Celebrating Success

I was so proud of myself last year when I had lost 95 pounds. I just knew 100 pounds was only a week away, and my next Weight Watchers goal weight was 199, which was totally achievable with fewer than 10 pounds to go.

I don't know if I've ever been more proud of myself.

But now...well, now I'm struggling just to stay under 220 pounds. I'm ashamed. I've been riding that awful roller coaster since September. A few pounds up, a few pounds down, more pounds up, more pounds down. I weighed in at 214 last week, which would be exciting if I hadn't gotten down lower than that MONTHS ago. 

And now my doctor put me on Zoloft, which is notorious for weight gain. I fully expect to gain 15 or more pounds, which will be devastating to me. I feel like that will make me more depressed and anxious...so, like, what's the point of the Zoloft then?

But I'm still going. I'm still eating right and weighing in. And more amazingly (to me), I'm going on long walks and hikes every chance I get. It's hard to remember my life before my heart surgery in August. I can't believe that less than a year ago, I struggled to walk to the mailbox. Now I'm going on 4 mile hikes and feeling absolutely awesome afterwards. 

So maybe I'm not losing weight. Yeah, if fucking sucks. But I am STILL PROUD of myself. Maybe not for losing weight, but because I am living an active life for the first time in so long. 

That's still something to celebrate. 

100 Posts, Not Quite 100 Pounds

I'm getting pretty fucking frustrated with myself right now. I KNOW I'm sabotaging myself, but somehow I just can't stop eating. It's like the story of my fucking life. I KNOW I'm getting fatter, but I can't stop.

So right now, instead of focusing on what I'm doing wrong, I thought I would take a moment to recognize a few things I've done right.

This is my 100th post on My Weird Luck, which is pretty weird in itself. When I first started back in 2012, I was high on my Weight Watchers success and I needed an outlet to share my successes and my failures.

I never expected to still be writing more than a year later, but I also truly didn't expect to still be losing weight. I mean, okay, I'm not exactly losing weight at the moment, but I'm still on the right road. It's better than it could be. I definitely didn't expect to still be on Weight Watchers. I figured that I would do what I always do...give up, give in, and keep eating. I figured I'd be back over 300 pounds, whining about my weight, wondering why I couldn't do anything.

I wanted to get my thoughts out there, but I didn't really expect anyone to listen. I'm glad some people relate, though. While I know a very small percentage of people actually comment, I do see that quite a number of you are looking. Hopefully reading. Maybe even finding a bit of yourself here.

The post that has gotten the most attention is my pilonidal cyst story, which is really fucking gross BUT I'm glad it's maybe spreading some info that's otherwise hard to get. I know how embarrassing it is, so it's nice to be able to help spare other people from some of the confusion I had.

Anyway, so here's a sort of rundown of where I am, versus where I've been.

I weighed in this morning at 215.4 pounds. That's a gain of 2 pounds since last week (as expected).

I've lost a total of 88.6 pounds, having started at 304 pounds in August of 2012.

When I started writing this blog, I had already lost 26.8 pounds, which brought me down to 277.2 from 304. Since I started writing, I've lost another 61.8 pounds. I also had heart surgery, which was pretty traumatic but also really awesome.

I had really, really, REALLY hoped to lose 100 pounds before I got to 100 posts. I also really wanted to lose 100 pounds before I turn 32 next week. That obviously isn't going to happen, but I'm turning 32 weighing close to 200 pounds instead of close to 300 pounds.

It could always be worse. Hopefully before I get to 200 posts, I'll FINALLY be under 200 pounds. Otherwise...I mean, I'll totally lose it. I'll lose the weight, or I'll lose my fucking mind! Ha!

Happy 100th post!

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. 

One Foot In Front Of The Other

It really doesn't look like my 100 Mile March is going to get anywhere close to 100 miles.

I've walked every day so far since March 1...and I just barely made it to 1 mile. One single mile.

That's 1 mile TOTAL.

