Bend and Stretch into the Fridge

My husband doesn't understand my obsession with cooking shows. His logic is simple: Why are you watching shows that focus on food when you're trying to eat less and lose weight? While I admit there is a certain morbid curiosity in watching other people create and eat food I shouldn't have, it's really about eating different, not necessarily just less of "bad" foods. I would never eat octopus, but I might pick up a cooking technique that I can apply to another type of seafood. Chef's say a lot of things in passing that turn out to be useful when applied to something else.

I especially enjoy "healthy" cooking shows. Cheerful chefs who are enthusiastic about fresh ingredients and layering flavors to produce something so wonderful tasting that it is a "must have" meal in and of itself. It's not trying to be "the original," it is an original. It's not a full fat wanna be or watered down version of something else. It's something yummy and desirable that just happens to be good for you. Manufacturers of kid-friendly foods have been trying to capitalize on this concept for years. I recently saw a commercial for canned pasta, loaded with sugar and white flour pasta, marketed as having a full serving of vegetables in every bowl. What diligent and conscientious parent doesn't want that for their child? Or for themselves? And tomatoes are considered a "power food." It just gets better and better! Butter should be a power food. Just ask Paula Deen.

So then it comes to my kitchen. I enjoy cooking, but not doing dishes or cleaning up the kitchen. I loathe meal and menu planning, but enjoy grocery shopping. This combination of preferences makes for some interesting meals and a depressing kitchen space, not at all condusive to producing culinary works of art and taste. Working out consistently has been good for my culinary skills because my body won't keep up with the physical demands unless I pay attention to what I'm feeding it. The planning then becomes a necessity as important has having a clean sport bra and socks every morning. It would seem that the exercise continues to reach into all the parts of my life.

Finding Normal

Chris asked me today how I was feeling about myself one month into this process or if anyone else had made comments. They have not. I don't imagine anyone else has noticed the small changes because they are housed in the same clothing. I apologized to him for not being a very good advertisement, at least not yet. That got the conversation off, in between sets of grunting crunches, on an advertising tangent. Chris referenced an "elevator advertisement." This was not a term I was familiar with, imagining print ads framed on the elevator walls. He said an elevator advertisement was selling yourself or your product as much as you could casually fit into the conversation between floors. Chris's best line as a personal trainer is to say, "I make people look good naked."

That's saying something when you realize you're your own worst critic. I should have quipped back at him, "To whom?" One of the things I want from losing weight and the reshaping of this body that is supposed to know better, is to feel pretty in lingerie. Lingerie is the place no bump or roll can hide. But feeling pretty isn't the same thing as looking like Krystal Richardson. (See picture above.) I'm not sure you have to actually be pretty to feel pretty. I believe psychologists agree that people at any weight can have that feeling regardless of their weight. I'm all for a healthy sense of self-esteem, but I also know that overweight is inconvenient and uncomfortable. For me the weight crept up gradually. I had time to get comfortable like a frog being cooked to death as the put of water he's sitting in is warmed one degree at a time. My weight went up by ounces at a time until it was 50+ pounds. I made a new normal. New normal was necessary. It got me up and out into the world. I lived my life, had friends, worked on my marriage, mothered my kids, worked at my jobs, all without feeling overly self-conscious or a need to run and hide myself from the world. As many times as I moaned about not having anything to wear to church, I still went. In fact, I was in pretty good company. They say the average American woman wears a 12/14.

The weight going to come off just as slowly, ounces at a time. As predicted, the scale hasn't changed dramatically so far, but there have been changes. Just those few changes have been enough to remind me of how "normal" felt when I was thinner and that it was a different normal than the one I adapted myself to. The sense of pretty I feel that goes with being thinner really is different than whatever sense of self I have come to terms with at my present weight. I don't need to look like a fitness starlet, but I do need to get back to my other normal.

