Literally Always Hungry

I am never not hungry.

I can eat a full and balanced and even hearty meal, lean back complaining how stuffed I am, and then literally begin thinking about dessert while still swallowing my last bite of food.

I know I've talked about this before but I guess I just wanted to confirm that nothing's changed. I haven't lost weight and suddenly, magically stopped thinking about food every second of the day. I've lost weight in spite of constantly obsessing about eating, but it hasn't gotten easier.

I do what I'm supposed to. I drink enough water to be certain it's not dehydration. I make sure I eat enough protein and fiber to keep me full. I eat good sized portions, I do the whole stop-rest-assess Weight Watchers thing to avoid over-stuffing myself while making sure I'm actually full, and I try my best to stay somewhat busy and keep my mind off food. Somehow, though, I still have food on the brain 24/7.

There's this dumb Buzzfeed quiz, Should You Have A Snack? It's more of a joke quiz, but I've been trying to make myself take it when I start thinking about dessert while chewing the last of my meal. The sole question is, "When did you last eat?" The first option is "10 minutes ago" (although it's usually only been like 2 minutes since I ate when I take the stupid quiz) and it answers, "In a little while." Which is a really nice way of saying, "You seriously JUST ATE, you fat fucking idiot, don't stuff your face when supper isn't even down your esophagus!"

Even when I take the quiz and know I shouldn't eat, I find myself craving something sweet the second I'm done eating. I think about food while I'm still consuming other food. I plan my meals for the next day (and usually pre-track) so I have something to look forward to and so I can go to bed happy.

Right now I'm stoked for work tomorrow because I have awesome roasted veggie and black bean burger leftovers waiting in the fridge. Then I have zucchini feta galette planned for supper...yum. And tomorrow morning when I'm struggling to find a reason to get out of bed (I've been open about my issues with depression and some days it really doesn't seem worth it to even wake up), I'll remind myself of the delicious lunch and supper ahead and I'll force myself up.

I think about food all during work. I can't concentrate when there are cookies or cupcakes nearby. When I think about my vacations, I find myself remembering the meals. If someone is passing out candy, I almost pass out from the anticipation waiting to see if I'll get any and, if so, what. I look forward to holidays primarily for the food.

So when people comment on my weight and ask me how I've done it or if it's been easy or what my secret is, I laugh and say, "Well, I am literally always hungry.' I say it as though I'm joking, but I'm dead serious. I'm hungry right this minute. A year and a half of hunger and deprivation could be torture and maybe it'll eventually send me over the edge, but for now it's worth it.

Why?

Because I'm enjoying life. Because I'm coming more alive with every tulip that pushes up in my garden. Because I'm going to wear tank tops and shorts without feeling like an elephant on parade (Disney reference!). And because today, it was nice out so we took a ride in the convertible with the top down and I didn't feel self conscious, then we went to the park and flew kites which required running through a field and I didn't feel like a hippo lumbering through the grass, then I played at the playground with my nephew without worrying I'd crush the equipment, and now I'm going to bed happy and slightly hungry but good-tired. I'll wake up hungry and probably sore, but I'll take that any day over the life I was living at 300 pounds.

Yeah, I'm hungry ALL the time. But you know what? I don't feel fat all the time, and that makes all the difference to me.

Over It.

I'm done.

Over it.

I've been on Weight Watchers since August 2012 and I can't handle being on a diet anymore. I'm tired of turning down snacks. I'm tired of driving past Dairy Queen without ordering a Blizzard. I'm tired of feeling tortured every time someone orders food or asks me to go to lunch.

So I'm quitting. I'm going back to eating what I want. I don't care if I gain it all back. I'd rather be fat and happy than less-fat and hungry. Today is the beginning of a new life where I eat what I want without feeling guilty.

Today is also the first day of April.

So, psych! April Fool's, suckers!

Although I am tired of passing up delicious food, there's just no way that I'd be happy back over 300 pounds. Not a fucking chance. Now that I know what it feels like to be able to move, to not always be the fattest one in the room, to shop at normal sized stores and not have people stare...I'm not giving that up easily.

For me, Weight Watchers isn't a diet. I do have to limit what I eat and make smarter decisions, but it's not a diet. It is, as they say, a lifestyle change. I don't feel like I'm dieting because I can eat anything I want. Just not as much as I want, and I have to make adjustments elsewhere if I know I want something super unhealthy. I need to have a smaller lunch, or earn some Activity Points.

The reality is that I'm a major overeater and if I were allowed to eat whatever I wanted, I think it would take less than 6 months to regain the 95 pounds I've lost. I have no self control and Weight Watchers helps me manage or budget my food. I already pre-tracked for today so I know if someone shows up with cupcakes or candy, I can asses if it's worth using my extra Points. If I wasn't on Weight Watchers, I would probably convince myself that waking yesterday made up for anything I ate today, and I'd end up having two cupcakes. My mental food math is full of lies, where Weight Watchers is full of harsh reality.

