Gobble, Gobble

No matter how much weight I lose, I am still a fat girl at heart.

I think I always will be.

31 years of overeating can't be reversed by one year of Weight Watchers. Sure, I undid a lot of damage. I shed almost 100 pounds. I've learned portion control and built healthy eating habits.

But my brain is the brain of a fat girl. Nothing reinforces that more than food-centered events like Thanksgiving.

This year, like last year, I spent the few weeks leading up to Thanksgiving slowly panicking about food. What I would eat, how much I would eat, how much I would gain from eating. I pre-tracked my food in the Weight Watchers app and kept going back to balance out my Points. "Okay, maybe I can change the serving of mashed potatoes to a half serving so I can increase my dinner roll from a half to a full...and maybe I can only have a quarter of a slice of pumpkin pie (haha, yeah right, a quarter of a slice) so I can have a teaspoon of real butter instead of a spray butter..."

I had to eat twice again this year, once at my parents' and once at my girlfriend's family's. I must have gone into the WW app 25 times to change what I planned to eat. Luckily, the pre-tracking kind of worked for me. I knew what I could and couldn't have, and I didn't end up freaking out at the end of the day after accidentally going over my Points. I'm also aware now of just how much my family influences me to overeat, and I swallowed a couple Xanax to help cope with all of the food and emotional landmines my parents put in front of me. I came armed with a fruit salad I whipped up, made entirely of fresh fruit (pomegranate, pineapple, cranberries, apple, lime juice) topped with stevia and some pumpkin pie spice. Zero Points, so I had something to snack on whenever the cream puffs and cheese ball started calling my name. I felt really prepared.

I did face a somewhat unexpected hurdle, however: some CRAZY intense guilt over eating so much. Even though I tracked and knew exactly what I was eating, and I'd planned it all so meticulously, I still just felt incredibly gross and guilty for eating as much as I did. I was stuffed. Really stuffed. My family thinks it's funny that a vegetarian can get so full at a meat-centric feast, but I completely gorged myself. I was careful to be realistic about measuring my food and eyeballing what I couldn't measure, but even eating the small portions didn't make me feel better. After my meal, I felt the same sort of shame that I used to feel as a child after touching myself...like, dirty and embarrassed and ashamed and worried that my palms would grow hair. Or, well, in this case worried that I would gain 10 pounds overnight (which does totally happen to me, as scientifically impossible as that may seem).

Really, it was a terrible, sickening, and stomach-churning guilt. Maybe some of the churning was from the four deviled eggs I ate, or the mound of green bean casserole, but most of it was from a very uncomfortable inner monologue that went something like, "Gross. Why are you eating all of this? Ugh, why is it so so delicious? Seriously though, what are you doing? You're going to derail and defeat yourself. You've been making progress and here you go, throwing it all away from some toasted marshmallows baked on top of sweet potatoes...mmm sweet potatoes...stop it! Stop eating! Oh but it's so good..." I started to feel a little crazy and obsessive by the end of the day. And as I predicted, I still gained about five pounds this morning. And, naturally, that weight gain justified my shame and guilt, so now I feel even worse about eating so much.

That didn't stop me from bringing home some leftovers, though, or from polishing off the pecan tassies before I even went to bed last night (and subsequently using up the very last of my weekly Points allowance only ONE DAY into my Weight Watchers week...meaning I won't get more weekly Points until next Wednesday...). This food shaming is a new development for me, and I hate it. I hate it almost as much as I hate being hungry all the time.

But I'm still truckin' along. I'm too close to being under 200 pounds to even think about quitting. I may still be a fat girl inside but, on the outside, that fat girl is melting away, slowly but surely.

Keep On Keepin' On

I am now officially smaller than I have been in my entire adult life.

I weighed in at my Weight Watchers At Work meeting today and was down 5 pounds for the week...which brings me down to 209.2 pounds. UNDER 210 POUNDS!

Total lost? 94.8 pounds.

That's, like...unimaginable. I weighed 304 pounds last August. Now, I'm literally smaller than I was in high school. I'm sitting here in size 17 skinny jeans, knee high boots, and a size 14 vest. WHAT?!

I'm still having trouble feeling like I'm that much smaller, though. I mean, I feel amazing, but I think that's like 75% having a heart valve that actually works and 25% being smaller.