In four days.

Walking every day.

I SUCK!

Okay, I was really sick all last week and stayed home from work for two days and whatever I had moved into my lungs and now I'm coughing up wicked phlegm and can't breathe.

Plus, I haven't walked in forever. I haven't been on a treadmill since before my open heart surgery, losing an entire functioning valve, and decreasing my lung capacity by around 50%.

And, you know, I'm actually pretty proud that I've walked every day so far. Even though I've felt like shit. And even though the treadmill is set on 2 miles per hour and I can only walk for 2 minutes before stopping to hit my inhaler. And even though the most I've walked at a single time is .25 miles, and even though I have 98.93 miles left to go this month if I actually want to do the 100 Mile March. Because I'm actually trying--sure, it's only a few minutes at a time, but it's more than I was doing before.

(Oh, I've also gained four pounds since my last weigh-in two weeks ago, so I'm nervous about Wednesday. But I'm super bloated and menstruating and I'm basically a walking phlegm factory, so maybe enough bodily fluids will leave my body by Wednesday to at least keep me from gaining weight at my Weight Watcher's meeting. We shall see.)

This is going to be one loooooong March.

100 Miles

I'm a little bit nervous about what I may have gotten myself into.

I signed up the for 100 Mile March.

Ahh!

Now, it's not exactly 100 miles at once...because then I would just die. But you're expected to walk/run/jog 100 miles throughout the month of March. My company is participating and was asking for volunteers, so I got all optimistic and signed up.

Then I tried to ACTUALLY walk, and now I'm not sure I'm going to be able to do it at all.

There are 31 days in March, so if I walk right around three miles every day, I'll be able to do it.

Unfortunately, there's a huge disconnect between that math and what I can actually do.

I picked up my treadmill from my girlfriend's brother's house (because I obviously was never using it!), plugged it in, and hopped on. I started for the first minute or two thinking "Wow, this may actually be do-able!" By the third minute, I was panting and my lungs were burning, even though I was walking at roughly the same slow pace I'd do strolling through a museum. So slow, but so painful.

By the fifth minute, I was wheezing and if my girlfriend had been able to hear me, I would have called to her to bring me my inhaler.

And by the eighth minute, I couldn't breathe, my heart was pounding through my chest, and my teeth were hurting like I was about to have an asthma attack. I turned off the treadmill and collapsed in the closest chair.

I ONLY WALKED .2 MILES.

NOT EVEN A QUARTER OF A FUCKING MILE.

And I was DYING.

I mean, it's no secret that I am lazy and I hate to exercise. I haven't been able to trust my heart or lungs enough to really do much of anything. I really try to avoid moving at all if I can help it.

But I thought I could at least WALK!

Back before I got sick and had my heart surgery, I would get up in the mornings and go for a nice brisk walk. I was hitting around a 15 to 18 minute mile, depending on how many times I broke into a jog. So when I turned on the treadmill yesterday, I figured it would take me maybe 20 minutes to walk the first mile, and hopefully I could get through three miles in a little under an hour.

WRONG.

If it takes me eight minutes to get through .2 miles, each mile will be 40 minutes. That means I'll have to  spend 120 minutes, or two whole hours, walking every night to do this 100 Mile March.

I just don't know if I can do it.

I'm determined to try, but I'm going to try not hating myself if I can't do it. I'm going to try hard. I haven't been using my daily inhaler with any regularity for the past few months, so I'm going to start using it again. It's not like losing weight is going to regrow my damaged lung tissue. But an inhaler along isn't going to get me through 100 miles.

Tonight, I want to try to hit at least .5 miles. Maybe tomorrow I'll be able to do a full mile.

Maybe not, but at least I'll be trying.

50 Pounds! Celebrate!

Down 3 pounds! Therefore...

I've officially lost more than 50 pounds!!!!!!!

I'm at 252.3 pounds. I've lost a total of 51.7 pounds. So that means...I got my 50 pound token from Weight Watchers!