So no, I'm not quitting. It would be nice to go off the rails and pig out, but the consequences are too great. I'm not willing to let go of this healthy version of myself. Yesterday my dad called because he was downtown with my nephew so I left work, power walked a mile, and met up with them. We hung out and then I walked them the mile back to my work to give them a tour (including the fire pole, which my dad had to try...I've worked there 6 years and I'm still too chicken to try). The unexpected chance to spend time with my nephew was totally awesome, and I 100% wouldn't have been able to do that a year ago. My smaller size made that possible. Heart surgery made that possible. Weight Watchers made that possible.

Sure, I'm a little discouraged right now because I've been active and I'm still not losing weight at the moment. I'm actually still the same weight I was in October. That's depressing but it's my own fault--I've been going over my Points and I'm paying the price for that. It doesn't mean I'm going to quit. I just need to focus, get myself back under control, and remember that being this size makes my life a lot better than being 300 pounds.

But now cupcakes sound really good...

Playtime

It feels so good to be able to play again.

I mean, really play.

To chase after my dogs and dash around the yard with their toys. To burst into activity and wind up giggling and flushed and breathless. To race my nephew to the playground at the drive-in without being embarrassed that everyone will be watching the fat girl flounder.

These are things I've missed without even realizing it. As my world begins its slow thaw after a desperately long and hard winter, I'm getting out more and testing the limits of my new heart valve.

On Friday after work, the temperature actually reached 60 so we took the convertible (with the top down!) to the park and hiked around places that I've only ever seen from inside a car. We hiked for 4 miles, passed through a bird sanctuary where the songs of dozens of species joined together in a rich cacophony, walked around the rim of a still-frozen lake where the ice was so thin you could see water rippling below the surface, and at one point broke through the trees to find an unexpected merry-go-round rusting at the edge of a picnic area.

I had thought merry-go-rounds were banned from playgrounds years ago, so I was excited enough to see it that I didn't care who saw ME. I sprinted to the contraption, threw myself in the middle, and held on as my girlfriend grabbed the bars and started spinning. A year or so ago, this wouldn't have happened. First, I wouldn't have even seen the merry-go-round because there's no way I would have been hiking. With 95 extra pounds and a heart valve that was almost completely grown shut, I wouldn't have even been at the park. I would have been home on the couch, enjoying the warmer weather through the window. And if I somehow was near a merry-go-round, there's just no way I would have gotten on. I would have been afraid of breaking it, afraid my girlfriend would be unable to spin it because of my size, and terrified that people would see me and whisper among themselves at the spectacle the fat girl was making of herself.

Being able to run to the playground and play without fear or shame was an experience I really can't describe to most people because they wouldn't understand. I felt joy. That's hard to put into words, but I felt free and happy and normal.

Normal.

Amazing.

Back On Track

After several weeks of exceeding my Weight Watchers Points (like, by 50 Points! That's like just eating an entire pie, with toppings!) I finally managed to stay mostly within my allotment for the week. Okay, to be honest, I counted two hours of walking yesterday just so I wouldn't go over, even though my 'walking' was really taking an extremely slow shuffling tour of a Masonic temple with some elderly people, one of whom was wearing a prosthetic leg, so I probably shouldn't have counted this as exercise. But anyway, I stayed close to my Points and it paid off.

Down 3.2 pounds this week! That brings me to 208.8 pounds, down 95.2 from 304 pounds. Slowly but surely, right? I'm getting pretty close to losing 100 pounds, which is pretty awesome for me. Also, while I was at weigh-in, I saw someone who I haven't seen in a year or so and she was amazed at how much I've lost. It's so incredible to have people tell me how great I look! That's something you just don't hear much when you're over 300 pounds.

So even though I'm sitting here with a half-eaten plate of Christmas cookies on my desk, I still feel like I'm back on track. I'm trimming back, counting the Points of everything I eat, and trying to stick to my daily Weight Watchers goals. It's not easy with so much holiday cheer being passed around in the form of calorie-laden treats, but I'm getting much better at saying NO. "No, thanks! That looks great but I'm on Weight Watchers." It was embarrassing last year. Really, at close to 300 pounds (I was making some progress by Christmas last year) I felt like people were laughing at me when I said I was on a diet. I could almost hear them thinking "Sure, this bitch is dieting! I bet she steals cookies when our backs are turned and eats them in the bathroom." But now that I can see so much progress, I feel a little proud to tell people I'm sticking with Weight Watchers and passing on the treats.