Pow! Right in the Kisser

I reiterate my former stance that hormones are evil. I've done everything right this week, food, fluid intake, distribution of calories, exercise, and the only thing left to point a finger at is hormones for sucker punching my weigh-in this morning.
Edit: So I whined about my 1/2 pound gain to Chris this morning. He asked me all the right questions about cycles and hormones and said all the right things, but could tell I was being a baby about it. It's too early to re-test anything, but he got me up on the scale anyway. I was quite dehydrated. Not sure how that's possible if I'm retaining fluid and drinking 10+ glasses a day, but more significantly...my body fat% was down! That was the boost I needed. The rest of my workout went smoothly and thanks to some serious stretching yesterday, I felt good when I left. Take that hormones!

Take Two and Call Me in the Morning

I actually got a full night's sleep last night. That is supposed to be one of the benefits of regular exercise. I remember from my days as an athlete that I could fall asleep quickly, sleep all night, and wake up with energy. Last night I fell asleep inside of two pages of my book (no insult intended to Dan Brown,) had seven point five hours completely uninterrupted, and woke up on my own. It was a necessary thing. It should have been a glorious thing. When your body is in a constant state of flux and confusion, however, and you're keeping it that way on purpose - demanding that it change and adapt, it seems like I'm always tired. Weary or fatigued may be better words. I know I'm getting older, but if I reach way back to my college days, I do remember the sort of mid-season feeling of "are we there yet?" I will say I miss the ability to eat 2-3000 calories a day (without a lot of thought toward nutrition) and know I was going to burn it off between my metabolism and 4+ hours a day in workouts. Three weeks and 90 minutes a day has brought out those old feelings. It's good to know they're normal for me.

This is the point in the "season" (which sounds better than "program") that I can't think about tomorrow's workout. I have to spend today recovering from today's workout. Except to lay out my clothes, a strategy that keeps me from making excuses in the morning, I can't let my body consider what I will ask of it tomorrow. Instead I focus on my food choices, keeping my house and family moving, and getting the laundry caught up so I can wear one of the three pairs of workout pants that actually fit me. I'm not depressed. Those endorphines make it all but impossible and I appreciate them greatly, but I am body-tired. I'm looking forward to that time when there's less of me to haul around between workouts and I've convinced my body to speed up it's sluggish metabolism.

There's Always a Bright Side

Women have long had a love affair with shoes. The giraffe print pair above are among my favorites. They add a touch of whimsy to a staid, boring outfit or even whisper rebellion from under a serious business suit. A great pair of shoes can make a cheap outfit look more expensive or give you confidence by demanding you stand a little taller. But most significantly and unlike clothing, you can gain fifty pounds and still wear the same size.

This, unfortunately, cannot be said of boots. Boot are about more than your feet. You'll note to the right that one of the things I want is for my boots to zip all the way up. Sunday I wore boots to church and no, they did not zip all the way up. *sigh* I made my fingers red and bruised trying. I did eventually get the zippers most of the way up, but it took about 20 minutes; probably more time than I spent on my hair. When I bought the boots, they zipped right up and I had to work to keep my socks up inside them.

Monday morning came and I whined to my trainer Chris about my big calves while he was working my legs to death and demanding calf-raises. He's wonderfully optimistic and said in true "look on the bright side" fashion..."Well, at least you don't have cankles."

Some Like it Hot

What is there to say about the weekend that hasn't already been said? Less structure. Fewer good food options. All of which usually leads to poor choices. I had a hot dog and hot chocolate at the football game last night. I don't feel badly, it was within my calories for the day, but it didn't do anything good for me either. It was cold and raining and muddy and if the hot chocolate had actually been hot, it may have been worth more to me, but it wasn't. I blame the stupid lady who sued McDonald's for having hot coffee when she was too much of an clutz to keep from spilling on herself. No one can get anything hot to-go anymore. You can't even set your own hot water heater to get water that's actually hot without all kinds of "you're going to burn and die" warnings on the heater itself.

