You Win Some, You Gain Some

So...

I gained 4.8 pounds this week.

That's actually not as much as I had feared. I'm back up to 261 pounds, but I've still lost 43 pounds total. I was really hoping to get my 50 pound token soon, so this step backwards sucks. I'm disappointed, but I AM glad I weighed in. Especially with the Cancun trip this weekend--I plan to take full advantage of the bars and buffets (hey, you only live once!) and I want to see realistically how much I gain.

I'm a little freaked out that I won't have my Weight Watchers phone app to track my Points. Since I'll be South of the Border, I'm going to have to rely on the little 360 Points Guide and make sure to track every single gulp of wine and cube of cheese. Yum :) Tracking one glass of alcohol is okay but by drink three, things get a little fuzzy...

One of the other girls going on the trip is also in Weight Watchers with me, and she's not planning to track this weekend. I admire her confidence in herself, but that is NOT for me! If I don't track in Cancun, I might as well go climb back into my fat suit now. I can't get off track. Even with today's setback, I still know I've made it pretty far. I want to keep going. If I let myself binge this weekend, I'll have 48 pounds to work off instead of 4.8.

Also...SWIMMING! I love to swim (LOVE to swim!!!) and the resort has two big pools (WITH a swim-up bar!) and it's directly on the beach. So I'll be romping in the waves, diving in the pool, frolicking around in the ocean--if I'm going to track everything I eat, I'm also going to track all of my Activity Points, dammit!

Maybe I'll earn myself an extra margarita...or five :)

Um, Did I Swallow a Bowling Ball?

I HAVE GAINED 10 POUNDS IN ONE. FUCKING. WEEK.

TEN POUNDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That's, like, a whole turkey. That's a cat. That's bigger than a baby.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUU...

Okay, I know it's because I just started my period. But seriously...there's not 10 fucking pounds of menses in my uterus right now. At least I fucking hope not. GROSS. And my ankles aren't swollen (I've taken water pills since my open heart surgery, and I can always tell when they're not working because it feels like I'm wearing water wings on my ankles).

So HOW did I gain TEN POUNDS?!?!

(Sidenote--did you know that there's actually a punctuation mark called an 'interrobang' that represents a combined exclamation point and question mark? It's true. And awesome. Too bad my keyboard doesn't come with an interrobang because I would use it all the fucking time.)

Seriously, though, I can't believe I gained so much weight. I'm back solidly into the 260s again. I did not want to be back here.

The last time I gained this much weight at once, I quit Weight Watchers and didn't return for three years. In that time, I gained back everything I had lost, plus another 25 pounds. It was awful. I don't want to go back there, but I can't help but get discouraged when I gain TEN. FUCKING. POUNDS.

I think I'm going to skip my weigh-in tomorrow. It's my last weigh-in before Cancun, and I don't want to go on vacation with such a bad weigh-in hanging over my head. I want to enjoy myself (within reason) and I won't be able to if there's a formal record somewhere of how hard I failed this week.

And okay, if I am being honest, it's not just my period. I was pretty bad. I was doing okay until Saturday, when I went to a Boy Scout soapbox derby for my nephew. They had all kinds of cookies and brownies and everything for sale, 50 cents each. It was like a fundraiser, right? It would have been wrong not to buy something...right?

I ate a good, healthy, filling meal before I went and I brought a whole purse full of oranges, water, apples, pears (which do NOT hold up well in a purse, I soon found out). But when I saw the monster cookies...man, I couldn't help myself. Oatmeal and peanut butter chips and M&Ms all in one delicious cookie? How could I resist?

But I've been good about letting myself eat something delicious in a reasonable quantity, as long as I'm careful about tracking it. So I thought one cookie wouldn't hurt.

Well, then my dad showed up. This man has done more to influence my weight than probably any other single person on the planet, excluding myself. He immediately started talking about how I looked good but I probably shouldn't be eating cookies...how he lost weight with sheer willpower alone and it takes resolve if you want to keep your weight down...how my sister looked so great and was getting skinnier and skinnier and she wasn't eating any cookies, was she?

Fuck him.

I bought another 50 cent bag and ate every crumb. Then I took half of my girlfriend's chocolate chip cookie. And then, fuck it, there was part of a cookie pie left and I ate that too.

Le sigh.

So I can't really blame my period. It was all me. I'm embarrassed about how much I ate, but even more embarrassed about how I let my emotions overtake me. One moment of weakness has virtually erased all of the progress I've made this past month. I let myself down.

Maybe I should weigh in tomorrow. Own up to it and learn from my mistakes. Either way, I need to be careful around my dad and food. Another week like this one and I'm afraid I'll give up...and at this point, I can't afford to do that. My body can't take it.

Ups and Downs

I lost again this week! CELEBRATE!

I'm down 1.6 pounds this weigh-in, which brings me to a total loss of 47.8 and a current weight of 256.2.

I'm still firmly in the 250s, and it feels great :)

I have a journal from my senior year of college--2004--lamenting, "I went to the doctor and weighed 256! This is the biggest I've ever been!" The rest following several pages contained angsty complaints about my body, desperate promises that I would turn my life around, and careful documentation of every morsel of food I put into my mouth. I started reading Dr. Phil and wrote about how much sense he made and how great I thought I was doing. Of course, I was also snorting Adderall and binge drinking every night, so whatever I ate probably wasn't going to do me much good anyway. The lists were things like "3 tortilla chips, 1 bag of Skittles, 1 bottle of Mad Dog, 1 baked potato, 1 large order of onion rings, 2 bottles of Boone's Farm, vodkaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..."

So, well, I didn't get very far. I stopped writing in that journal. My weight continued to fluctuate. I graduated, couldn't afford food, and dropped down to 230 on a diet of rum and ramen. My Dr. Phil book is still in my bookshelf, beside a neat row of food journals, self-help books, hypnosis how-tos, and other worthless paper.

