how fooled I was by their forgiving ways. Note to self: Never trust a pair of pants that forgives you a week long binge of candy and cookies without busting a seam. Never.
I am confident that if spandex didn't exist, the world would be filled with far less obese people. It makes us complacent. The attitude is - well, at least my track pants fit. And they don't recognize when you gain 5 lbs, or 10 lbs - or hell, even 20 lbs. They are magical pants in some ways....but unlike Glenda the Good Witch, they do not use their magic for good - just evil.
I find weight gain to be a funny thing. You always know it's happening but you don't want to acknowledge it. Perhaps I thought I had shrunk my jeans, because, after all, my stretchy pants told no lies. The reality of it is that had I worn only my jeans these past few months and ditched the old comfies that allowed me to expand without judgment, I might not be in this big fat jam right now. Pun intended.
But let's face facts, my pajamas really didn't put me here (and I really don't know where "here" is today because I refuse to get on the scale and destroy a perfectly good day ahead of me. But don't worry - I will soon. I know that I need to). I have been turning a blind eye to everything I have been eating lately. I feel like hell, yet continue to do it. And why? That is the multi-billion dollar question. If only I had the answer.
I really wish there was a literal mental switch that could be turned off, or on - depending on its function. If it could turn off my desire for sugar, great. If it could turn on my desire to be a workout-a-holic - even better. All I know is, I am dying here. And if I want to be honest - so is my husband. We are both on the the same track - and it is bad. And while it may not be sudden death, this thing that we are doing to ourselves will kill us. It will be slow and painful and the worst part is, it can be stopped and we have not stopped it. I want to though, and I will. We will.
So I am going to make a conscious effort to see less of my stretchy pants and more of jeans. The ones with not a lot of "give." Just to remind me that these are the only pants I have for outside the house and once they don't fit - I am not buying more. There will not be a bigger size. That I can promise you.

You are getting veeeeeeery hungry.....

I have a very good friend that has been a smoker for years. We're talking since jr. high or high school. We are both turning 40 this year so you do the math.
Last month she went to a hypnotist to quit smoking and guess what? It worked. To know that a woman who coveted cigarettes like there was no tomorrow could suddenly just up and walk away from them gives me great hope that willpower exists, even if you have to get in the way of some mind-fuck hoodoo-voodoo.
I actually went to a weight loss hypnotist years ago - probably much like the one Aimee went to, since it was in a hotel conference room setting with about 150 other fatties trying their last ditch effort to get skinny. I can't recall all the details or even who I went with, but I do remember not being able to concentrate because some big loud deeply entranced man was sawing big-time wood two seats away from me. So, needless to say, it didn't work for me, but that's not to say this isn't the answer for some people. Who knows - maybe the seminar I went to mistakenly booked the wrong hypnotist and we ended up with the one who normally conducts anorexia hypnosis to try to get them to love food again. In that case, my therapy was a success!
In all seriousness, Aimee's mom quit smoking through hypnotherapy so I really wish her the best for her success on this journey to Cleanerlungville. It's been just under a month and she is doing great. Her exact comment was that she just felt like smoking "wasn't for her anymore" and that she "didn't do that kind of thing"......huh? Really?
So of course that got me to thinking about food and how food is probably as much of a focus of my life as smoking was for Aimee. Both can kill you in excess - we know this. Yet Aimee lit up like the Surgeon General's warning was about as serious as a knock-knock joke and I throw my fat cells a party like it's 1999 most days of the week. We do these things not caring, or maybe we do care, but not enough to stop. And don't even get me started about the lack of exercise....that in itself is a whole other blog post (or ten).
Granted Aimee got help in the way of hypnotherapy to help her walk away, cold turkey, from those nicotine demons. But even without being hypnotized, if I could just look at cake and say, "That's just not for me anymore. That's not what I eat," and actually MEAN it - well, let's just say my pants might feel a hell of a lot looser. I know I can't walk away from all food cold turkey, but I do know that it is high time I took an extended break from my love affair with homebaked bread and all things sugary.
I actually wrote Aimee an e-mail today congratulating her on her success and I told her how proud I was of her determination to commit to a healthy life style. Truth be told, I am envious of that kind of willpower. I don't know if any amount of hyponosis could deter me from ripping into the Lindt truffles Josh's mom gave us for Valentine's Day.....a straight jacket and a muzzle might be be the only way to keep me from those little chocolate balls of heaven. Or hell, depending how you look at it.
Bottom line is I am really depressed over my current situation, and as we already know from last years posts of ups and downs on the scale, only I have the power to change it. The question is when will this change kick in. When will I care enough about myself to make it work - to say, "You know what? NO - I don't want that cake, cookie, pie, candy, doughnut (see a theme here????) pizza, or cheese laden anything you can imagine - just NO."
I'm waiting for the word to become comfortable on my lips. I am waiting to feel like being healthy is who I really am. God, I hope the wait is a short one.