I think when you take away the easy appeal and satisfaction of sugar and fat, things like flavor and temperature in food have greater meaning. This of course brings the unhappy quandary of actually caring about what I eat and needing to plan my menus not to keep things diet-appropriate, but because I've become a food snob. Being a food snob usually means a lot of eye-rolling from the teenagers, crying from the youngest and supportive but suspect looks from my husband. Then I wonder why I bother with the menu planning and the shopping. Why don't these people appreciate my efforts? Oh yea, because they want their sugar and their fat and they're not trying to lose 50+ pounds...yet.

The Third Week

The first week of any new "program" is always an adventure. It's full of hope and determination. Motivation prevails when soreness and sugar withdrawls set in. Images dance through your head of your future self. All is daisies and sunshine.

The second week is the week you fight with your body to determine dominance. You body chuckles and says, "Well, that was a nice little experiment. Now lets get back to reality. I want a burger, fries and a chocolate malt." For a moment, there is a part of your brain that says, "Well, that's a lot of protein" and tries to justify any number of "off program" foods. Then you start to have converstions with yourself rationalizing the idea that if you ate nothing else all day you could still stay within your calories. Of course you know you're going to get hungry and eat anyway. Not eating anything else all day is not a healthy thing to do. This is supposed to be about a new you, a healthier you. So you buckle down, take some Advil and have a protein water in the hopes that it will make you feel full.

The third week is when you seriously consider your sanity. You may have even lost a couple of pounds. But when you consider the food you've eaten (and haven't eaten) and the calories you've burned and the soreness and headaches and menu planning...how much are those few pounds really worth? It's not even like you're in a different dress size. You know that Sunday is going to come and you'll be facing your closet with nothing to wear to church...again....still. You also have to grudgingly admit that you're sleeping better, your skin hasn't looked this good in a long time, and you have more energy. Rats. You hate that it makes a difference across your life, not just in your closet because if it didn't, you wouldn't have to keep going. But it does. And you do.

Not Giving Up

I have had many ups and downs this year with my life and my weight, but not a lot of success. The year is not over, however. I'm not above admitting when I need help. Last week I hired help. I hired accountability. I tracked down and hooked up with a personal trainer I've worked with previously. He's currently managing a small, personal studio with one-on-one clients. Chris Brown is a really talented, creative trainer with a good blend of motivation and humor. He has the ability to torture me and make me laugh while he does it. That's a true talent. I know he can get the results out of me that I'm after, but what really has me worried is what happens after that, when the accountability isn't there anymore.

We've already completed the initial assessment. I've lost a lot of strength and flexibility. My time on the 1 mile run/walk was a joke despite all the spinning I do. I'm just not a runner. Tomorrow I have to turn in my first food log with some "before" pictures. I pulled the ones from the head of this blog. I'm really sore right now. This is the stuff that makes people quit. I'm not quitting, that's why God created Aleve and jacuzzi tubs. I'm excited to not be in my own way anymore.
Click on the title of this entry for a link to the training studio.

Mirror Mirror on the Wall

There is nothing attractive about the accountability that goes with being surrounded by floor length mirrors while you sweat and work-out. Everywhere you look, there you are in all your chubby glory. You can't run away from yourself. It is it's own kind of motivation inspite of the trainer cajoling and pushing. My trainer requires 30 minutes of cardio from me after our 45 minutes session. Today as I looked across at the mirrors from the elliptical machine, I could see myself in the corner where two walls of mirrors met. Like a fun house, the effect was to cut me down the middle vertically. For just a moment, I could see me as I used to be, as someone I'm going to be. So maybe mirrors aren't always all bad and mocking. Maybe.

Battle of the Fans

I got a new battery for my heart rate monitor today. It's going to keep me honest. Too bad I didn't have it before spin class this morning. Class felt really hard. I think it was because I was being grumpy at all the people who like having the fans on. I don't mind the air moving around in the room, I just don't like it blowing directly on me. I lost the battle today and it gave me an ear ache.