But it doesn't matter. I AM losing weight, and everyone around me is commenting on it, and it's awesome.

When I entered my new weight into my Weight Watchers app, it let me know that I actually hit the last goal I set. I've been resetting my goal by 10 or 15 pounds at a time because, seriously, having a goal of losing 100+ pounds at the beginning would have just overwhelmed me and I would have quit this shit a year ago. So my latest goal was 210 pounds, which was a big deal for me because I can't remember ever being under 210 pounds since middle school I think.

Forced to reset my goal, I went with around 10 pounds less than my current weight. I SET MY GOAL AT 199 POUNDS. That's just...I mean, you can't understand if you haven't been there, but that's just fucking mindblowing. Not only am I actually aiming for less than 200 pounds...but it's attainable! Like, within 10 pounds! I couldn't help the tears forming in my eyes. After spending basically a lifetime weighing more than 200 pounds (which is such a shameful, stigmatized thing for a woman), I am now within sight of 199 pounds.

Fucking incredible. 

Lesbian Pants

I had a few nice moments today.

I was on a fun work trip to reward our top performers and saw quite a few colleagues from other departments--many of them haven't seen me in months, so I was delighted (and a little embarrassed) to find myself complimented throughout the day. Everyone was amazed at how healthy I look, both from the weight loss and from the heart surgery. Instead of hanging out at the snack table guiltily devouring cookies and pumpkin pie cheesecake, I talked to people about hiking, camping, bicycling, and basically being a normal adult. It was pretty awesome!

I also was really happy to be able to get on and off of the bus without feeling like I was squeezing down the aisles and hitting people's elbows with my stomach and ass. What a difference.

Plus, when I went on this same trip last year, I could barely walk around. I was so fatigued and winded from the heart and breathing problems that even walking from the bus to my table inside was difficult. This year, I couldn't wait to do more. We played paintball last year and, although it was totally totally fun and I really really love shooting at people, I ended up having an asthma attack merely walking out to the starting line. I spent the entire game last year wheezing and desperately hiding behind a wall while my face mask fogged up with my heavy breathing. I had to sit out the second game, and barely survived the third. This year...totally opposite! I was active, I ran behind targets, and I (along with my assistant manager) ended up winning against three guys! I'm a really good shot, and being able to scamper around the game site this year gave me much better vantage points from which to totally demolish the guys! I did get hit in the face (thank goodness for masks) but it was still awesome.

But one of the greatest things was my pants. I've had this pair of camouflage pants for years and years. I call them my lesbian pants. I wore them in college when I was going through my militant phase, and they always make me feel cool. They're baggy camo cargo pants that hung low on my hips, and they're so worn that the bottom few inches have torn away. They're splattered with paint and starting to get little holes, but I love them and used to wear them all the time. When I finally gained enough weight that I couldn't wear them, I kept them in my closet hoping that one day I could put them on again. Last year, I had only been on Weight Watchers for three months when I went paintballing but I decided to try on the pants...and they fit! They were tight, but I could wear them and felt like a badass again.

I wanted to wear them again this year because, well, I don't exactly have many paintball clothes nowadays and what's better for paintballing than camouflage? So I put them on this morning and they were TOO BIG! They hung down on my hips like they used to, and maybe even a little more. I wore them anyway with a tank top, long sleeved shirt, fleece vest, and hoodie (it was cold and I wanted lots of layers in case I got hit). I ended up having to keep one hand on my waistband the entire time I was paintballing because my pants kept slipping off! Like, my pants are literally FALLING OFF OF ME. That is so amazing. Pants that a year ago I was celebrating fitting into are now too big!

I'm sure I can find some way to repurpose the pants, but I don't think I can wear them again--at least not without a belt! What an awesome feeling.

Abs of Jelly

It's so awesome to be able to dress my age again. I mean, I'm only 31. I felt like a gross old lady every time I went to work wearing yoga pants (knowing very well that I was NOT going to practice any yoga) and Crocs and cardigans. I spent almost two years in tent dresses and flip flops all summer, then "dress" sweats and baggy sweaters all winter.

This is my first real Fall since so long ago. I can wear real jeans again, and cute, form-fitting sweaters, with fitted jackets and knee-high riding boots. It's amazing.