At the time, I know I NEVER thought I'd end up eating my way to over 300 pounds. I felt sexy, even if I was fat, and I thought I had at least enough self control to stop myself from ballooning up another 50 pounds.

But it happened.

Now I've just got to celebrate being this size again. My next milestone will be 50 pounds lost--and that's only 2.2 pounds away. Amazing. After that, I want to get under 250 pounds. Next, I'm looking forward to being 230 pounds again and remembering what it was like to still be comfortable in my body. 10 years later, though, I'm sure there will be a lot more sagging and grossness than there was in college. After that, I'll be approaching my high school weight. I remember working at Lane Bryant the summer after high school and religiously abiding by the Atkins diet--I got down to 215 pounds, size 14/16 jeans, and then went to college and began a new life of partying and killing myself from the inside. God, I hated Atkins. That was before I was a vegetarian (duh). I subsisted on Jr. Bacon Cheeseburgers from Wendy's, minus the buns, and sugar free Jell-O from MCL cafeteria. Gross.

It's so fucking awesome to have Weight Watchers in my life now. Looking back to all of the diets I tried in the past, I realize that I knew I wanted to lose weight but those diets weren't helping at all because I didn't know how to feed myself. Now I feel like I finally have the tools, I have the determination, and I've had a taste of success that's made me hungry for more.

Also, this article made me smile: http://www.thedailymeal.com/too-good-be-true-diet-trends-literally-and-what-you-should-try-instead-slideshow

Weight Watchers is one of the GOOD suggestions! I don't think I've ever been on the "good" diet side before! I'm used to the fad diets, the miracle methods that make lofty claims and let me down, books with chapter after chapter of anecdotes and advice but no real help. This is like confirmation that Weight Watchers works. Although I think 47.8 pounds might be confirmation enough for me.

Viva La Cancun

There's something coming up that's giving me a lot of anxiety. Coincidentally (...Ironically? I never use this correctly...), it's a relaxing beach vacation.

I've faced similar fear and apprehension several times since I started Weight Watchers in August. First the State Fair, then my Disney World vacation in mid-October (during the Food and Wine festival...I was like Templeton in Charlotte's Web...a smorgasbord-orgasbord! But I tracked vigilantly, walked a ton, and still lost weight). Then I faced then Halloween, then Thanksgiving, and finally Christmas.

Now I have an all-inclusive vacation coming up at a five star resort in Cancun. It's for a work function, and my company is infamous for the amount of alcohol we're able to consume in any given situation. This trip is starting out with a private, chartered flight to Mexico with drinks on-board. When we arrive, there's a welcoming party with an all-you-can-eat buffet and an open bar. EVERYTHING is paid for, totally included. There's going to be a mini-fridge in the room that's restocked daily, and everything is free. Seriously. There are restaurants all throughout the resort, all included. They have 24 hour room service that ALSO delivers alcohol to your door...for free! We're having cocktail parties with booze and super fancy feasts, pool lounging days with cabana boys plying us with mixed drinks, beach parties with VIP buffets and private mixologists. As diligently as I plan to track everything I eat, I just know I'm not going to be able to stop myself from taking advantage of at least some of the deliciousness.

The closest I've ever had to anything like this was a cruise early in 2012. There was plenty of food, but we also had activities every day that required a lot of walking, and we had to pay for all of our alcohol. This time, with an unlimited supply and no fees and only a single actual physical activity planned over the four day trip, I can only imagine how much weight I'll manage to pack on.

I'm really trying to think positively, but I don't know how I'm going to react when I get confronted with so much food and alcohol. I've severely cut back on my drinking simply because I don't have enough points to get drunk every other night, but in the past I was a bit of a lush. Of course, once I get a couple of drinks in me I start craving all kinds of fatty foods and my inhibition and self control go right out of the window.

I've got to brace myself for Mexico and try to keep myself in check, but I don't want to miss out on anything either. Isn't that a new name for an old thing? "FOMO: Fear Of Missing Out." It's always been an issue for me, and I definitely don't want to miss out on VIP buffets and open bars.

The problem is, I can't trust myself to turn down free food and liquor.

I'm just going to have to eat like a saint until then, track like a maniac while I'm south of the border, and then fasten my belt again once I'm back home.

And maybe light a candle and keep my fingers crossed that Cancun isn't going to derail me completely. I've come too far to blow it now.

(Oh, and weigh in is tomorrow too. Ay carumba.)

I'd Like to Thank the Academy...

I INSPIRED SOMEONE.

Whoa.

Sorry, I had to get that out.

I don't even know how it happened. My girlfriend was talking to her friend at work and the girl has started trying to lose weight. My girlfriend has been giving her updates on my progress for months, and apparently the girl said today that I INSPIRED HER.

I. INSPIRED. HER.

Honestly, I feel like I'm just barely starting out. I'm still over 250 pounds and I have a long, long road ahead of me. I still don't work out, I'm struggling to maintain my daily "Healthy Habits" with Weight Watchers, and I have around 100 MORE pounds to lose.

But apparently my shedding 46 pounds has given my girlfriend's coworker some motivation. I've never even met this girl and she makes me want to hug her. It makes me feel good. And proud. I feel like I've done a good job...I mean, when I was over 300 pounds, being in the 250-range seemed damned near impossible. I'm grateful that I'm here. I need to take a little time to appreciate being at this weight, even if some people would kill themselves if they were this big. I guess it's all relative.

Even if I have a long way to go, I've come a long way too. I never thought I'd inspire someone to be HEALTHY. I mean, that's just not me. Or I guess it wasn't me.

Maybe I really am changing.

Anyway, this girl then commented on a Facebook photo that my girlfriend posted, and people started congratulating me. You know how much I love Facebook (NOT.). But this makes it "Facebook Official."

I'm officially losing a noticeable amount of weight.