Trying Something New

I took a master spin class today for continuing education credit toward my certification renewal. It was a great, sweaty class about using spin for strength training. The instructor, Jim Nugent, went off on a tanget about weight-loss while discussing pacing and heartrates. He and I spoke after class and he gave me a challenge to work at a lower intensity for a longer period of time over the next twelve weeks. I have nothing to lose and love to spin so I promised to e-mail him regarding my progress. This isn't a new concept, but one I'd like to try on the bike.

Flux

I've decided not to be discouraged. My stats have remained the same and I did spin twice last week. So, this week's number just means my body is in flux.

It's Good to Be Home

I got my butt up out of bed this morning and went to spin. It was good that I went so I could learn how to use the new microphone. I agreed to sub next week. Nothin like going from nothing to teaching in two weeks. I'll have to go in a few more times before I'm ready for that class.

I was really worried this morning that I was going to, I don't know, be a in a foreign land and not speak the language. But as soon as I clicked my shoes into the peddles, it felt like home. It was such a relief. My lungs protested for about the first 15 minutes and then settled in for the ride. I think if I use my inhaler earlier before class that I'll be fine on the next ride. I rode the class profile, but backed off on the tension. I'll be sore, but it's a good sore.

Blip

So, not a great weigh-in this morning. This last week wasn't a great week. I don't think the gain is truly representative, but then neither are most losses. It's always a fluid thing and the best the scale can do is give me generalities in trends. What this weigh-in does do is emphasize the need to get back in the habit of exercising. I think I'm finally getting over this lung businesses. I have a continuing education spin class on August 9th. I'd sure like to not go into that completely cold.

At just about ten pounds down, I can't say I feel it's an accomplishment. I don't feel any sense of pride by going from unable to even wear my largest fat clothes to being able to just about breathe in them. "Hungry" and I are no longer enemies, but we are still not on speaking terms.

I Think It's Time

I think it's time to start exercising again. It was actually a little hard to climbe the stairs this morning. The last dregs of this pnuemonia are still hanging on and it scares me to think about taxing my lungs to try and move more. I'm also scared of the slow down in the rate of my weight-loss. I know that's crazy talk, but I also know it will slow down. Muscle gain, increase in appetite...all potential program killers. If I could get over having to do my hair and spending the day itching from chlorine, I might even start out swimming. Swimming sounds fun. I love the water. I hate the idea of myself in a swimsuit. The pros and cons battle around in my brain while I sit still in my bathrobe at 11:00 am.

Hungry

Hungry has been pretty loud the last couple of days. I'm aware of what and when I ate and when it's appropriate to pay attention to hungry and when it's not. That knowledge doesn't make it any quieter in my head. On the suggestion of a friend I'm going to try some protien water and see if that helps put a muzzle on hungry.

I'm the Boss of Me

"Hungry" seems to be my companion these days. I choose to ignore it. It's not contsant. It's my tool, not the other way around. I'm trying to only respond to physically hungry, not emotionally hungry or stressed hungry or socially hungry, and then, with wisdom. I am not my stomach, but I will be if I don't choose to be the boss of me.

Still Backing Away From the Edge of the Cliff

I think I did pretty well for my first holiday test. The Fourth of July to me is potlucks and barbecues with all the food none of us eat except at those events. I brought diet soda with me and drank one to fill up my stomach with bubbles before we ate. I also brought a divided plate. I filled the largest part with spinach salad and the small sections with fruit and baked chicked (peeled the skin off). I'm sure there was plenty of naughty dressing on the salad, but it was day about making a better choice. I only had a bite of the brownies I brought.

Later when we barbecued with friends, I wanted steak so I had it, but cut down the proportion to a proper size, had a bite of the macaroni salad I love, and filled the rest of the plate with zucchini. Again, just a bite of dessert. Later when we went to the movies, I was too full to want anything from the snack counter.