I still eat what I want, but my Planned Indulgences list is working wonders for me. I still plan to splurge on some eggnog, one of those Hershey Kiss cookies, a Christmas Snickers when I get my stocking, and the full meal on Christmas Day. But knowing that I'm going to eat that delicious shit soon makes it SO much easier to say "No, thanks!" to the sugar cookies, chocolate covered pretzels, and candied nuts I see every day now.

I'm still hoping to lose a few more pounds before the end of the year, mostly because my work gives us gift cards if we work out enough or lose enough weight to earn one. I'm close but not quite there, and I could really use a $50 Target shopping spree!

As long as Christmas doesn't derail my Weight Watchers train, I should be down a few pounds by New Year's!

91 Pounds Down!

This is a 91 pound fish. That is a BIG FISH, yo.

I am down 91 pounds as of this week.

Let's just let that sink in.

91 pounds. I really can't believe it. I feel like I've had so many setbacks, like so many weeks I gained instead of lost, but here I am...91 pounds lost. Well, not lost. I didn't 'lose' them, I worked my ass off, tracking every bite and now pushing myself harder and harder at cardiac rehab. So 91 pounds fucking eliminated! Yeah!

At weigh-in on Wednesday, some of my coworkers were complaining about how they felt like they kept gaining just as much as they lost. One girl was saying, "I go down .6 one week, but then up .2 the next week. Then down .4 and then back up .1." I wanted to shake her and say, like, "Do the math, dummy! You may be up and down, but down .6, up .2, down .4, and up .1 is still a total of .7 down! That's progress!" But I didn't say anything. I still feel really awkward acknowledging my weight loss. I probably should have spoken up, though, because I have TOTALLY been there. The weight chart on my Weight Watchers app looks like a saw. It's a jagged line, up and down in tiny increments, but the overall slope is downward.

I've mentioned on here the weeks where I've gained 10 FREAKIN POUNDS in one week. And back at the beginning of this year when I hit that stupid fucking plateau and didn't lose a single pound for two months.

I mean, yeah, I've lost 91 pounds. But that's been since last August. That's definitely less than the 2 pounds per week that people expect. I sometimes do feel like I've gained as much as I've lost. Mathematically that's obviously not the case, but I've had enough tiny gains that I know now not to freak out. Little by little, up and down, I've been making progress. And I didn't let those 10 pound gains stop me (seriously, 10 pounds...that's nuts). And here I am. 91 pounds down. Slowly but surely.

The Lovely Bones

Let me tell you, it is SO WEIRD to see my collarbone. I walked past the mirror this morning and stopped in my tracks for a double-take. The rising sun slanting through the blinds in the living room cast shadows in the hollows, and I was stunned to realize they actually were hollows.

I have a real collarbone. One that I can show off. Not just the idea of a clavicle...an actual bone that I can run my fingers along and choose necklaces to lay against.

See, I've been fat forever. My entire life. I remember being chubby in kindergarten and I just kept growing up and out. Then I stopped growing up and kept growing out. Layer after layer of fat softened my body and buried my bones.

When you weigh more than 300 pounds, it's easy to forget you have bones at all. I started to feel like a candle stub that was dipped again and again in melted wax, each dip leaving another layer of soft wax, rounding me out and filling me up. When I was desperate, which was pretty much all of the time before I finally took control and began losing weight, I would imagine myself taking a knife and carving all the fat off my body. In all the times I envisioned this, I never once saw my blade hitting bone. An organ sometimes, yes, but I figured that would be a small price to pay to get rid of the fat. Never bone, though. I felt like my fat was packed into my lumpy suit of skin without bones or anything else besides fat and maybe blood.

I'm fascinated by x-rays of myself--it's so strange to see my skeleton. It seems like a different person almost. It's hard to believe that it's there, packed beneath all of that fat. It feels impossible that I'm made up of such small, fragile things. My bones seemed as mysterious to me as the bottom of the ocean.

But now I can SEE my bones. I can see the bone jutting out at my wrist, and my knuckles moving as I type. I can see the light on my cheekbones and the slight depression beneath them. My jaw is an actual jaw and not just the slope from my face to my chest.

Like I said, it's weird. But good. Definitely good. I'm still 217 pounds so there are still lots of layers to fat to melt away, but I can see that happening. I'm going strong. And this way is definitely preferable to carving my body out of fat--it may take longer, but there will be significantly less blood lost in the process.

A Whole New World

So...it's been awhile.

I'm kind of a different person now.

Weight-loss wise, I'm still trucking along slowly but surely. Not much has changed there...I'm struggling with sweets, craving all kinds of shit, and compulsively tracking and weighing my food to keep within my daily Weight Watchers points. It's rough, yeah, but after more than a year on Weight Watchers, I feel like I'm sort of a pro.

Plus, I'm now at 219 pounds as of yesterday's weigh-in. That's 85 pounds down from 304! It's been a little more than a year (I started last August) and I'm still doing the 1-pound-up-2-pounds-down dance, but it's working.