50 pounds is a LOT! When we went to Cancun, I brought about 20 outfits and 10 pairs of shoes (yes, seriously, and we were only there for four days) and I was certain that my bag was going to be over the weight limit for checked luggage. It was the biggest suitcase I own, and I had to have my girlfriend help me lift it into the cab and onto the scale at the baggage check desk, but it came in at 43 pounds. I lost MORE than my giant suitcase full of crap!

Or, more than an entire bale of hay! (Yes, the list of equivalents is still getting much use.)

I've been looking back through a lot of old pictures, and I can tell a big difference in my face. My cheekbones were hidden for so long, and my chin just sloped down to my chest like a fanny pack of fat strapped around my neck. It's nice to look down without feeling the resistance of my chins squishing back up.

I ordered a pair of tall boots and, although they didn't go all the way up, they went much further up my leg than they would have six months ago! They're slouch boots so I'm keeping them anyway--and when I wore them to work on Thursday, I actually felt a little sexy. That's a far cry from where I was in August, when I hated even waddling down to the mailbox because I was embarrassed of what our neighbors might think.

Now that I'm so close to 250 pounds, I can't wait to hit that goal. I'm glad I hit my 50 pound loss, but getting down below 250 pounds is even more important to me. I remember being 250 pounds. I can't remember being any of the weights I reached from 250 through 304 (and possibly beyond). 250 pounds was always my "panic weight" where I'd freak out and start taking Trim Spa or snorting Adderall until I was back down to 240 or 230.

Now, I'm trying to get to 250 from the other side (the healthy way)--and I'm almost there!

So Close

Tomorrow is weigh-in. ::Insert dramatic music here::

I don't want to get my hopes up (too late!) but I think I actually lost a couple of pound this week. And a couple of pounds would put me at a 50 pound weight loss! I don't want to get too excited (again, too freakin late) but I MIGHT get my 50 pound token tomorrow to put on my Weight Watchers keyring!

When I checked my bathroom scale, I was at 252.8 pounds. I started at 304 pounds in August. It's been slow going, but I AM still going, which is better than I've ever done in the past.

I wore an off-the-shoulder top to work today and I couldn't stop staring at my clavicle in the mirror. I love being able to see my clavicle. It was buried under inches of fat for way too long. I have a damn fine clavicle if I do say so myself :)

(Oh yeah, and I love saying clavicle. And patella. And xiphoid process. Best-named bones in the body!)

I went overboard on Jell-o shots this weekend and thought I was going to end up gaining weight. From Sunday through today, though, I've been really good about making smart food choices. I even ditched the 100 Calorie Packs for some fat free pudding--one Point lower, and pudding takes me longer to eat than a couple pre-packaged cookies. I've been eating fruits and veggies, drinking plenty of water, and I even made my mashed potatoes with spray butter. I KNOW! I made my girlfriend's full of delicious fatty stick butter, and just used 1/2 tablespoon of real butter in mine. It was still pretty good. Not AS good, but pretty good.

I just want another loss tomorrow. Even if it's just 1/10 pound. I don't want to go back over 260 pounds. I'm so close to losing 50 pounds! I just want to get there. And then get under 250 pounds. And then...well, I'm focusing on tomorrow.

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!

Here Comes Trouble

I did it. I bought a scale.

I feel like I could be opening Pandora's Box.

It turns out that my fears about normal scales not being able to weigh me were unjustified. Maybe the cheapest analog scales I was looking at when I bought my last scale (which was at Walmart probably ten years ago) didn't go over 250 pounds, but apparently standard digital scales (which were probably out of my $10-$15 budget at the time) go up to 400 pounds. I ordered one on Amazon and it should be here next Wednesday, which also happens to be my next Weight Watchers meeting--this is fortunate because I'll be able to see precisely how different the two scales register.