And I'm officially an inspiration :)

I feel like I need to make myself a trophy...(Totally kidding, by the way...my ego is not that big. But my head is certainly getting bigger with these compliments! Hope that doesn't show up during weigh-in next week, ha!).

Really, though, her compliments have helped make me even more determined to continue what I'm doing. It's almost like I don't want to let her down, even though she's basically a stranger to me. Well, plus I don't want everyone on Facebook to look at the photo in six months and say "Yuck, she gained all of her weight back and more!" Stupid Facebook. Still, I feel like people are noticing and now I don't want to let them down.

More importantly, though, I don't want to let myself down this time.

Family Genes

I keep meaning to write about my grandma, but I keep managing to avoid it anyway. It's embarrassing and painful and sad to think about. But here goes.

 

My grandma is awesome. Really, both of my grandmothers were awesome, but only one is still alive. I lost my wonderful paternal grandmother my freshman year of college. (Incidentally, it happened on the same day that my dad disowned me, slammed my head against a metal rod and tried to choke me out, and then told me he never wanted to see me again. They didn't tell me she was dying until it was too late to make it to the hospital. That's just another thing I don't know if I'll forgive my father for. More on this another day.) My maternal grandmother, Meme, has always doted after me, though. She sees me as a younger version of herself, and I can see it too. The way she shows love, though, is with food. ALWAYS with food.

She has always taken great pains to make my favorite cakes and dishes for Thanksgiving, Easter, and Christmas. She makes me a personal pan of stuffing without chicken broth, even though she claims she'll never understand why I'm a vegetarian. Whenever we were celebrating anything growing up, she and Papaw would take us to Red Lobster or somewhere similar. For birthdays and anniversaries, they like to buy or make thick fudgey brownies and mound ice cream, whipped cream, and chocolate on top. When I spent a month at Ghost Ranch in New Mexico, Meme made me a big box of homemade fudge to share with my new friends--I was insanely popular that day, even though I ate much of the fudge myself. When I would spend the night with them as a child, they'd cook a big supper and then have popcorn with melted butter afterward, followed by ice cream. When I used to house-sit for them, they'd get me a pantry full of chips, Lucky Charms, Little Debbies, and cashews.

Since food is tied so closely to Meme's relationships with me and others, it's no wonder that she also has considerable issues with food.

I've seen pictures of her when she was younger, and she was slim and gorgeous. She looked like Liz Taylor--the resemblance is uncanny. She wore big black beehive wigs and tight bell-bottom pants. She put on weight slowly over the years, and by the time I was born, she was pretty heavy. Some of my earliest memories of her are of her talking about her latest diets. She did a green bean diet for awhile, where she ate green beans all the time. If she wasn't hungry enough to eat plain green beans, the diet reasoned, then she wasn't really hungry. Later, she tried the Sugarbuster diet. Atkins. South Beach. Still her weight continued to rise.

I could see why. You only have to watch her eat one meal to see that her portions are huge, everything's cooked Paula Deen style (she's from Arkansas so most of her meals aren't completed without cornbread slathered with butter, or at least deep fried and covered in salt), and she eats like she's in a trance without knowing what she's intaking. She loves buffets as much as I do, and she always has donuts or coffee cake or cookies on hand.

Even so, she was still pretty. Before she retired, she was stylish and active, even if she was big. But once she retired, it was like she made a nest in her armchair and never left. She stopped swimming and they closed their pool. She stopped going to Vegas for their every-few-months trips because she had trouble fitting in the airplane seats (gee, that sounds familiar). And slowly she began to do less and less.

Now, she has terrible back problems. That's what she says, anyway. I believe that she's in pain, but I think the problems are more weight-related than back-related. I know, I know: I hate physicians who assume every problem with an obese person is nothing more than their weight. But in Meme's case, I think she got so big that moving became a burden, so she stopped trying. I know how she feels, because I was very close to that myself.

My grandfather now has to push her around in a wheelchair everywhere she goes. All 460 or so pounds of her. She got an electric wheelchair, but she doesn't like that as much because she can't get close to her slot machines (they still drive to local casinos since she can't or won't fly to Vegas). She needs help getting to the bathroom and standing up from her chair. It's not old age--she's in her 60s. She just became immobile. She can't put on her own shoes and she hired a housekeeper to do the chores. Her hairdresser has to make house calls because she can't go to the salon. My grandpa is so afraid to leave her home alone and risk her falling that he has to call someone to stay with her if he wants to go to the store or run an errand.

When she was in the hospital last year, they didn't have a bed that could accommodate her. They actually had to call an outside company to deliver a heavy-duty bariatric hospital bed. When it got there, the auto-inflating mattress kept failing. They had the tech out twice and I could tell that he was doing everything he could to avoid telling her that she was too big for the bariatric bed. (That's why I know how much she weighs--they made me try to fix the bed and I saw the weight. For some reason they think that because I can program their cell phone, I should be able to figure out any type of technology. I wish.) They let her keep her own mumu on because the hospital gowns wouldn't fit her. They have to take her blood pressure around her wrist because the cuff won't go around her upper arm. She acts like none of it bothers her, but I can only imagine the embarrassment she must feel.

I never wanted their senior years to be like this. I dreamed of them retiring and having more time for the things they used to love doing--fishing, boating, camping, shopping. Now, they can't even go out to dinner because Meme thinks it's too much of a hassle and it puts too much of a strain on Papaw.

That makes me really sad.

The only good news is that I'm pushing myself in the opposite direction this time. I really was starting to pick up some of her habits--asking my girlfriend to get things for me, choosing to stay home instead of going through the trouble of going out and risking not fitting into a booth or being stared at in a crowd. I'm happy to think that my senior years will be spent doing what I want to do without being constrained by my size...but is it too late to help Meme? She's the most stubborn woman I've met, excluding myself.