The REAL change, though, is that I have a new heart valve. And this one WORKS! If you're not familiar with my health struggles, here's a recap: in 2007 I had a root canal that, unbeknownst to me, introduced some bacteria into my bloodstream. I became extremely sick and was hospitalized in December of 2007 with streptococcus, double pneumonia, bronchitis, pleurisy, severe dehydration, malnutrition, anemia...not a pretty picture. The antibiotics didn't work, I almost died, and the bacteria turned into endocarditis on my tricuspid valve. Little bits were flecking off into my lungs and causing major breathing and infection problems and nothing helped. I eventually had open heart surgery in late January 2008 at the age of 25. While recovering, I caught mono and within a few months, the artificial heart valve stopped working. It was frozen in a half-open position which allowed blood to pass but which caused serious problems for me. I couldn't do any of the activities I used to do. I'd get out of breath walking up a single flight of stairs, I couldn't run or play, and my asthma got worse and worse. I rapidly gained 50 pounds and stayed that way, fat and sick, for about 5 years. Last August, I joined Weight Watchers hoping to lose some weight and become active again. I lost weight, but wasn't active. Walking was still nearly impossible for me. I was thinner but still miserable and totally sedentary.

This summer, things got worse. My oxygen was dropping down to 80% just walking out to my car (I started keeping an oximeter with me to check my blood oxygen because I always felt like I was just about to drown and could never catch my breath). My resting pulse was around 130 beats per minute. Those are not the signs of a healthy person. It became so bad that I stopped going to meetings at work because I couldn't walk there (I'm a department manager, so this was not so great for my job). I stopped making plans because I couldn't go anywhere.

Then I went to Bonnaroo in June. I've been to Bonnaroo 5 times before this year and each year since my surgery was a little more difficult. After losing so much weight (around 70 pounds at the time), I though I could handle parking in the 'normal' campground instead of the handicapped area. WRONG. We missed shows because I couldn't get there, it took us 2 hours to walk to Centeroo, and I was thoroughly miserable the entire time. It was the saddest Bonnaroo ever...which is even sadder because PAUL FUCKING MCCARTNEY WAS THERE and I was too busy just trying to breathe and not die to even enjoy the show!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, when I got back from Bonnaroo, I started going to my doctors and asking for tests. I needed to know if there was something else going on. My doctor and cardiologist and nurse practitioner checked my blood, my urine, did x-rays, EKGs, ultrasounds, etc. I'd been feeling like shit for 5 years, but it was like since I had lost 70 pounds, they were taking me seriously for the first time. The cardiologist said, "With how much weight you've lost, you should be feeling great." So instead of passing my symptoms (difficulty breathing, high pulse, severe fatigue, exercise intolerance, dizziness, etc) off on my weight, they started searching for real answers. I had them check for thyroid issues, vitamin deficiencies, lupus, internal bleeding, hepatitis, everything I could think of that would explain my problems and why I wasn't getting better.

They finally did a tranespophageal echocardiogram and determined that very little blood was actually flowing through my non-functioning mechanical valve. A cardiac surgeon met with me and wanted to try replacing it again. I was terrified. Seriously terrified. I mean, it was bad enough the first time. I wasn't sure if I could deal with the pain, the scars, the risks, missing work. However, I'd worked so hard to lose weight that I felt like I'd made a commitment to my health and I should try the surgery if they thought it might make my life a little better.

So I scheduled the surgery. I had to wait one month, and it was a fucking horrible month. I made all of my FMLA and short term disability arrangements, assigned my work duties to my employees and assistant manager, and made thorough user guides for all of my job responsibilities. To be honest, I was fully expecting to die during surgery. I spent that month making my final arrangements, writing out a will, gathering information for my cemetery plot, and saying goodbye.

The surgery day came and when they strapped me to the table in the operating room, tears were streaming hot down the sides of my face. I knew it would be the last time my eyes would be open.

But around 12 hours later, my eyes did open again. I made it. Well, just barely. That first night, my pulse kept dropping down to the low 40s and they had to put in a pacemaker to get me regulated. But when they turned off the pacemaker the next day, my pulse was steady. My blood pressure was good. I was alive.

They replaced the broken mechanical valve with a bioprosthesis from a cow. As a vegetarian for more than a decade, I was really upset about using a cow's heart. But I asked my friends and family and Facebook to have a Beef Free Day on the day of my surgery--I was overwhelmed to find out how many people committed to not eat beef that day. It made me feel better. We saved part of a cow, and part of a cow saved me :)

The surgeon was horrified by the condition of the mechanical valve. It's not like you can just peek in and see how your heart valve looks, so no one really knew how bad it had gotten. The surgeon was so blown away he took a picture of the valve to show my family...brace yourself for something seriously nasty. The mechanical valve they took out is below (shown from both sides).