 

Yakkity yak, the fat came back....

Ah, where to start? Or should I say, restart?
After a long hiatus from my blog, I have decided to return, after some prompting from a good friend. It's true, I have been missing the therapeutic tap, tap, tap of the keyboard as I pour my thoughts, ideas and random yadda yadda yaddas out into cyber space. But now that the wedding is over, I wondered if I'd still have anything to say?
Then I realized that when I began my blog, the sole motivation for doing it was to lose weight FOR the wedding......
Take a look at the picture to the left. Does it LOOK like that happened?
Uh, not so much.
Somewhere between July & October, I must have forgotten that I was on a diet. I remember the moment when it all started going south - July 9 to be exact when Josh and I threw our "Wedding Party" party and the non-stop bombardment of festivities began and lasted right through the wedding (and let's be honest, well beyond the wedding, too.....).
While I loved my dress and felt great in it, the cleavage it produced went all the up to my neck (especially when I sat down - I was literally almost suffocated by my own boobs) and my upper arms the size of beef briskets that it did not hide, was not the vision I held of what I would look like on my wedding day....and yet....there it was. Or, should I say, there I am.....
When I think back to the wedding day, there isn't a single regret other than my weight. My sister said it would happen and in my heart of hearts, I knew it would be true. The day itself and all surrounding details was probably the closest thing to perfection that I will ever experience in my lifetime. The weather was beautiful, everyone was happy (well, almost everyone - more on that later)... but all in all, it was a most glorious day and I could not have asked for more.
I married my best friend, and as I mentioned in a previous post that no matter what my size on that day, the most important thing was that Josh and I were saying I do.....
And it was.
And trust me when I say, my weight didn't deter me from having the most amazing day. If the reception proves anything, it's that fat girls can still move. For nearly 4 hours straight. It took my knees 2 MRI's and several months to recover - but my wedding video will surely attest that dancing was not a problem that day.
The problem isn't what happened on the wedding day. It's what happened after.
If I think I lost sight of goals and slipped BEFORE the wedding....I cannot begin to describe the food carnage that has been going on SINCE the wedding.
Double chin and size 18 jeans, welcome back. It is NOT good to see you, however, I can't blame anyone but myself for your presence. Apparently I told you to come by the way of sending you repeated chocolate cake and pizza invitations.
So, I've been depressed over this....probably more that I have let on to anyone. You know how you feel when you make a promise to yourself and you break it? I can tell you - you feel like shit.
And you get angry... a lot. Angry when it winds you just to tie your shoes. Angry when your boobs and stomach are capable of beeping the car horn (when you lean over to adjust the radio). Angry when your clothes don't fit and you resort to your husbands sweatshirts for your daily wardrobe. Angry when you look back at your Weight Watchers log from last year and see that once upon a time, you got under 200 lbs which was a HUGE deal to you and you vowed to yourself you'd NEVER let yourself go above that number again). Angry that your favorite past time has become cooking and you adhere to Paula Deen's theory that everything tastes better with butter. And angry that now you have to start ALL OVER AGAIN and all of that hard work you did last year? You tossed it in the shitter and flushed it into oblivion.....
It is really hard to start over. I think firstly, because you have to admit defeat. I mean, I am truthfully deathly afraid to step on the scale. I know without a doubt I am right back to where I was this time last year - which means I am probably hovering at the 230 mark.
I know this because certain pants no longer button and certain chins show up in every damn picture, no matter what angle I hold my head. I know because of the way I FEEL....I remember this feeling. A year does not wipe away the memory of what "rolypoly" feel like. So it's kind of amazing that even though I know what it felt like, I still allowed myself to get back there.
And, since this is obviously not my first rodeo, I know I need to give myself this tiny pissed off period and then just pick myself up by the bootstraps and switch gears - hard.
I need to tell myself to knock off the juvenile pity party and get to work. After all, I know it can be done. And this year, I don't have the stress of the wedding to worry about - although I do have the the big 4-Oh-My God to look forward to at the end of the year.....why I just reminded myself of that unfavorable fact, I'll never know.
And most importantly - I have ammunition to fight.....in the way of spousal support, exercise equipment and a body that isn't wheelchair bound - and that's a start. I really have absolutely no reason not to do this.
Oh, and did I mention I have about 3 bags of grapefruit in the fridge?
Now, if I could just get up the balls to throw away the homemade chocolate chip cookies.......

When my Mama said I look good in white....this isn't what she had in mind?

Well folks, I have completely thrown both my scale and my sanity out the window....what good are either of those things when you're in the final countdown til wedding day, anyway? (cue cheesy song by 80's hair band Europe here).....

What I want to know is how the hell it got to be October when just yesterday, it was August?

I think I must have been in a DIY induced coma for the past month. I feel like Sleeping Beauty after being slipped a ruffie. Seriously, what the hell happened to the time?