I tend to be a little obsessive about certain things, and I find it very easy to become obsessive about my weight. When I start a new diet or workout plan, I tend to overdo it and this usually causes me to end it just as quickly as I began. As one of my favorite poets, Edna St. Vincent Millay, wrote, "My candle burns at both ends; it will not last the night; but ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--it gives a lovely light!" After a lifetime of being a Fat Girl, I know all of the rules. Only weigh yourself once a day or once a week and always at the same time; don't eat after 6pm; your plate should consist of mostly vegetables; you need to drink at least eight cups of water a day; etc etc etc ad infinitum. But knowing and doing are two different things, and I always slip into the habit of skipping meals, weighing myself twenty times a day, enjoying the feeling of hunger a little too much, and generally replacing unhealthy habits with different, equally unhealthy habits.

So having a nice scale in the house is going to come with its own set of challenges. Besides my own tendency toward obsessiveness, I'm also anxious about my girlfriend weighing herself and seeing results. I don't want to hear how much she's lost. And I don't want her to become so enamored with losing weight that she begins actively trying--she's losing enough just by eating the healthier suppers I've been making. I know I've already talked about my own issues with her losing weight, and I'm trying to just not think about it and focus on myself, but I can't help it.

Having a scale WILL help me see when I've started to veer off course after a bingeful weekend, and it'll help me get through times like this week when my meeting was cancelled. Not knowing where I stand the week after Christmas is stressing me out, and I won't know exactly what I weigh as I ring in the New Year and make my resolutions. But the shiny new scale should be here on Wednesday, so I have a whole year of healthy living and body changes to look forward to :)

Oh, and the scale comes with a body tape measure...not sure how I feel about that...but I know I better save enough Points for a shot or two of whiskey after I measure myself for the first time!

Numbers Are Confusing

Whoa.

Seriously, WHOA. I was pretty sure I had lost weight this week (especially after getting off the steroids and moving more for a change) but I was stunned to find I lost 7.2 pounds. Seven point two! That's, like, almost a bowling ball. It's over half of my dog's weight. That's the size of a baby! 


37 pounds of cat!

That brings me down to 266.3 pounds for a grand total of 37.7 pounds lost. I am so happy to be in the 260s! I really don't remember being in the 260s. I shot from 235 up to 275 so quickly after my heart surgery that I have no recollection of this weight on my way up. Now I can't wait to get to my next mini goal of 250 (so I can buy a proper scale and possibly go ziplining when I head to Mexico in February).

Speaking of goals, I still haven't decided what I want my final goal weight to be. I don't know if I'm really ready to decide right now. I'm 5' 6 3/4"...I like to think of myself at 5'7" but I'm not sure if I technically count as 5'7" on the healthy weight scale. Wow, it's weird to think of ever being at a 'healthy weight'. I've never been at a healthy weight for my age, even in elementary school. I mean, my license still says I weigh 160 pounds, which was a lie even then (I put 160 on my learner's permit when I was 15, and mercifully no one has made me change it in the last 15 years and multiple lost or renewed licenses--when I was 15, I was 180 and desperately hoped to get down to 160, which clearly did not happen). I'm still a loooooong way off from a healthy weight, but I feel like I'm making so much progress that it might actually happen some day. For a long time, I thought the only way I would ever be a normal size would be through a) weight loss surgery b) a crazy new diet pill or c) magic. Now it seems within reach. Long reach, but still.

According to WeightWatchers.com, a healthy weight at 5'6" is 124-155 pounds, and at 5'7" it's 128-160. So I'm still more than 100 pounds away from being 'healthy', but I'm 37.7 pounds closer! That's something to be happy about. I can't even imagine what my body would look like and feel like within those ranges. 124 seems really tiny--I don't see myself being happy and maintaining a weight that low. But something like 145 would be crazy awesome. I would like to be under 150, but not by much.