I felt the day was successful. Sunday, I wasn't ready yet to journal again and think hard about making good choices. But I was content to read and try again to be at peace with my perception of hungry. This morning I weighed in without a gain, I'm back to journaling and feel good about the weekend. It doesn't feel like a success when you're just trying to fix something that's broken, put it back the way it was or should be. I feel rather like I'm biding my time while my body does all the work. Until I can exercise again, time is the only thing that will give me the changes I'm trying to make.

Being Intentional

Today was the first day that "hungry" was hard to ignore. I just didn't get enough calories in early enough in the day. Watching the clock is the hardest part of watching my diet. When I eat early, I seem to run out of calories before I run out of day. When I don't get enough calories early on, I over-eat later.

So I did a web search for a visual to go with my hunger. I was stunned when this picture came up. It's so graphic and representative of how I feel sometimes. Not full to exploding, rather full of everything with no thought or intention. Eating mindlessly. Being intentional is harder some days that others.

Cook Yourself Thin

I've really been enjoying the Cook Yourself Thin cookbook. It's mostly made of food I actually eat, not the things authors feel a need to include in an effort to appeal to everyone. I don't personally know anyone who loves curry. Nor am I willing to eat bad chocolate cake for 300 calories when the original is 350. Not only is this a great cookbook for the average soccor mom who eats on the run and demands her comfort foods in times of stress, but so far, the recipes actually taste good. They are tastey recipes in and of themselves, not some watered down, tasteless, or worse - wrong tasting version of the original. This morning I made Portabello Eggs Benedict with Red Pepper Sauce. Very tastey and I swear I didn't miss the bread!

Backing Away From the Edge

So I journaled and paid attention to my numbers yesterday. It was hard. I don't like being hungry, even if it's not physically hungry. It's an uncomfortable and uncertain place to exist. Thanks to shedding of fluid, I'm actually down a couple of pounds this morning. I feel like I'm still out on that cliff that falls over into the gross obesity that is the genetic potential of my DNA, but I've backed away from the edge. Can I keep backing up? I have to keep mentally bringing up recent pictures of myself that tell the true story of my weight and realize just how close I still am to the edge.

All Out of Clothes

Yesterday was Sunday again. I had NOTHING to wear to church. While we were on vacation last week I bought a new blouse. Truthfully, I should have bought it a size larger. I paired it with a skirt two sizes too small...just didn't zip the zipper all the way and kept the blouse untucked. I used to roll my eyes at people who would squeeze themselves into clothing that was clearly too small. The ultimate test seems to always be puffy sleeves. Why don't they just buy some bigger clothes I would think? Don't they know they look ridiculous? They're not fooling anyone but themselves. Yet as I faced my closet, it was the only choice. So why don't I go shopping today? Because I don't want to own one more article of clothing as a momument to the size I am now. I have to believe this is a temporary state or change won't even be a possibility.

I still getting over pneumonia. The steroids were good for another 8 pounds up. EIGHT POUNDS! *sigh*

I'm truly out of clothes. I'm sitting here in the equivilant of a muumuu. It's an old t-shirt dress with no waist, but it is floral and feels like a sofa cover. I don't have any more time to lament and talk about it. I have to make some changes and make them stick. I can't start the school year looking and feeling like this.

Thanks to the pneumonia, I still can't exercise, but I'm going to remember that I have control over my diet.

Are Ya Done Yet?

So here it is May and I'm up over 180 pounds. I went clothes shopping this past week to find something I would feel good wearing to church. I have to speak to the whole congreation for Mother's Day. I've had an emotionally deck-clearing week and I needed the retail therapy. Of course there's nothing quite so vivid to shake your view of reality as spring clothes shopping and florescent lighting. The good news is that I found a dress. My first size 16. I guess it's also good news that it also gave me that reality check. I look at myself and the scale and think, "Well, are ya done yet? Do you want to wallow some more in whatever is making you stuff your mouth and ignore all the "to do's" in your life or do you want to do something to reverse it? You know better."