I've done all I can, and I'm starting to give up hope that she'll ever take the initiative to get healthy again. I feel like she's resigned herself to living out her final years like the mom in What's Eating Gilbert Grape, and that makes me want to cry. I had almost resigned myself to the same fate...the only difference is that I feel like I still have time to turn my life around. I wish I could say the same for her.

Movin' Right Along

 

Now that I'm officially in the 250-pound-range I'm finally starting to notice awesome, tiny ways that my body is changing.

For example, I rested my chin in my hands today and actually felt my jawbone.

I felt my JAW!

Not the pudgy, doughy, squishy stuff I usually feel when I rest my chin in my hands. Sure, I can still sink my fingers in and squish the fat around, but there's bone under there!

Also, my rings are getting loose! My girlfriend and I exchanged rings in our fifth year together, and my black and white diamond band is falling off of me now...that's a good and a bad thing :) When I get cold, I have to be especially careful not to lose it.

Oh, and less of my legs rub together when I walk! Less, not none. I mean, let's be real--I'm still 258 pounds. Still, less is good! I can feel my knees moving, and even my lower thighs. My upper thighs still rub together, but there for awhile when I was at or over 300 pounds, there were days that I felt like my legs were stuck together from my knees up. When I walked, my legs were so fat that it seemed like only the lower halves of each leg would bend.

AND I can cross my legs again! It's actually somewhat comfortable! Before I started losing weight, I could barely cross one leg onto the other knee. I sometimes had to grab my shoe/ankle/bottom of my pants to pull my leg up. But now, not only can I cross one ankle onto the other knee--I can cross my whole leg over and dangle my top leg down! My thighs have been way too big to do that for a long, long time!

My shoulders feel sharper. My cheekbones look more defined. The thin bones in the tops of my hands show when my fingers move. My dog can jump in my lap and he has room to turn around before flopping down. I can look down at my heart surgery scar without my double chin getting in the way. My underwear doesn't start cutting into my skin by the end of the day. When I cross my arms, my arms tuck under my boobs instead of resting on my stomach out in front. My coats are getting looser. I can scoot my chair in farther at my desk. I can see muscles in my neck move when I swallow. Nurses can find my veins when drawing blood. The tops of my feet don't start bulging over my flats when I wear them all day. There's a gap big enough to reach my hand into when I put on my boots. I can feel the entire length of my clavicle when I run my fingers across. The arms of my glasses don't indent the fat on the sides of my face. When I wipe myself, I don't have to reach far down around my stomach. I can slide between two people to get through a hallway, instead of waiting politely until someone moves. My new maxi dress falls as it should, instead of draping over my stomach in the front. My bras fit better. The backs of my arms are smoother. I can tilt my head all the way back without feeling rolls of fat on my neck and shoulders and the base of my skull. I can lie on my side without my stomach spilling out across the mattress. When I put my hands on my hips, my sides feel almost smooth.

 

These things may not seem like much, but they're huge to me. I always thought about my weight before, but I guess I became numb over the years to the small physical ways my fat got in my way. Now that I'm losing weight, it just makes me more thankful that I'm finally breaking free from that prison of lard. I can actually start to see and feel a difference, which is helping to firm my resolve.

It's kind of sad that it took losing 46 pounds before I could really tell a difference. But I'm making progress. I'm still moving toward my goal. 258 is a lot better than 304. And now that I'm here, I really don't want to go back.

15 Foot Canoe

I have now officially lost the equivalent of...an elephant's heart.

Kind of gross.

Really gross.

Seriously, how is an elephant's heart that big? I can't...I can't even imagine. I like the elephant heart on the right better...

But it's also the equivalent of a 15 foot canoe! That's pretty fucking awesome. Definitely cannot fathom carrying a 15 foot canoe around with me everywhere I went.

I actually lost 5.8 pounds (again) this week, so now I'm officially down to 257.8 pounds from 304, for a total loss of 46.2 pounds. Right on!

I didn't eat very well last week so I'm a little surprised, but I'm just going to accept this as a good thing. Of course I'm overanalyzing it anyway and convincing myself that the loss was due to some other random factor and I'll gain it all back next week. Seriously, though, 5.8 pounds? That's a lot. It's an average Chihuahua. It's almost an entire human's skin. (Yeah, the reference list is proving very helpful.)

I'm especially surprised considering that I found my girlfriend's secret snack drawer. Everything has been stashed in the sponge drawer all along. I don't do dishes so I haven't gotten into that drawer for so long. When I opened the drawer (looking for a Chinese food menu--another poor choice this week, but I was tired and cranky and hungry so don't judge me) I think I could have blacked out for a minute--when my eyes refocused, there was a mound of Snicker's and Hershey Nugget wrappers on the counter and the sweet taste of chocolate in my mouth. I counted them all and tracked them, but I ate a LOT.

Plus, I got another shipment from Macy's (yes, I have a serious addiction to Macy's clearance) and I ordered everything in a 2x again and it all fit perfectly. Yay :) Celebrating the little things right now!

Can't Look Away

So after posting my body measurements (cringe.) I searched the Internets for a way to input my measurements and get an accurate model of my body. I've always felt a little dysmorphic--at times, I can only think of how humongously huge I am and I feel like seven cows worth of lard stuffed into a bodysuit. Other times, I feel sleek and pretty and like I couldn't possibly weigh 304 pounds (well, 264 now I guess).

Behold the wonders of the Body Visualizer:

 

Honestly, I don't think I look like this.

 

I look worse. Much worse. 

The fat bulges more above my knees and elbows, my stomach hangs down in the front (the dreaded fupa), my boobs are bigger. But if you picture this with a fupa...well, that's pretty much me naked.

What an image.

Ugly Green Monster

I think I mentioned earlier that I am not very tech-savvy. I’m not hip to all the new-fangled social media these youngsters are using. I’m really pretty curmudgeonly for being only 30 years old. One of the few things I do use is Facebook. I use it in a more voyeuristic way—I very rarely post anything. I tend to just creep around, liking statuses, and peeking into everyone’s lives through their Facebook posts.