Yeah...no wonder I felt like shit.

Within maybe 48 hours, I was able to get up and walk around. And I COULD walk around! Even with the bandages and open incisions, the IVs sewn into my skin and the telemetry wires coming out of every opening in my gown, I could walk. Once they got the catheter out, I started walking. That first day without the catheter, I walked halfway around the cardiac ICU floor of the hospital. I could not have walked that far before the surgery! The next day, I made it a full lap in the morning. Then I made another lap after lunch. That day, I ended up walking 6 laps around the hospital floor. I NEVER would have made it 6 laps around the hospital floor before the surgery! Seriously, I can't really express just how bad it was before, and how fucking amazing it was after. The fourth day, I walked 20 laps around the hospital floor! The patients in the other rooms all watched me and the nurses encouraged me as I shuffled around over and over, clutching the heart-shaped pillow to my chest incisions. They have markers every 25 feet along the wall, and one lap is 500 feet. 20 laps is 10,000 feet, which is nearly two miles! Sure, it took me all day...but I walked TWO MILES! If you've read my other posts, it took me four days to walk a single mile back in March. Two miles in one day is a total fucking miracle for me.

The fifth day, they sent me home!

I still had a long recovery ahead of me. They had to cut a bunch of muscles and nerves to get to my valve, so I can't lift more than 5 to 10 pounds. I have a total of 8 incisions (two of them very large) and 7 holes from the pacemaker, IVs, etc. I've been off work for just over a month now. But I AM RECOVERING.

My first week home, I had to have someone with me 24/7 in case anything went wrong. My amazing girlfriend, who had stayed in the hospital with me the whole time (just as she did in 2007 and 2008) took care of me when I got home. That first full day home, I asked her to take me for a short walk. We got dressed (in my sexy Velcro bra the hospital gave me, and with the heart pillow held tight against my chest) and we walked around outside for 10 or 15 minutes. Here's the crazy part: that was the first time we'd walked anywhere in the neighborhood in the 4 years that we've lived here.

After that, I started walking a little more each day. Some days the pain was bad and I could only do 10 minutes, but I still made myself walk 10 minutes where before, I would have just stayed on the couch. Then the neighborhood suddenly seemed small. We started going to parks near us. After the first couple of weeks, we even tried hiking. I went from not being able to walk from my car into my desk at work, to hiking for an hour without stopping.

Last weekend, we hiked for 4 hours and it felt completely amazing!

I've been eating a lot while I've been at home on short term disability so I'm not losing weight any faster, but I'm getting stronger. I feel healthy. I feel GOOD. I feel like the world has opened up to me. We went to St. Louis for a funeral and I actually felt guilty about not walking during the day we spent in the car. After the funeral, we went to the St. Louis Zoo and walked around for 2 hours. Before, we would have shuffled from one bench to the next and missed half of the zoo. This time, we went on every single path...AND we parked in the free parking down the street instead of wasting $15 for a close spot.

It really is a whole new world for me. There's so much I want to do now. I'm still in pain and I'm still healing, but I should be returning to work next week. Now I'm already planning to take advantage of our on-site gym and personal trainer for the first time since I started working there. I've completely stopped taking my inhalers because, as it turns out, I don't even have asthma...all of my breathing problems were cardiac-related.

Also, my cardiac rehab starts tomorrow. I'll slowly learn how to move my body again. I'll get faster, and stronger, and healthier.

I couldn't be more excited.

Bonus: here's a picture of me before Weight Watchers, and a picture of me last week. I still have a long way to go, but look at the difference! I might need a new cardigan soon!

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!

Total Loser

I cannot believe it. I actually lost this week!

I lost 5.6 pounds! And that's even after my all-inclusive (read: all-you-can-eat) vacation :)

I'm now at 255.4 pounds, for a total loss of 48.6 pounds. I'm almost to my 50 pound token from Weight Watchers!

Really, the 5.6 pound loss this week isn't quite as impressive when I remember that I gained 4.8 pounds last week. My ankles were swollen and I was on my period, so the dramatic drop this week is not really so dramatic.

Still, I'm almost to 50 pounds lost! That's pretty awesome.

I moved desks at work today and found a photograph someone had taken in May 2011. This picture is BAD. Like, I had blocked it from my memory because it was so bad. I thought I looked cute that day. I remember feeling pretty and breezy. OH MY GOD. I look like a hippo caught in a shower curtain. I don't know how I ever felt pretty when I looked so obviously horrible.

I can't stand knowing that somewhere out there is another copy of this photo. I mean, when I started Weight Watchers in August 2012, I weighed exactly 304 pounds. That's a lot. I know. I assumed that was my heaviest weight but I hadn't weighed myself in so long, there's no way of knowing. After looking at this picture, I'm positive that I weighed more than 304 pounds. Like 350 pounds. It doesn't seem possible that I could lose almost 50 pounds without knowing or trying
 (especially since I've been fighting so hard to lose the 48.6 pounds I've shed in the past six months) but that picture just cannot be of a girl who weighs  304 pounds. Then again, I'm terrible at guessing weight on myself or on anyone else. So who knows? All I know is this: I looked disgusting, I look much better now, and I never want to look like that again.