I think the harshest reality check came while bra shopping. Despite the fact that I've gained 50 pounds, I was still wearing the same bras that I was before I gained the weight. That's where my greatest denial still lingered. I had no problem buying bigger jeans so I could sit and oh, breathe, but I was spilling out of my bra the way some people spill out of their hip huggers. It just wasn't right and I could finally see that. The new bra in the new size is SO much more comfortable...and oddly strange to look at. I went from those little frilly things in catalogs to something that looks industrial. Not sure how I feel about that. It brings me a little too close to my mother's weight issues. I remember her bras in the wash. I know I want to do something. I'm not sure what that is yet. I know it needs involve real food and accountability. But it needs to happen soon.

Knowing Better

There is a supposition that if you know better, you do better. Apparently not. This week my life and the people in it have conspired against me where food was concerned. I did, in fact do my workouts this week and did them vigorously. But that couldn't off-set the eating. Even knowing better while did it, I ate Chinese buffet with a friend who needed the company and wanted the Chinese food. I ate at Outback Steakhouse (did not order the salmon, but didn't eat the potatoes either) because we had gift certificates and my husband wanted to take me out. My daughter had a choir concert and we didn't have time to eat well before leaving the house. A whole week of similar situations and excuses.

But this is the nature of my life. Friends, family, calendars, etc. No amount of planning seems to do me any good. My weight will be up again when I weigh in tomorrow. I want to say "so what" and have a chicken tamale loaded with cheese. I don't like feeling like I'm battling with myself all the time.

The Planets Aligned

Sometimes this whole process feels so random with so many variables outside my control that when something goes right it's as if the planets had to align for something so rare to occur in the cosmos. I lost two pounds this week. Frankly, I'm stunned. I did the journaling. I did the exercise. I added back the weight training. I spent the time and tried to cope with emotions rather than eat them. I give no credit to me and what I've worked at this week. Still, two pounds has made me happy enough to go to the gym today when I don't want to. When my back is hurting. Knowing I'm going to dinner with friends tonight at a restaurant that isn't diet friendly. Knowing I will have the cheese fondue and the chocolate fondue. Some might call it a reward, but rewarding with food is largely what got me into this. I DESERVE it! Yeah, deserving it has nothing to do with what my body will do with it.

So where is optimism born? Is it in the doing? Is it in the hormones? Is it in the results? Two pounds isn't going to even make my jeans looser and my chances of this working aren't any better today than on any other day. This attitude seems as equally random. It must be the evil hormones.

Obligations

At what point are you obligated to keep trying to lose weight again when you fail, just because you "know better?" When you have no more clothes at that fit? When you can't look at yourself in the mirror? When people you haven't seen in a long time do a double-take...and not in a good way? I bore myself with my own whining. I just wish that on some days I didn't have be thinking about what I'm eating or if I've made it to the gym. I'm a mother every day, but my kids don't need me to the same degree everyday. They needed me more when they were infants than they do now, at least physically. Is losing weight like raising a child where I'm obligated to be there and involved everyday despite colds and hormones and moods and obligations from others in my life? The reason I don't have four kids is because three was my limit. Am I trying to give birth to a fourth and calling it losing weight? That's a sobering thought.

PMS...

...makes everything harder than it has to be.

There have been all kinds of scientific studies that say PMS does not affect appetite or food choices. Riiiight... Clearly these scientists have never been to my house and gotten between me and my chocolate chip cookie dough. If it didn't affect those things, then why does avoiding salt and getting some extra vitamin E ease the sypmtoms?

Identity Crisis

I think I'm having some kind of identity crisis. My first baby is working really hard at leaving the nest and going off to college. Independant. Separate from me, never really "at home" ever again. (At least not if I'm doing my job right.) This has me thinking about who I am now.