Since the New Year, though, I’ve avoided Facebook like the plague. Why? Because I can’t fucking stand watching all of these idiots posting “I lost 6 pounds this week!” and “My New Years Resolution is paying off! Dropped a size already!”. And of course these jerks all get, like, 80 “Likes” and supportive comments. I just hate the fact that these people have only been eating healthy for two weeks and they already lost more than I did in my first full month on Weight Watchers. I’m jealous, okay? I’m totally jealous. I can’t help it.

 

What’s worse, though, is that one of my friends (okay, really one of my sister’s friends from high school who was always really nice to me so I accepted her friend request) just had bariatric surgery in December. She’s talked about it for months but I didn’t think she’d actually do it. In the first month, she lost 40 fucking pounds. FORTY POUNDS! That’s the exact amount I’ve struggled to shed since August. I’ve worked hard, watched (and tracked) every fucking thing that passed my lips, cut back on drinking, cut back on CHEESE (oh the horror!) and I lost in five months what she lost in one. 

 

As Sarah would say in The Labyrinth: IT’S NOT FAIR. 

 

No, it’s no fair. But I obviously don’t want to put my body through unnecessary surgery. And I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, without surgery or pills or crazy cleanses. But still…damn. 

 

Honestly, it feels like she’s cheating. It feels like she’s cheating and barreling toward some invisible finish line, and I’m slowly trudging along at a fraction of her pace because I’m playing by the rules (whatever “the rules” are). 

 

It’s totally wrong of me to feel that way. A doctor would not have cleared her for surgery if she didn’t need it. Her insurance or parents wouldn’t have paid for it if she didn’t need it. And I don’t know her life. It’s not my place to judge these people. 

 

But where’s my magic button? 

 

Her first week after the surgery, she had lost 12 pounds. Do you know how long it took me to lose 12 pounds? And she had to do NOTHING except let a doctor cut into her and magically make her skinnier. All of the Facebook comments are like "Way to go! Keep up the good work!" and "We're so proud of you!" Seriously? Proud that she had surgery? Keep up the good work...like doing nothing? Nothing at all? Just eating and magically losing weight? That just seems shitty to me. Again, it's not my place to judge AT ALL...but I can't help it. I'm also really jealous that she's full all the time...I would give anything to feel full all the time. I love feeling full. Now, I feel half starved all the time. Not actually hungry, but not stuffed either. I would love to eat a crouton and feel like I ate a loaf of bread. But I'm doing it the hard way instead.

 

The grimmest thought is that my journey is only going to get harder the further I go. Each pound I lose, I know I’m getting closer to a dreaded plateau, or closer to that invisible line where losing weight takes much, much more effort. That’s a scary thought. Especially when I’m watching all of these other people dropping weight so effortlessly. 

 

It just…it just sucks. 

 

Anyway, I finally brought myself to take some actual measurements in hopes that I’ll see some progress even when the scale gives me bad news. And I'm staying away from Facebook for as long as I can, because that shit can get some serious jealousy stirred up inside of me. I can't imagine going through high school with something like Facebook...I don't know how girls today do it. I want to blow my brains out after reading a few hours' worth of posts, and I'm freakin' 30 with a good job and a great girlfriend. High-school-me probably would have slit her wrists if faced with obnoxious, bragging posts day in and day out. Blah. 

 

Rant over.

 

Now here are my terrifying measurements:

 

Neck: 15"

Bust: 49.5"

Chest: 44"

Waist: 43"

Hips: 52"

Thighs: right 29.5", left 29"

Calves: right 20", left 21"

Ankles: right 11", left 11"

Upper arms: right 15", left 15"

Forearms: right 10.5", left 11"

Wrists: right 7", left 7"

 

There. My soul is totally bared. You know I'm enormous, and that I'm also a Mean Girl. I'm trying to change both, I swear.

 

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

I'm flying pretty high this weekend!

Yesterday, Friday, I got my latest shipment from Macy's. I am 100% obsessed with Macy's clearance online--half of my clothes come from there. I sort by price, lowest to highest, and get so many incredible and cheap finds (and so many compliments!). I normally wear a 3x in just about anything from Macy's. The clothes run a little more snug than, say, Old Navy (where I almost always get a 2x). But when I was placing my last order, I decided to throw caution to the wind and ordered everything in a 2x.

It ALL fit!

I got a new charcoal gray jacket, a ruched black top, a cream and lace short skirt, an olive sweater dress, and a black cardigan. I cannot believe that everything fit perfectly! The jacket look awesome, and it's so much more flattering than the bulky down coat I've been wearing.

And the kicker? The skirt is NOT elastic waist! I would not have risked ordering it if I had known it was a zippered skirt. It has a little give on the sides, but it's definitely not the fully elastic kind of skirt I'm used to. And it fit perfectly, without giving me any bulges! I can't wait to wear it.

Still excited from trying on yesterday's purchases, this morning I decided to try on a pair of snakeskin print jeggings I got in the fall. They had been on a really good sale (like $9 or something) so I had gotten them in a 2x, the only size they had, thinking they were more like stretch pants and I'd be able to squeeze into them. They're actually more like denim, so  they were too tight and I never ended up wearing them (but at that price, it wasn't worth taking them back). When I tried them on this morning, they looked awesome! With a long red tube top, a tight black v-neck sweater, and some studded black flats, I felt super cute!

I wrapped up in a black and white plaid cashmere scarf, let my dark purple hair down, slicked on some cherry red lip gloss, found some big black aviator sunglasses, and my girlfriend and I put the top down in her new convertible and cruised around for hours. Today it actually hit 60 degrees (in January...global warming?) so we really wanted to ride in her car with the top down for the first time, but I've been self-conscious about what people would say or think about us at red lights. You're so exposed in a convertible. But today, I felt so cute, I was in heaven riding around in the sunshine!