But as much as I'm loving the ability to wear jeans, I am still facing the problem I've had for years: my Gonzo-nose stomach. Even though I'm smaller now, I'm still virtually the same shape. I have the same lumps and flab, and my stomach is still big and soft. It hangs down (the ultra-embarrassing, often unspoken of, dreaded pannus ::shudder::). It bulges out. And, hardest to conceal, it pooches out right above my bellybutton. If I wear jeans that come to my bellybutton or below, it doesn't matter if they fit me or even if they're too big: my stomach roll sticks out over my pants.

My only solution is to wear pants that come above my bellybutton. Like, mom jeans that come up high and act as a girdle, or maternity-type pants that unfold to form a flat surface up my torso. I do have some Spanx but, let's face it, I'm not putting that much effort into beautifying myself for work. And I have those slimming camisoles that keep everything smooth, but they roll up sometimes and they're just not very comfortable pushing down on my healing heart surgery scars.

While I continue to fight my own battle of the bulge using my wardrobe as a weapon, I'm also fighting on another front: from the inside. I saw some people posting challenges on Facebook and decided to try one. Then...I decided to try another. Now I'm doing two different month long ab challenges, and...I'm secretly loving it!

The first one is the 30 Day Plank Challenge:

The 30 Day Plank Challenge will send your core strength through the roof!
Day 1 - 20 seconds
Day 2 - 20 seconds
Day 3 - 30 seconds
Day 4 - 30 seconds
Day 5 - 40 seconds
Day 6 - REST
Day 7 - 45 seconds
Day 8 - 45 seconds
Day 9 - 60 seconds
Day 10 - 60 seconds
Day 11 - 60 seconds
Day 12 - 90 seconds
Day 13 - REST
Day 14 - 90 seconds
Day 15 - 90 seconds
Day 16 - 120 seconds
Day 17 - 120 seconds
Day 18 - 150 seconds
Day 19 - REST
Day 20 - 150 seconds
Day 21 - 150 seconds
Day 22 - 180 seconds
Day 23 - 180 seconds
Day 24 - 210 seconds
Day 25 - 210 seconds
Day 26 - REST
Day 27 - 240 seconds
Day 28 - 240 seconds
Day 29 - 270 seconds
Day 30 - PLANK FOR AS LONG AS POSSIBLE!!

It was incredibly difficult at first, since I haven't really ever planked before. I mean, I was shaking and gasping and I didn't think I was going to make it. (To be clear, this is not that cheesy Instagram/Twitter planking thing, where I go balance myself, like, on the railing at Niagara Falls while my girlfriend takes a photo and hopes I don't fall off and die.) Now, on day 7, it's still hard. And every few days it's going to get harder. But my abs feel great, and I feel like I'm actually accomplishing something each day!

The second one is the 24 Day Abs-So-Tightly Right Challenge. This one involves crunches, which aren't so bad, along with leg raises, which was apparently completely impossible for me to do. I tried. I swear I did. But I just can't lift both legs at once. They're pretty big legs, but I still feel like I should be able to lift them. When I try, though, my back starts to arch and then my tailbone grinds into the ground (which is probably not good for my temporarily dormant pilonidal cyst) and I just can't get them to raise off the ground no matter how hard I strain. Instead, I'm making up for it by doing single leg raises, one leg at a time, and I've added side leg lifts because that's what my mom always did when I was little and it just seems like something that should be included in a workout. This challenge also asks you to plank, but I figure I have that covered in the first challenge.

I already feel like I can feel a bit of definition when I put my hands on my hips. And when I roll over on my side, I feel like a little less belly settles down in front of me. I gained weight during my last two weigh-ins, but I do feel stronger and my abs are seriously sore. Something must be working. Maybe by the end of the month, I'll be able to wear pants that don't come up to my armpits.

Little Miss Know-It-All

Let me make this clear: I am NOT done losing weight. I have a LONG way to go before I am a healthy weight. I'm still obese according to the BMI charts (and, really, according to any charts). I'm not at the end of my journey.

Okay?