On the upside: it makes a good "before" picture!

Delicioso!

Mexico was fantastico!

It was a little overcast and rainy, but it was still 77 degrees out--unlike the snow and -15 degree wind chill back home! We were directly on the ocean, with a view over poolside tiki hut bars and the rolling turquoise sea. The combination of cloudy weather and a gorgeous view from the balcony proved a little dangerous--I ordered room service six times in four days.

Whoops!

People were handing us free drinks from the second we got on the plane, on the bus to the resort, in line at check-in, at every meal, and even in line at the airport before the flight home. I told myself that I'd only drink one day to keep myself from going too overboard on sugar and alcohol, but in that one day I managed to drink over 100 Points Plus worth of frozen adult beverages.

Again...whoops :)

I tracked every single thing I ate, but I went over my weekly Weight Watchers points by a pretty remarkable 115 Points. HA!!! I knew it was going to be bad but I wasn't quite prepared for that much ridiculousness.

Still, I did track. And I swam and walked and moved around. And I'm forcing myself to go to weigh in on Wednesday.

I may have been bad, but fuck it--I was on vacation, and I didn't go off the rails completely.

Plus, there's this: my seat belt fit on the airplane. Like, it easily fit. Sure, it was let out as far as it would go, but it fit comfortably. And I wore a bathing suit in front of my coworkers without dying from embarrassment. We took a ton of pictures and I only had to delete a handful--including all the full body photos! I walked up and down bus aisles without having to squeeze my ass between the seats. I sat in folding chairs without fearing I would crush them.

No matter what the scale says on Wednesday, I'm still one happy camper.

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.

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!

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 :)

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!

Surving Christmas

This is a ROUGH time to watch your weight!

All week at work I've had to dodge platters of fudge, brownies, cupcakes, divinity, homemade marshmallows, Oreo truffles, cake balls, cookies, peanut brittle, gingerbread, chocolate dipped candy canes, caramels, muffins...not to mention all of the store bought candy! Tree-shaped Reese's, white chocolate Oreos, Snickers, Kit-Kats, Caramellos, Heath bars...there have been mugs and bags of candy left on my desk, bowls and plates full sitting around on filing cabinets and desks, tins and baskets on the counters in the office kitchen. It's worse than my parents' house (although mercifully not as wrought with emotional eating triggers as being at my parents').

I've been strong, and I've actually been proud of my resolve. I passed up the platters, I gave the bagged goodies to my girlfriend and asked her to hide them from me and eat them quickly, and I had her hide the candy and only give me pieces when I ask for them. Last year at Christmas, I ate like I would never get chocolate again. I stuffed my face all day, every day. I did not pass up a single cookie or cupcake. I had piles of empty wrappers around me at all times. I emptied bags of Lindt truffles and gorged on boxes of Ferrero Rocher and chocolate covered cherries. I tried the white chocolate Frosty, the Reindeer Tracks Blizzards, the eggnog milkshakes, the gingerbread cappachinos. I baked rolls of cookies and dipped everything in the house in chocolate (marshmallows, cashews, cookies, Ritz crackers with peppermint flavor--they taste like Thin Mints--, candy canes, cherries, graham crackers, pretzels, everything) and then I ate and ate and ate. I couldn't even begin to guess how much I ate last year at Christmas, or how much weight I gained as a result. I just didn't care. I gorged myself with everything I could get my hands on.

Gorged is a good word. When I think of gorging, I think of ticks. Have you ever seen a really, totally engorged tick? When I first found my old dog on the side of the road on spring many years ago, he had a broken leg and was covered in ticks. The Humane Society guessed he had been outside all winter because his coat was so matted and caked deep with mud. The broken leg and resulting infection were more than they could care for and they were going to put him down if I left him. So of course I kept him, snuck him into my house (I was in college and pets were strictly verboten in university housing), and gave him a bath (I was as scared as he was--here was a strange, wild Rottweiler mix that I was told had been beaten and had his leg broken by a human, not a car, and I had no idea how he would react). He let me wash him and when I was done, I began inspecting him and cleaning his wounds, and I found so many fleas and ticks in his thick fur. I knew the flea shampoo would help with those vermin, but the ticks would have to be pulled out by hand. I started pulling them out, one by one, and then found a dense cluster of them latched in one of his armpits (if you can call it that on a dog). 