I love feeling cute again. It's been so long since I've been able to handle people looking at me. At 300 pounds, I felt like anyone who glanced my way was laughing at, judging, or disgusted by me. Now, at 260 pounds, I know I'm not small but I feel confident enough that I can think maybe, just maybe, they're thinking nothing more than 'man, it would be nice to be in a convertible today!'.

:)

Putting It In Perspective

I've officially lost the equivalent of a five gallon jug of water.

Nice!

At my weigh in today, I had lost 5.8 pounds since last Wednesday. That brings me down to 263.6 and my grand total to 40.4 pounds lost from my 304 pound starting weight.

According to this awesome list, that's also the equivalent of the average human leg. I can't believe it...a whole five gallon jug of water. I can barely lift one of those to put into a water dispenser.

When I lost my first pound on Weight Watchers in August, I went around the house trying to find an equivalent weight for comparison. For the next several pounds, I used water bottles. One bottle of water was just over a pound. That first night, I carried a water bottle around with me and made myself constantly notice just how much weight that was. It was a tangible reminder of what I was beginning, and how much progress I had made already. Just one pound, but it was heavy in my hand.

A few more pounds, a few more water bottles. Within a few weeks, I was coming home on Wednesday nights and gathering up an armload of water bottles to lug around so I could feel how much weight I had shed. One water bottle at a time, it really started to add up.

Then I hit 13 pounds. That's how much my mini pinscher weighs. For a small dog, that little dude is heavy! Draping him over my arm made me tired and sore after five or ten minutes...I couldn't believe I'd carried that much weight on me at all times before then.

Before long, I had lost the equivalent of my dog times two. It was harder to visualize that. 26 pounds. Then I hit 37 pounds and saw what 37 pounds of cat looked like...that's a lot of freaking cat.

My girlfriend told me yesterday about the list linked above. Some of her coworkers are doing a Biggest Loser-style challenge, and one had sent her that list. As of last week's weigh in, I had lost the equivalent of a mid-sized microwave. That's fucking heavy!

It took me some Google digging, but I finally found the source of the list so I could look up today's weight loss total. So far, I lost the equivalent of each of these, in order: a Guinea Pig, a dozen Krispy Kreme glazed donuts, a rack of baby back ribs, an average human brain, an ostrich egg, a Chihuahua, a human’s skin (GROSS!), an average newborn, a human head, chemical additives an American consumes each year (*scary*), an average housecat, a Bald Eagle (whoa), 10 dozen large eggs (wait, seriously? That seems like a shit ton of eggs), a sperm whale’s brain (that's a big brain), an auto tire (holy cow...), amount of pizza an average American eats in a year (mmm pizza), a 3-gallon tub of super premium ice cream (again, yum), an average 2 year old (a whole kid!), amount of cheese an average American eats in a year (I can say with confidence that I far surpass this amount), a cinder block (heavy.), a mid-size microwave, and now a 5-gallon bottle of water or an average human leg.

That's just...wow. When I think of each of those, I just can't imagine lugging it around with me everyone I went. But I did. No wonder I was so tired all the time. That's a lot of work.

Considering how lazy I was, it's surprising that I was willing to carry all of that extra weight. Well, I guess that's one reason that I did as little 'carrying' as possible, and preferred instead to stay on the couch whenever I could. Now that I've dropped some of the burden, I do feel lighter in many ways. As hard as I tell myself I've been working at this, it really doesn't amount to much more than making sure I track what I eat and being vigilant about measuring out my portions. So it might feel like hard work, but I know for a fact that it's easier than going through life with a five gallon jug strapped to my back. Or a microwave. Or even a two year old child :)

Mmm Hospital Food

My mom made it through surgery just fine. Yay!!! It was a seriously grueling day for me. I'm not the most patient person alive, so I was already going a little nuts at 1pm when the surgery was supposed to have started at 11am. And by the time she got in and out of surgery (successfully, thank goodness), woke up in recovery, spent three hours coming off the anesthesia, and then got moved into a room, it was midnight and I was ready to run screaming out of the hospital. I'm heading off to bed as soon as I finish this bottle of water and bowl of grapes.

I ate really surprisingly well today. I brought a banana, two clementines, and bottled water in my purse. I had lunch and supper at one of my favorite sandwich shops (which happens to be inside the hospital--when I've had to stay at that hospital, I've never been able to complain about the food!) and I still managed to end the day with a few Points left. I'm still shocked I didn't eat more. Usually, that kind of boredom would drive me straight to a vending machine. It was nice to be prepared, and to finish my Weight Watchers week on a good note.

Tomorrow is my weigh-in, and I'm really hoping I lose enough weight to make up for the three pound gain last week. I've been good and I have DEFINITELY moved more, so I'd be really disappointed to gain for the second week in a row.

Again, fingers crossed!

Trauma Club

My mom is having heart surgery today. She has already had open heart surgery (as have I) but this time, she's having a stent put in to try opening her Superior vena cava. There is a good possibility that the balloon they're using to open the SVC could rip through the old scar tissue, causing her to bleed out or go into cardiac arrest. There's also a good possibility that everything will go perfectly and she'll leave with totally restored blood flow (or at least better blood flow than she has now...it can't get much worse than it already is).

My mom has worse luck than me. She has lupus, fibromyalgia, diabetes, COPD, sleep apnea, Raynaud's Disease, and she also had her open heart surgery for a freak reason: she lived near the airport for many years and the pulverized pigeon shit on the runways became airborne and entered her lungs, leading to histoplasmosis which caused severe scarring and started blocking veins.