 I guess I'll reassess when I get a little closer. For now, baby steps. 250 first, which will be around 20% of my body weight and will earn me another 25 pound token, then probably 225, and then 200. I don't see any harm in sticking with smaller goals right now, because the thought of having more than 100 left to lose is pretty overwhelming. I'm only 16.3 pounds away from my next goal of 250, and after today's weigh in, that seems very do-able!

(FYI: I do NOT hope to lose 7 pounds any other week--I know that's too much. I'd be a little freaked out if I didn't know how much those steroids for my bronchitis messed with me, and if I hadn't gone through that hellish Simply Filling week. Next week, I'm aiming for 1-2 pounds as usual.)

Wish You Were Here

Since I'm spending more of my time than I thought updating this blog (which is a good thing--I think it's helping me think through some stuff and it's keeping me honest with my tracking), I decided to update the description last night. I didn't realize it would be right at the top of the page. I'm sure I can change it, but I don't mind it for now. My point is that I hadn't really decided yet what I want this blog to be.
 
It's starting to take the shape of an online journal (see, I'm still stuck in Livejournal mode) and becoming a place where I can lay out the shit in my head for examination.
 
One of the topics we talk about in our Weight Watchers meetings is why we want to lose weight in the first place. I've written about airplanes and amusement parks, about my heart and my health, about growing old with my girlfriend and having fun with my nephew. But one thing I haven't talked about is Rob.
 
Rob was my best friend. The best friend I've ever had. He's been dead now for one year and three months exactly. It was the hardest thing I've ever gone through (harder, even, than my dog dying the year before that, which had been incredibly difficult for a number of reasons and something I thought I'd never get over). One of the hard parts about accepting Rob's death was the fact that, although he was truly my best friend and I could not have imagined life without him, I hadn't seen him for many months. At the time of his death, he was living in a halfway house, trying to get clean from prescription pills and alcohol.
 
Rob and I had so much fun together. A lot of that fun was in college and we pushed one another, in what felt like a fun way, toward greater gluttony. We'd spend all day drinking and getting high, or go out for a three hour meal to stuff our faces. We lived together in several places at different times in our lives, but our lives together revolved around excess. Even a Monday work night was fun with Rob around because we'd slice up a block of havarti with a roll of butter crackers, break open a jug of wine, roll a few joints, spread out some cheesecake, pop a pill or two, and have ourselves a rollicking good time.
 
We ate, drank, and smoked everything that we could. We were absolute gluttons and lushes and sloths and whatever other ugly thing you can think to call us, but we had a fucking fantastic time together. Until morning. Mornings were awful. Sick, weak, our bodies basically giving out. This went on for several years, but eventually I started cleaning myself up and Rob started relying more heavily on alcohol.
 
By the time he was living in the halfway house, I'd already completely stopped smoking cigarettes. My open heart surgery was enough to scare me away from pills and uppers and drinking binges forever. I was eating like shit still, but I was living like a normal person at least.
 
Not Rob.
 
So it was hard to be around him. Talking to him was more and more painful because he'd pretend like he wasn't drinking, when I knew very well that he was slurring at 11am because he'd been drinking since 6am and swallowing Xanax since 7am. I tried to talk to him but he's as stubborn as I am, possibly more so, and he grew resentful. So I stopped trying.
 
I did get to speak with him a few days before he died, and he finally sounded like his old self. He said he had stopped drinking (a line I'd heard too many times by then) and wanted to get together. I couldn't that week but promised to see him by the end of the month. I found out that he died that Monday, and they identified his body a week and a half later.
 
When Rob died, my world turned upside down. My heart broke into a million pieces. Parts of me died that will never return. A part of my soul was ripped out. The world became a very scary and bitter place. Whatever plans I had for the future seemed meaningless. That novel I wanted to write? Screw it--I'd probably die before I wrote a page. Finally living life as a thin, healthy person? Yeah, right...I'd probably end up getting hit by a train on my way to the gym. I entered a nightmare and felt so incredibly, unspeakably alone.