While I was pulling out all of the outer ticks, this disgusting thing was slowly uncovered at the center of the cluster. It was a tick, but it was the size of my thumbnail and a sickly yellowish-orange. Once I had pulled away all of the others, I had to get that monster. It had been sucking this dog's blood for so long, it was engorged to the point of almost bursting. I was using tweezers to gently detach the ticks head-first so there wouldn't be anything left inside the dog's skin, but this tick was so huge I couldn't easily get to the head. I used my fingers to pull the tweezers apart and released them around the tick--but it was so full and fat that it was soft, and the tweezers sank in like it was a marshmallow. I finally pulled it out but it was so gross and pale and full of blood that I never forgot that sight.

I ended up rehabilitating the dog and he became the love of my life. I named him J (J. Edgar Hoover) and I spent all of my time with him. And on more than one occasion, the thought of leaving him with no one to care for him saved me from killing myself. Not to be too grim, but I have dealt with suicidal thoughts pretty much as long as I can remember. There were several times after college in the lonely years that come with graduating from school to living alone and drinking alone and living as a drunk, unhealthy slob with no direction, that looking into that dog's eyes was literally the only thing that kept me from slitting my wrists or swallowing the handful of pills. I saved him and he saved me. When he died two years ago, I thought I would die with him. And when Rob died last year, I felt lonelier than I ever have before and I considered killing myself with the very slim hope that I might see Rob and J again if I did. But I was in a better place, and I had a girlfriend who loves me and got me through, and now I'm committed to living a healthier life and giving myself a chance again. In the year after moving in with my girlfriend I had begun to eat healthier and work out, and J loved going on the trails with me as I walked and jogged along. Then I got sick, had my open heart surgery, and we stopped jogging or even walking together. I wish I had been more active with him in the years after my surgery and before he died. But now I have another dog--as very different as a dog can be from another--and I hope to give him the active time I took away from J.

But back to what I was saying. Last year, I gorged myself until I really felt like that nasty tick I pulled out of J. I could barely move and I knew every part of my body was swollen with fat. I'm determined to not let that happen this year, so I'm doing that I can to control my sweet tooth. Besides passing up the treats and having my girlfriend hide my candy, I also decided not to make sweets this year. I gave my employees little gift bags instead of the usual cookies and chocolate-covered-everything, and I invited my parents over here to visit instead of going over there to help them bake. I'm also proud of this little change: I had volunteered to contribute to a charity bake sale, but instead of baking human food, I made dog cookies. I've made them before and they're so easy--it's 2 cups of wheat flour, 1 tablespoon of baking powder, 1 cup of milk, 1 cup of peanut butter, 1 tablespoon of vanilla, and 1/4 cup of honey. I mix the dry ingredients, mix the wet ingredients, combine the two, and then knead. I rolled it out thin and used a small Christmas tree cookie cutter and baked them for 20 minutes at 375. They turned out beautifully, and I divided them into snack bags. I made little "Merry Christmas" tags with a label saying they were peanut butter cookies for dogs, and included "To" and "Love" with blank spaces so people could give them to their dogs as presents. Some curly ribbon tied to each bag made them really cute--and they were a huge hit! They made money for the charity, and they kept me away from temptation. Plus, my dog really enjoyed the cookies I made him out of the scraps :)

So I'm finding little ways to sidestep the Christmas treat landmines that are planted around my life. I'm still staying on Plan and finding ways to be more active, and I have to say that this year feels more like Christmas than last year did. It's really nice to enjoy Christmas, instead of watching it pass by the television screen while I gulp down food without thinking about it. I miss J, I miss Rob, and I do miss making plates of goodies for everyone--but I'm slowly learning to replace those gaps with healthy food, meaningful activities, and spending time with the people I love who are still with us. I don't want to be a tick this year. I want to be a Christmas elf, spreading cheer instead of sucking it all away. That was super cheesy. But the point is, I'm having a wonderful Christmas and I think I'm helping the people around me have a good Christmas too, even if I'm not handing them cookies.

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.)

I Work Out (No I Don't)

There's something I'd like to share: I am lazy.

Seriously, I'm super lazy. Always have been. When I was in third grade, I would sit down in the middle of the soccer field and search for four leaf clovers. When I was in softball through elementary and middle school, I was the catcher so I wouldn't have to walk anywhere (I was a terrible catcher. I don't know why they let me do it. I would squat there, chewing sunflower seeds, halfheartedly tossing the ball back to the pitcher. By the end of the inning, the pitcher was always worn out from retrieving my errant balls and my sweaty face mask would be dotted with sunflower shells. Oy.)

My favorite part about any of the sports my parents forced me into was always, ALWAYS the snacks. Little Debbies, fruit snacks, Hi-C, Squeeze-its...they totally made it worth suffering through one crappy game after another. The entire time I was shuffling up and down the basketball court or relaxing in the dugout, I was fantisizing about the candy the parents would pass out when we were done. Working out was awful, but the candy reward got me through.