We are exactly at one week away.....this time next week I will be hopefully sleeping but if I know myself I may be doing exactly what I am now, minus one thing. I'll probably be sitting at my computer, drinking coffee like it's my job, but the one thing I won't be doing is worrying about what still needs to be done, because as of this time next week - if it ain't done, it ain't gettin' done!

By this time next week, the rehearsal will have taken place, the rehearsal dinner will have been digested and the venue will have been decorated.....all Josh and I need to worry about is showing up!

And to be honest? I can't freaking wait! 

Despite not losing the weight I wanted to (let's not go there right now shall we?), or being able to do some of the crazy shit I wanted to (like hang stuff from the ceiling), a the end of the day, we love each other, we are getting married, and we are going to have the time of our lives.

There's just one catch.

I just need to not be committed to an insane asylum before that moment arrives.....

Wish me luck!

Rule of Wedding Planning: What can go wrong, will.

Want to know a sure fire way to get a bride to shit herself in the middle of a Michael's craft store?

Put out Halloween items in early August to remind her just how fast her October wedding (which is weeks BEFORE Halloween) is approaching. 

If I was smart, rich, and had the good sense to hire a day of coordinator in the early stages of my planning, perhaps I wouldn't have had the spaz attack I had right there in aisle 13, as I perused, for what must be the umpteenth time, the glass section in search for the perfect centerpiece container. Guess what? The perfect glass centerpiece container apparently does not exist at Michael's  - or anywhere else local that would save me a fortune in shipping costs. But this is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to wedding planning inconveniences I have been enduring as of late.

In fact, the Halloween scare was just the grande finale to what has been a whirlwind 2 1/2 months or so since I have written last......this should give a clear indication as to how bat-shit crazy busy I have been since my class ended June 30th.

I have since discovered quite a few other ways that the stresses of wedding planning can cause a bride to soil herself. For starters? Have her find out her apparently unstable friend who is also a hair stylist (and dates and even more unstable guy) needs to cancel her services she promised to provide on the wedding day. Note: It is suspected the cancellation occurred because of said jackass guy, hence leaving the frazzled bride (who incidentally has the world's worst hair and could really use some major help that day) to scramble last minute for a new stylist in a town where she knows no one. 

Another crap yourself bridal moment can occur when, for months, the bride has been diligently watching the calendar at her reception venue to ensure no one books the Friday before her wedding. This way, she and her wedding party can happily decorate the venue on Thursday in a STRESS-FREE, NO RUSH manner so that Friday and Saturday are left for things such as manis, pedis, cocktails, marriage and merriment.....But then at exactly 3 months out, some BIOTCH BRIDE books the venue for a wedding. Are you freaking kidding me???? While I can perhaps sympathize that she is having a shot gun wedding (because seriously why on God's green Earth would anyone, or COULD anyone for that matter, plan a wedding in 3 months. It took me 22 months...I'm just sayin'.....), this by far, screwed (and I am talking "drop the soap in prison" type screwed here) with my wedding weekend plan the most. This will never be more apparent than on the Friday night of my rehearsal dinner when I am still decorating, bleary-eyed and no doubt, in full Bridezilla mode, at 2 AM. 

Hope that pregnant bride is happy.

And last but certainly not least, yet another fun way to make a bride have a mudslide in her delicates is to have her photographer not show up on the day her engagement session is scheduled, instilling ZERO confidence in him showing up on the actual day of the wedding. The fact that he profusely apologized and swore he had never ever ever missed a photography session in all of his years as a photographer did nothing to assuage my feelings of being the red-headed stepchild who is obviously so insignificant to him that I became the ONLY person he's ever dissed. Not to mention the light was gorgeous that night and, miracle of miracles, I was actually having a good hair day. Just to put it in perspective for you, this happens about as frequently as a sighting of Haley's Comet. The temperature was absolutely perfect and I was at the time, still feeling really great about picking Sam as our photographer. 

However that all changed when the night we actually did end up rescheduling, it was humid as hell, I was sweating so profusely my hair was sticking to my face, and to top off the night some freakish flying bug swarm  came upon us like the plague of the locusts. And for anyone who knows me well, that is probably the BEST way to get this bride to shit herself - Hands. Down.

So much has happened over these past months, in fact, that it is impossible to blog about it all in details so those are just the highlights. 

To add to my insanity, my DIY list continues to grow. I seriously think I need to be committed.

My weight loss has completely stalled, as I hover today around 201.....my beach vacation did quite the number on me - and by number I mean 6.....as in 6 lbs. Back to the grind today.....I burned 440 calries on my elliptical today.....just need to keep with it. 

School also starts today which has been known to throw me off the horse at times, but I am hoping to keep it together for at least the next 6 weeks. I think I can manage.....

So, until the next time I find a free hour or so.......