No longer am I the two sport collegic athlete I was at 19. I'm not the young mother who's tired, but still has a young body. I'm not even the person I was four years ago when I lost weight and got fit prior to my 20th high school reunion. The me I am now likes to read. Likes to stay at home. I no longer feel compelled to even run an efficient household. My blood work is good and except for a nagging back injury, I don't feel unhealthy. I'm not unhealthy. But by past standards I'm just unfit. When I look in the mirror, I still see all my muscle, but it's hiding under this layer of fat that I can't explain and is completely foreign to me.

I did see my doctor about hormone levels. At 42 years old, it's time. She confirmed I'm low on testosterone. I'm told this hormone in women has everything to do with sleep, muscle tone retention and metabolism by extention, even energy and feelings of vulnerability. She's asked me to look into some replacement therapy. I'm seriously considering it as I continue to feel like I'm fighting myself. I just wish I could figure out who I'm fighting to be. I've never been forty-something before. I don't know my body, I don't know my rolls and my relationships are changing. I don't like not knowing. It makes goal setting feel impossible. I'm floundering rather than latching on to some kind of motivation. It continues to be elusive to me.

Apparently, I am still not one of those grown-ups who does better because she knows better.

Now What??

178 on the scale this morning. What the heck do I do with THAT?!

Yes, I've exercise a smidge more this week and yes, the process of tearing down and building up muscle causes water retention, but three pounds? Seriously? *shakes her head* Days like this make me wonder why I bother.

The problem with feeling thinner, but not actually being thinner, well much thinner anyway, is that you stand in your closet grumpy and defeated. It's Sunday again. I still have nothing to wear to church. My arm will still flap in the breeze as I wave it about to conduct the congregational singing. Nothing anyone else can see - even me, except perhaps my improved skin, will indicate the dedication, sweat and hard work of the last three weeks.

I'm sure some very deep part of my subconscious knew just how hard this process was going to be. That's why I fought it so diligently for so long despite my whining to the contrary. My but I'm a whiny person. I thought hunger was supposed to make you listless.

Slow and Not So Steady

I might be able to handle painfully slow weightloss if it was in anyway consistant. If the rules were hard and fast. There are just too many variables to track and it's exhuasting just to try. I sometimes think competative bodybuilders are the only ones insane enough and stubborn enough to so tightly control their diet. They watch proteins, carbs, fats, kinds of fats, kinds of proteins, good carbs, bad carbs...calories burned, calories consumed, time of day, in combinations...it makes my head spin.

I SO don't want losing weight to be a full or even part-time job.

So here I am one month out on this blog, down a pitiful two pounds and 1% of bodyfat. It's not even enough to change my waist measurements. I suppose that's the appeal of programs like Jenny Craig and Nutrisystems which control the food and all it's variables. People pay for someone else's grief on their behalf. I want to eat real food.

Apparently I'm still not one of those people who instinctively eats what they should and stops eating when they should. I don't suppse wanting to be will change my body chemistry or engrained thought paths.

It's Sunday Again...

Yes, it's Sunday again and I even have to get up infront of people today. The Sunday School class I teach is doing a presentation to the other children today. Everyone will be looking at me. I'll do my make-up, fix my hair, wear jewelery in a desperate hope to attract attention away from my body with sparkly things, but I will still be me in this body.

We went out to dinner with friends last night. I didn't need the fried wontons. The pad thai wasn't a bad choice, but the Grater's Ice Cream afterward was. I didn't really even want it. I just didn't want to see any of the movies my husand and friends were considering more. I really wanted to curl up in bed and go to sleep, but we weren't driving. So dessert won.

This morning, I'm bloated and feeling icky and have no new camoflauge to wear to church.