As an adult, I am even lazier. I ask my girlfriend to get everything for me. I have to sit down if I walk more than half a block. At Disney World, I had to have the next bench or low wall in sight before I waddled any further. Last year, I had to leave a haunted house through the emergency exit, not because I was scared but because I was so out of breath I thought I was going to pass out. Between my non-functioning heart valve and the chronic lung problems that began when I got sick in 2007, I have a good excuse to be lazy, and I pull the "heart problem card" all the time. I have my employees pick up papers from the printer for me, I make excuses to get out of meetings on the third floor because I don't want to climb the stairs, and I have even put off going to the bathroom because I didn't want to walk that far.

Seriously. So lazy.

Yes, the sloth is my spirit animal.

So one of the things that makes me nervous about Weight Watchers is the activity portion. I know that one of the major components of staying on Plan is to add activity to my life, but I have avoided it at all costs. I feel like I can't work out. I self-diagnosed myself as exercise intolerant. It's just laziness, but I don't trust myself to do too much.

One major scare a few years ago, the year after my open heart surgery, really made me never want to work out or increase my heart rate again. I had taken a tour of Mammoth Cave and we were on our way out. The exit required a trek up exactly 440 stairs--before we even hit the stairs, I was already out of breath, heart racing, and the very last person in the group except for the guide who was turning off lights behind me. I started up the stairs and barely made it a quarter of the way before I stopped, my legs quivering, pouring sweat. I began having my first true asthma attack...and guess who hadn't brought an inhaler? The asthma attack was bad enough, but looking up the remaining stairs made me want to die. The group slowly disappeared out into the sunlight and I was left with my nervous girlfriend and a guide urging me on. I got up another quarter of the way and then stopped and truly started to freak out. There was no other way out but up, and those two were NOT going to be able to carry me. Sooo...my asthma attack turned into a panic attack, and I was then convinced I was having an actual heart attack. I was so scared.

I was crying by then, shaking, and absolutely humiliated. I eventually made it up the stairs, one at a time, and had to make the ultimate walk of shame to the bus where the entire tour group was staring at me. Of course, I had to shoehorn myself down the bus aisle and I knew my face was a gross combination of green, gray, white, and bright red. I can't think of a time I was more embarrassed. That experience left me terrified of having another episode like it, so from that moment on I avoided all physical activity at all costs, particularly activity where I knew I'd be stuck if I couldn't go on (like hiking, which I love). And the longer I avoided moving, the less I began to move. By the time I started Weight Watchers, I was coming home and sitting on the couch for an hour before cooking supper, and then sitting on the couch for several more hours while my girlfriend got me drinks, food, and whatever else I needed. I pretty much only stood up to go to work or use the bathroom.

I'm extremely happy to say that things are changing.

It started when I was on the steroids--I had insomnia for several days, and instead of watching the television all night, I started cleaning. I organized cabinets, folded laundry, collected items to donate, sorted through junk drawers, and did everything I'd been putting off for years. I figured it was only because of the steroids but...well...I haven't stopped. I'm sleeping normally again and I've been off the steroids for a week, but instead of coming home and turning on the television, I'm straighting up the house, playing with the dog, or finding something to tidy up or repair.

This weekend, we went to an outdoor Christmas event and I didn't sit down once. I wandered along the canal and went into stores, when just months before I would have preferred to sit on a bench while my girlfriend walked around. On Sunday, I suggested we go to a Christmas display at the art museum and I walked so quickly through the grounds that my girlfriend struggled to keep up. Tonight, I went downtown and actually walked three blocks to meet up with my family, and then walked around for a little while, and then walked back to my truck--I NEVER would have agreed to do that before! I guess it's true what the commercial says: a body in motion stays in motion (yes, I realize that's a law of physics and not just a commercial). I'm definitely in motion.

And possibly even cooler? I haven't used my inhaler for weeks. I usually take a daily inhaler and then carry another one for emergencies--I stopped using both. I carry them in case I need them, but I have been walking around like a normal, healthy person and I haven't used an inhaler! Do you know how huge that is for me?!

Even though I don't see myself ever joining a gym (just the thought makes me anxious) or jogging around outside, I don't think I need traditional exercise to move more. I AM moving more. I'm walking, I'm going to events, I'm doing more now than I ever thought I would again. I had almost resigned myself to a life like the mom in What's Eating Gilbert Grape (I do need to talk about my grandmother at some point...I love her so much but ending up like her is my worst nightmare) so it feels incredible to finally get out and enjoy life. By the spring, maybe I'll even feel confident enough in myself to go for a hike--that would make me so extremely happy. No matter what the scale says tomorrow at weigh in, I am proud of myself. I feel like I'm slowly reclaiming my life, and it's awesome.

Plus, it doesn't hurt that the house is finally clean!