Fatty Fatty Two By Four

I'm having a fat day.

Make that a fat week.

You know how some girls have bad hair days? Well, my hair is frizzy and I hate it 90% of the time, so every day is basically a bad hair day. And until the past few months, I was always aware of my fat so EVERY day was a fat day too.

Things started changing, ever so slowly. I went from constantly thinking about my size to finally, after so many years of morbid obesity, allowing myself to concentrate on my life instead of my fat. I have fat days, but not single fucking day is a fat day. Not all of my thoughts revolve around being fat. I've been able to go to antique malls and actually shop, instead of spending my time in there carefully squeezing between shelves of glassware and praying that I don't knock over a $500 vase with my gut. I went to the mall and strolled into Victoria's Secret without flushing with the embarrassment of knowing every salesperson was wondering why someone my size was in their tiny store. Last week, I wore a pair of underwear that kept rolling down and I could feel my stomach hanging out when I sat down, but that annoying and uncomfortable day made me realize that I used to feel like that EVERY day. So things have been pretty awesome.

Now, unfortunately, I'm having a fat day and with good reason. I'm getting fatter. Plus, I'm in a rough spot. I'm so close to my next goal of being under 200 pounds, and I'm also right on top of Christmas and New Year's, two gluttonous holidays. Maybe not for everyone, but my sweet tooth really makes Christmas intolerable while trying to lose weight.

Can't...stop...eating...

Everyone around me knows I'm on Weight Watchers and that I've lost close to 100 pounds since last August, so people for the most part have been great about not tempting me with treats. My coworkers and family also know that I am utterly powerless around sweets, so they've even made an effort to have fruit and veggies around, and I offer to bring healthy sides to pitch-ins and family dinners. Still, there's really no avoiding sweets. One of my employees brought a bag of candy--mini Snickers, mini Twix, Hershey Kisses, Rolos, etc. I started off with one piece, then another, and before I knew it...the whole fucking bag was gone by noon today. Less than four hours and I inhaled 12 Points worth of candy.

Then I came home and my mom dropped by. She brought me some peanut butter balls (which most people call Buckeyes) and I ate two of them, followed by a fresh chocolate chip cookie. I meant to leave one for my girlfriend but...nope. I ate them all. Eight more Points down.

This week, I'm really ashamed to admit that I've gone over my weekly Points by THIRTY. Seriously. 3-0. I had Olive Garden one day, a pumpkin roll another day, more cookies and candy than I usually eat in a month. It's been delicious but terrible.

My consolation is that I am at least tracking, and tracking honestly. When I step on the scale next, I'll know exactly where each added pound came from. Then I can turn it around, hopefully.

I need to start working on my New Years Resolutions, but right now I'm just trying to make it to New Year's without fucking up all the progress I made in 2013.

So yeah, I'm having a fat day. A fat week. I've gained three pounds since my Wednesday weigh-in, and I'm still plowing through food like a ravenous goat. But at least it's a fat day now, and not a fat life. I've made some progress, even if it doesn't feel like much.

SICK

I am sick.

I HATE being sick.

I was so sick that I actually stayed home from work yesterday, and then I left after about 3 hours today. Ugh. More time sitting on the couch.

Being sick is sucky in general, but I really REALLY hate the food cravings I get when I'm sick. When my throat hurts, I want to stuff my face with milkshakes. When I have a fever, I want to load up on stuff like buttery crackers and bread. When I'm sick to my stomach, Sprite is the only thing that does the trick (and none of that Diet Sprite crap).

Being home alone with a full fridge and stocked pantry is very difficult. I've really tried to make sure we have plenty of healthy snack options, but when I'm home sick I can make anything unhealthy. I've been mixing whipped cream with hot cocoa mix, and stirring actual peanuts and Hershey's syrup into peanut butter. I can't stop myself.

I'm hoping this dose of NyQuil will knock me out so I can stop eating. I missed weigh-in yesterday and I would hate to go to Weight Watchers next week and find that I gained 15 pounds.

At least I think I've lost a pound or so of mucus...ewwww....

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.

You Win Some, You Gain Some

So...

I gained 4.8 pounds this week.

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

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

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

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

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

Viva La Cancun

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

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.

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!

Simply Filling Sucks.

I totally would have caved today if I knew I wasn't going to be writing or telling anyone about it here! When I woke up, I remembered that today was a baby shower at work, and we were all gathering at a popular local pizza joint for lunch. Talk about a food trap. I was determined to stay strong. I only had seven Points left to complete my Simply Filling Technique week and I was hoping to use those points for my dessert each night. So the pizza place was truly torture. There were baskets of garlicky breadsticks, plates full of dipping sides, and an entire table full of hand-tossed gourmet pizza running with cheese.
 
What did I have? I packed some egg salad and reduced calorie bread, which I ate at my desk before we went to the baby shower/pizza gauntlet. Plus some pomegranate seeds mixed with sugar free Jell-O. Then I had some 94% fat free popcorn, and I was still hungry the instant I walked through the doors into cheese and pizza-scented heaven.

While everyone else passed oozing slices and fragrant breadsticks, I sat there with some cherry tomatoes, an overripe banana, and a clementine on my plate. It was maybe the saddest meal ever eaten at a pizza parlor.

I passed up the cupcakes as well. White and chocolate, with a mountain of blue frosting. They looked wonderful and really triggered my sweet tooth, but I think they were still easier to pass up then the pizza was. Stupid Simply Filling.