On top of that, my mom is big. Large. Shorter than me but rounder. I still envy her, though. She was tiny and beautiful when she was younger. She went to modeling school. She was, like, 110 pounds. I'm jealous that she's at least had a chance to be thin. But then she got pregnant with me and never lost the baby weight. 30 years later and she's bigger than ever. I'm sure she blames me for making her fat just as I partially blame her for making me fat. In the end, I guess we can only really blame ourselves. Her fat drags her down as much as mine drags me, but her additional health problems make her situation even more grim. Not like anyone is going to convince her to lose weight (or stop smoking when she's on her third bout if pneumonia or bronchitis or pleurisy in a season, or wear gloves when her fingers go numb and turn white, or stop eating cookies for breakfast when her blood sugar is 250).

With all of her health problems, you'd think that going into heart surgery she'd be worrying about what could go wrong in the operating room, what complications they might run into, bad reactions to the anesthetic, waking up in the middle of the surgery and feeling everything...the usual concerns (for me, at least).

Not my mom.

Instead, the thoughts that have occupied her mind and driven her sick with anxiety are all pre-operative. She's had this procedure done before--although it was years ago, and the blood flow is much more restricted now, making surgery even riskier--and she still remembers the steps they took.

To insert the cameras and tubing, they go through her groin. This makes a scary procedure instantly transform into sheer torture. First, they have to wash you. THEY wash you. I know first-hand how miserable and humiliating that is for a fat girl. I had the misfortune of being rushed to the cardiac ICU to treat a blood clot on my artificial valve once, and they pumped me full of clot-busting blood thinners. Because of the risk of bleeding, they confined me to my bed for several days (I even had to use a bed pan. Seriously one of the worst things I've ever been through.) and, because the cardiac ICU is apparently sterile, I had to be bathed when they brought me in. They wouldn't let me get up or move, so I laid there in horror as a team of orderlies wiped me down EVERYWHERE. And when I say everywhere, that includes under my rolls. Yes, someone had to push my stomach up to sponge me off. If I could have willed myself dead at that moment, I would have.

Which brings me to the second step my mom is dreading. In order to have unrestricted access to the entry point near her groin...they actually tape up her stomach. They push it up and hold it in place with tape throughout the entire surgery. Once, around three years ago, my girlfriend unconsciously reached up and nudged my stomach while she was going down on me and I haven't let her go down there since. That's something I have to get over...otherwise, I may never have sex again. That's a depressing thought, especially when I have such a hot girlfriend. But touch my stomach and I will never forget it. Just like my mom, whose belly will be shoved up by a stranger this morning in a room full of people.
 

Lastly, they shave her "down there." This may be the second step, I don't know, but I do know she is incredibly embarrassed by having someone push her fat around enough to shave her pubic hair. I can't imagine anyone doing that to me. That seems like something else I'd never get over. I keep myself shaved anyway (at least when it's not winter, although there isn't much of a point if I don't let my girlfriend anywhere near there) but if someone else had to get down there and shave me as I stared at the ceiling, I might die before I even made it into the operating room..

So that's what's on my mom's mind, and on mine too. I'm a little scared for her (okay, absolutely fucking terrified) but I also feel really sorry for her. That's a lot to go through in a day. Not to mention the other pitfalls of being in the hospital...having people struggling to shift you from one bed to another; not having a hospital gown that actually closes around your stomach; being in a bed with a scale embedded and knowing that one accidental button push will reveal your weight to the whole room; having to wait for a wheelchair wide enough to fit your ass...

At least she won't be alone. And I really understand where she's coming from. My sister will be there too but she can't relate--even at her biggest, she was still the small one. She wears size 6 jeans and is still losing weight. She will never know what it's like to face what my mom and I go through. Good for her. But I do know what it's like, and it sucks. It really sucks. My grandma knows too, probably more so than me or my mom, and that makes me sad. It's like we're all part of a Fat Girl Trauma Club. It's a club I never wanted to join, and I'm trying like hell to get out of it. I wish I could get my mom out too.

What's Left

This cocoon of fat

I spun for many years

is finally breaking away.

The layers crafted from

food and sloth

are melting like Spring.

What’s left inside

is anyone’s guess.

No one remembers

the caterpillar that first

began weaving this shroud.

The cocoon has been me

for so long

it seems like forever.

I can only hope

there’s something left

when the cocoon is gone.


 

Suck It Up

Another gain.

 

BOOOOOOO.

 

I gained 3 pounds since my last weigh in on December 19. I'm back up to 269.4 pounds, for a current loss of 34.6 pounds. I'm not very happy about it. But, all things considered, that's not a bad gain for Christmas and New Year's Eve.

 

Unfortunately, I'm still not back on the right track exactly. I've stayed busy and moved more...but I've still been avoiding water, fruit, and veggies for some reason. I'll, like, get a bottle of icy cold water and then just sip around a quarter of a cup before letting it sit there. And my purse is stuffed full of apples, oranges, and even a kiwi, but I'm reaching for 100 calorie packs and Hershey Nuggets instead. I had to throw out two clementines, a kiwi, and an apple because they went bad in my purse. Gross. And not very healthy.

 

I'm a little discouraged right now. Gaining three pounds in two weeks over the holidays is not that horrible, but I felt like I worked really hard to stay within my allotted points each day. I was definitely more active--I've been cleaning up a storm, playing, walking around more. I passed over or strictly limited my portions of the totally tempting Christmas treats. I barely drank enough champagne on New Years to get tipsy. And I still gained.

 

I guess it wouldn't be so bad if everyone else had gained as well. But one of my coworkers stopped tracking altogether for the two weeks, ate and drank what she wanted, and only gained 1.6 pounds. And one of the guys lost 1.5 pounds after I saw him eating all kinds of delicious unhealthy lunches. PLUS, one of the girls (who was tiny to begin with...like, goes to Playboy mansion parties* and bartends in hotpants and a bikini top) lost so much weight she had to stop going to Weight Watchers meetings. Granted, this chick works out HARD and does a lot to keep herself in awesome shape, but all of this stuff added up makes me even more frustrated with how slowly I'm losing so far. Even though I'm really trying.