I wasn't alone, though. And I didn't die with him, even though it felt like I might. As the roaring horror of what happened started to dull many dark months later, another sound started to take its place. It was fear, like a huge alarm going off in my head telling me that it was too late for Rob, but not too late for me. I felt like Ebeneezer Fucking Scrooge with the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. I wasn't given a second chance exactly, but I was made painfully aware that Rob was not getting any more chances. He was done. I still had a chance and, even if I screwed it all up, it did help clarify for me that things that I wanted to change, given the time.
 
Of course, the real problem is that I don't know if I'll be given the time. No idea. None of us know. I might die tomorrow. I might die tonight. Can I say I'm happy with where my life has taken me? No, not really. There's a lot that I want to accomplish. But am I happy with where I'm taking my life? Well...yeah. At this moment, yeah. I'm finally headed in the right direction and it feels...good. It feels really good. I'm not where I want to be, but I'm on my way there. That's a lot more than I could have said a year ago. So if I had to add something to my list of reasons I want to lose weight, it's this: because I want to honor Rob's memory by changing my life in the ways he was trying to change his. I love him enough to see that he was getting better and his chances were taken away while he was fighting to get on the right path. As long as I still have a chance, I better be on the right fucking path.

Rob, I love you and miss you. I know you'd be proud that I've had the willpower to lose 30 pounds, and hopefully you'll be even prouder when I reach the end of my journey. One way or another, I'm reaching the end at some point--I might as well try to look  and feel good when I get there.

Keyring, Token, 360...Oh My!

Many small successes today :)

Although I was scheduled to be in a two hour meeting during my Weight Watchers weigh-in, I managed to sneak out and run the half block to weigh in. Yeah, I RAN. I have not run more than two steps at a time for several years. Between my malfunctioning heart, my asthma, my COPD, and my weight, I haven't even tried to move quickly. And to top it all off, I'm still recovering from bronchitis!

Granted, what I call running, anyone watching would probably call "flailing and wildly lumbering". Well, they can suck it. I ran, dammit!

I burst into the meeting about half an hour into it, and I'm very grateful that the 360 plan started today because our meetings rarely last a full half hour. I stripped off my oh-so-heavy glasses, work lanyard, and earrings, and climbed on the scale.

Down 3.8 pounds!

I honestly don't know how that's possible. But it's true! That brought my grand total loss to 30.6 pounds.

Which means...I also reached my 10% goal today!

Keyring=awesomeness.

When I mentioned earlier that I had earned my 25 pound token, I should have elaborated that I earned it but my leader didn't have 25 pound tokens on hand last week. She had offered to give me a 75 pound token and then trade me back, but since I didn't have a keyring yet, I declined and told her I'd just grab it this week. I'm so pumped that I got both at the same time, so now no one else has to know that I earned the 25 pound token before I hit 10%. Whew. Yes, I realize that other people can probably guess that I'm still over 250 pounds, but I'd rather pretend they don't know. Now I can show off the keyring and token proudly. Very happy.

Because I had to run (well, okay, this was more like power walking) back to the other meeting, I didn't get a chance to ask or learn anything about the 360 plan. But I did get the packet and I'm excited to go through everything in detail. I love having new stuff to read :)

Now I'm officially down to 273.4 pounds, and I had to set a new goal since I hit my 10%. I decided on 250 for now--baby steps. I don't want to get too discouraged, and I figured that 250 is a good goal...plus, when I get there, I can finally buy a new scale without worrying how high it registers.

After all the excitement of getting my shiny new keyring and token, I felt pretty prepared to start the Simply Filling plan today. So far I have eaten only Power Foods today (I changed supper to a baked potato and corn with spray butter, along with a light English muffin topped with garlic powder, spray butter, and fat free cheddar--which, I admit, was actually pretty freakin delicious, even though I abhor fat free cheese). I'm about to go grab a SmartOnes chocolate chip sundae, which will still leave me with 45 points for the week.

Not a bad start for my Weight Watchers Simply Filling week!