 

Tonight I had polenta and veggies with fat free cheese, and a salad with fat free Italian dressing (Still a Point! Grr!) and croutons made from my rosemary bread. I followed it quickly with another Smart Ones sundae, and with my last bite of dessert, my final Points were gone. Damn.

 

I'm still hungry right this minute! I think I could go raid the fridge and eat until I literally exploded. 

 

 

And I don't use the word 'literally' liberally. It feels like I could actually eat until I split through my skin.

 

I read on some Weight Watchers post that members have given themselves an extra seven Points during their first Simply Filling trial. I think that may have to happen--I don't think I'll be very pleasant to be around if I force myself to wait until Wednesday morning to eat anything with any Points value. Maybe I'm not strong enough, maybe I'm not doing something correctly, maybe I'm just too much of a glutton still at this stage to eat only Power Foods, maybe the steroids or Aunt Flo (gross, sorry) or finally feeling better after two weeks of bronchitis are all conspiring to turn me into a carbo-loading eating machine.

 

Whatever the reason, I'm willing to cheat and go over my weekly Points by up to seven if it means I can avoid eating my dog or turning on a small village, zombie-style. I suppose I could have counted all of the cleaning I did this weekend as Activity Points, but I still feel guilty counting Activity Points unless I'm, like, in workout clothes at the gym. Which hasn't happened yet and probably won't until I lose enough weight to be able to workout in public without humiliating myself. So there you have it.

 

Anyway, just one more day and I'll be gifted 43 magical daily Points on top of 49 weekly Points and I'll be so happy I won't know what to eat first!

The Food Trap

It's day two of my Simply Filling week and it's actually going alright. I was lazy with lunch and had reheated broccoli cheese casserole (6 points, leaving me with 39 points for the week), but I managed to have a Power Food-only supper and I'm satisfied. Well, for now...I'm sure I'll still have some kind of dessert. Old habits die hard!

Really, though, I guess I can only hope that supper counted as a Power Food. I'm still a little unclear on the Simply Filling rules, so I'm not sure if the two teaspoons of olive oil make the cauliflower a non-Power Food. So confusing.

Eating right at work was fine--apart from the casserole--because I just brought nothing but fruits and veggies and light yogurt.

Then I almost derailed completely when I encountered what I'm pretty sure is my biggest trigger ever--my parents' house. Wow. I stopped by for a little while after work and I had to fight SO HARD not to go straight to their junk food drawer. They have an entire drawer in the kitchen full of the most wonderful candy and chocolate. Hershey Nuggets, Snickers, gummy bears, fruit snacks, oatmeal cream pies, chocolate covered peanuts...all of my weaknesses. That's usually my first stop at their house. Then I check the jar next to the microwave to see if it's full of Plain or Peanut M&Ms. If they're Plain, I'll grab a few. If they're Peanut, I'll grab as many as I can fit into my hand (and maybe an extra mouthful too). God, I love Peanut M&Ms. They also keep chocolate chip cookies in the cookie jar at ALL times. And today, they also had two bags of those chocolate chip cookies from McDonald's that were still warm and smeary with chocolate. You know, the cookies that are so greasy and delicious, they taste like they've been fried for a few seconds. They smelled so good.

But I did not have a single thing. Nothing. My mom had a bag of Cadbury chocolate hanging out of the side pocket of her purse. (Not a snack bag, either--like, a legitimate BAG of chocolate. Yes, my mother is diabetic, something that terrifies me. I obviously come from a long line of women who make healthy food decisions. My grandmother is somewhere around 460 pounds, but that's a story for another day.) Plus, there was an extra bag of Christmas Peanut M&Ms on the table. Oh, yeah, then she gave me a chocolate Advent calendar (six days into December, so a calendar with six pieces of chocolate demanding to be eaten).

Still, I didn't have anything. I don't know if I've ever gone over there without taking at least a fistful of cashews, a swig of pre-mixed chocolate milk, a chunk of cheddar or Colby, an ice cream sandwich, or some buttery crackers with Easy Cheese. They have all of my favorite comfort foods, and they have them all the time. It's honestly like being in a trap with everything I crave but know I shouldn't have.

It doesn't help that the kitchen is the center of their home, both literally and figuratively. It's the central location, it's where everyone goes to visit. I'm already dreading Christmas over there, which is just like a smorgasbord of deliciousness. We stand at the bar, surrounded by food, and I'm supposed to resist all of the temptation right at my fingertips?

I did resist, and I'm glad. I came home and ate a really healthy supper (steamed broccoli with tomato sauce, onions, garlic, basil, and fat-free mozzarella, sauteed and then baked with a little more fat free mozzarella on top; I served the veggie casserole with crispy cauliflower bites and I'm still full). My girlfriend ate the Advent chocolate, and all was well. But being at my parents' and working so hard not to snack dredged up some pretty shameful memories that I hate thinking about. My cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk full of chocolate or gummy candy, spraying whipped cream onto oatmeal cream pies and trying to shovel it all into my mouth before anyone came home, stealing candy bars or Little Debbie's one at a time to minimize the chance of anyone noticing.

I'm proud of myself for staying on Plan today. And I'm proud of myself for losing 30 pounds, even though I still feel so huge. And I'm proud of myself for being proud, instead of feeling deprived or bitter about missing out on all the chocolate.

On that note, I think I might have some fruit for dessert instead of a Smart Ones. Ha, just kidding, I totally want the Smart Ones. But I'll still have 35 points for the week, so screw it :) I resisted enough today!