 

If I had lost the target two pounds per week, I would have lost 42 pounds by now. I'm 35 pounds lighter, but that's still slower than I'd like. And it's still hard to tell that I've lost anything, since I have so far to go. It seems like I got up to 304 pounds so fast (I didn't--I know I worked years to put on that much weight--but it feels like it happened overnight) and now it seems like getting down to a healthy weight for the first time in my life is a very, very distant pipe dream.

 

 

Still, as I realized while making my 2013 resolutions, losing two pounds each week this year would put me down to 165 pounds. That would be fantastic. And it's not that crazy of a dream. Yet, I don't want to set a deadline for myself. When I do that, I fail. I have a bad week, panic, decide I'll never catch up, and quit. This time, I'm taking things slowly. I'm trying not to let the bad weeks (like this one) bring me down. It's hard, but I'm serious about this. I'm tired of being fat. And I don't just mean looking fat--I'm tired of my fat trapping me and keeping me from enjoying things I can't do right now. I need to be healthier, and if I have a setback I need to put on my big girl panties and get the fuck over it. Everyone has bad weeks. Okay, I'm opening a bottle of cold water right now and I'm forcing myself to drink it all. It's time to suck it up and get back on track. I'm going to make this a good year! I owe it to myself. It's time. I'm ready.

 

*I know this is super creepy, but my biggest all-time fantasy has been to be in Playboy. That's the fantasy that kept me up at night in high school and college, and even now I catch myself wistfully imagining myself posing nude, stretched out on a faux fur rug with the Playboy photographer and makeup artists swarming around me. But I AM A FEMINIST. I majored in Women's Studies. I've marched in Washington DC for the World March for Women. I hate the thought of women losing their power. I should not be so absorbed with the thought of being objectified like that. But...I do think there's a lot to be said for a woman's capacity for sexual power, and I like to think that the sex industry and feminism are not mutually exclusive. There are many insightful articles, studies, books, and blogs about this, and they all put it more eloquently than I can. Women can use their sexuality and feel empowered. But I still feel dirty about wanting so badly to pose for Playboy. Right this second, I'm fantasizing about losing enough weight (and, of course, magically having taut skin, no stretch marks, still-large perky boobs, etc.) to send in my photos to Hugh. YEAH RIGHT. I'm turning 31 next month, I'm still well over 100 pounds away from a healthy weight, and gravity definitely took its toll on all 304 pounds of me (and it's only going to get worse as I lose my stuffing). But...I can't help but think about it. I promised myself for years (lying awake, crying, swearing that I'd start to work out and eat right the very next day) that I'd be Playboy-ready by the time I turned 30. I think that's one reason why turning 30 was so devastating for me. All throughout my twenties, I swore I'd lose weight before I hit the big 3-0. And I failed. Just like I failed to lose weight and shock everyone at my ten year high school reunion--another fantasy of mine. But...I guess anything is possible still.  Maybe one day I'll grace those legendary Playboy pages and make women and men stop on my page and trace every curve with their eyes. I'll toss my hair and arch my back and make my parents and my Women's Studies professors die a little inside. Um. Dream big!

 

Happy 2013!

If my old non-working scale can be trusted (it cannot) I have gained at least five pounds since my pre-Christmas weigh in. I'm pretty nervous about my Wednesday Weight Watcher's meeting, but I'm ready to finally see what damage I've done. I haven't given in to temptation TOO much (not anything like past Christmas food festivals) but my "Healthy Habits" have fallen to the wayside. I'm leaning on packaged food, candy, and diet cola while eschewing the fruits, veggies, and water I had been so faithfully ingesting. I need to get back on track, but I don't think it'll be too difficult. It's not like I've totally gone off the rails. Some of the girls at my work have stopped tracking for the holidays altogether, but I very sensibly poured my champagne into measuring cups before drinking, and tracked everything that passed my lips, no matter how shameful (cheeseball, anyone?). I wish my new scale would get here, but maybe it's best if I don't know until my meeting.

I'm also nervous about the body tape measure that comes with the scale. I have never been into measuring my body parts, regardless of the number of diets I've tried and failed. I just hate seeing how long that measuring tape is pulled out. It's easier not knowing. Now, though, I'm really curious. Even though my crappy, broken scale is telling me I gained weight, I do feel smaller than I have for years. My girlfriend even commented on feeling the bones in my shoulders. My ankle boots go on comfortably, instead of having to be tugged up over my cankles. So even though the initial numbers might make me a little sick, it will be nice to see those digits shrink as the next weeks and months of 2013 pass by.

And in case anyone cares, I've settled on some resolutions for this upcoming year. I hate odd numbered years, but for some reason I seem to have more New Years Resolution success on odd years. I gave up meat on New Years Eve 2003, gave up cigarettes on New Years Eve 2011, and I haven't touched either since.

2013:

1. Get Healthier. Continuing to eat right, move more, pay more attention to what I put into my body, and treat my body with more respect.

2. Stay Busy. Keep the house clean, do the things I've been putting off, stop wasting time, and keep my body in motion.

3. Get Frisky. Make it a priority to keep my girlfriend satisfied, learn to let go of my body issues and allow myself to be intimate, and use my new energy and healthier body to keep our relationship passionate and playful.

It's worth a shot. I have a whole new year ahead of me--I'd love to be able to stick to these resolutions this time. I started Weight Watchers in August of 2012, and I lost nearly 40 pounds by the end of the year. If I stuck with that (rather ambitious) pace, I'd be able to lose 104 pounds by 2014. That would bring me down to close to 160 pounds. That's crazy to even think about! But at least for now, I'm taking things one day at a time. First I need to survive January 1st at home with lots of time on my hands to cook delicious food. Instead, I'll try to stick to Resolution #2 and keep busy with something besides eating. Then on Wednesday is my weigh-in, and hopefully my scale will come in the mail. And then, one baby step after another. In, of course, the right direction.

Happy New Year!