Yet recently, I've found myself thinking more and more about what other people are eating. Judging them. One of my best friends announced that she's going to see a doctor about bariatric surgery this week, and my grandmother is going at the end of the month (that's more understandable). I have made my feelings about surgery pretty clear, so of course I told my friend to try eating right, I pointed out what she's doing wrong, I urged her to join Weight Watchers before going under the knife. I kept nagging her about having unnecessary surgery instead of doing things the 'right' way.

And even worse, I have actually considered giving virtual strangers advice about losing weight.

That makes me feel so shitty.

91 pounds ago, I would have died if someone, even someone close to me, started talking to me about weight loss. I would have been so pissed. Like, who are they to judge me? But now I feel like a weight loss expert, as dumb as that sounds, and I have to fight the urge to pass my experience on to others.

There's a new girl at work who looks like I did a year ago. Probably right around 300 pounds, pretty and smart and mostly well-dressed. But I see her coming in wearing Crocs and pajama pants (which is totally what I wore before I started losing weight--Crocs, which I justified by the fact that they were actually "cute" for Crocs, because my feet hurt from hauling around 300+ pounds, and pajama pants because they stretch soooo much that I never had to think about what size I was.). And when I see that, I want to stop her and point out my knee-high wedge boots (yes, my calves are small enough for the first time EVER than I can wear wide knee-high boots) and my skinny jeans (finally small enough again to wear real blue jeans) and my cute sweater and tell her, "Girl, throw out those damn Crocs, come with me to Weight Watchers, and this time next year you'll have knee-high boots too."

Don't worry. I'm not a total psycho. I would never ever ever actually say that. But like I said, the urge is there.

I heard that early this year, Jennifer Hudson ran into Adele backstage at the Grammy's. J-Hud congratulated the lovely and amazingly talented Adele on her Grammy wins, and then said, "I used to be heavy just like you and gosh, Weight Watchers saved my life! I can hook you up."

OH MY GOD. I don't know how Adele resisted the impulse to clock that bitch upside her head. How dare Jennifer take an incredible moment in Adele's life and jerk her back to reality by talking about her weight? I tried to imagine something like that happening, like getting a promotion at work and having someone say, "Way to go! Now, maybe you should lose some weight and you can get another promotion!" I would just...I would die. I would pass out from rage. So rude and thoughtless and arrogant and...just so many things. Ugh.

But.....well...after losing 91 pounds, I can sort of...almost...see Jennifer's point. She knows what it's like. She knows how it feels to be in front of a crowd, thinking of nothing but how many eyes are on your stomach. She knows what it means to be happy but constantly conscious of your body. I mean, maybe Adele is really confident and maybe she really is happy with herself like she says in interviews, and maybe she really is 165 pounds like she claims (lolololol!!! seriously?!) and maybe all of the fat jokes and snide remarks really, truly don't bother her. Unlikely, but maybe.

The point isn't how Adele took the comments, though. The point is that Jennifer Hudson was so insanely blind to how her comments would be perceived. I mean, even if I think about saying stuff like that, I never would. I know how hurtful those kinds of seemingly helpful comments can be.

Random story: when I was young, like I think my freshman year of high school, 15 years old, I got an envelope in the mail one day. I was so excited--I never got mail, and it wasn't my birthday, and the postmark said California! I tore into it and my stomach dropped. It was an article cut from a newspaper talking about how some woman had lost a lot of weight by dieting and exercising. There was something written on the clipping, but I honestly seem to have blocked it out. I can't remember what it said. Something like, "There's always hope" or similar. I was so embarrassed, and my mom was standing there demanding to see what it was. I handed it to her and burst into tears. I scoured the article, the envelope, the handwriting, everything for some sign of who could have sent it. I didn't know anyone from California. I still have no idea who could have sent that to me. I always wondered if it was my dad maybe, sent to someone else to send to me from Cali. I don't know. All I know is that 15 years later, I can still feel that nauseating shame that hit me when I saw the article. So much embarrassment and hurt and anger. What a cruel thing to send to a child. It obviously didn't do any good anyway.

So I'll just keep watching the girl at work while she chows down on leftover Halloween candy and I'll silently judge her, hoping all the while that my weight loss eventually inspires her to give it a shot. Because even though I would never try to convince someone to lose weight, I do know what it's like to be her size and I know how incredible I feel now, and I really want to share that with someone.