Hormones are Evil

Hormones are the exception to every diet math rule. They are the exception to every rule, to everything predictable! The scale had a happy number this morning and that should have made me happy. But how can I be since the only thing I can attribute it to is hormones, the one thing I have absolutely no control over. Hormones are evil.

Still Chewing

I'm still chewing on that idea of whether or not anything in my life would be different if I were different. More engery? To do what? More than I'm already doing? I don't know that I want to. Would I enjoy my life any more than I do now? Finances wouldn't change. My kids would still be the same and relate to me the same. My extended family would still live too far away. Maybe that is the trouble, if nothing else changes, why should I bother?

Living in a Fat Suit

A picture says a thousand words, doesn't it? That was me, well my butt anyway, last summer during the family reunion at the beach. Some days I look at my body in the mirror and it's not mine. It's a fat suit that I keep expecting to just unzip and pull off. So I fell off the wagon without really ever gaining any ground.

I remember looking at my brothers on that trip and thinking how much I loved them and wanted them to lose weight. They have fulltime jobs and heavy responsibilities at home and church. They don't have time to exercise. They don't often control their own diet. I don't have those same excuses yet here I sit the same weight I was in that picture all those months ago. That "knowing better" thing is pinging around in my head again. Apparently it's never loud enough or long enough to get the fat suit off.

When I feel defeated like this, it's hard to want to make good choices - to believe that anything will be different if I do. Hmmm...I think that last thought was signficant.

Diet Math

Is there anything that makes less sense than diet math?? I've been housebound all week. No gym, no exercise. With my fragile balance thrown off, I haven't been journaling or eating well. I got on the scale this morning and had lost half a pound. Go figure.

Maybe it's more like a train. Once you get it going, it has to be slowed before it can turn around and go back the other direction. Nah, I'm not buying that argument either. I simply have no explanation for it, but I will be back in the gym next week if I have to carry my son around on my back.

Breaking the Balance

The balance of all the variables that make this process work is so fragile. Just one of them can bring the whole thing crashing down around me. My son had surgery yesterday. I had a good breakfast. I brought a protein bar with me. But then the surgeon was running behind and my son's surgergy was pushed back. When he was finally taken back, I was really hungry. I wanted to be distracted from what was going on with my son and I wanted to feel better. Food. They had a small Starbucks/Cafe kind of place with prepackaged items. I didn't pick up the salad with wilted lettuce or the fruit cup with mostly melon that I think I'm allergic to. I picked up the turkey and swiss sandwich. I opted for Miracle Whip over mayonnaise, and I could control the amount, but I didn't need the pretzels too. Washed it down with a Diet Coke because that makes everything else diet, right?!

I talked to my mother on the phone and confessed my lunch choices. She scolded me and told me to lose one slice of bread. Too late. Then in a moment of frustration said, "I have a kid in surgery. Give me my carbs." She replied by reminding me that when she was eating in hospitals while my younger brother was fighting for his life as an infant, that was when her struggle with her weight really started. Sitting there with my bag of pretzels it made perfect sense.

I came home to dinner provided by a wonderful and dear friend. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and some raw veggies. All comfort foods after an uncomfortable day. I had every intention of warming up a Lean Cuisine, but the chicken was hot and the mashed potatoes were creamy and I was hungry. Then I couldn't sleep and my son was having pain, not sleeping well either. I finally gave in to the cherry pie about 1:00 am. The icing on the day was that because I was in the hospital all day, I didn't get to workout.

So it's the next morning. I didn't get much sleep and am waiting on my son who's not very mobile and still pretty uncomfortable. No gym today either. Too tired to think about a good breakfast choice, I ate some more cherry pie (more filling than crust) and picked at some cold chicken (more chicken than skin.) One step forward, eight steps back. *sigh* I'm still journaling even though it would be easier not to. Not to look at it. Another friend is bringing dinner tonight so I don't have to worry about it. It's wonderful for the sake of my family, but not worrying about it is what usually gets me into trouble. Frankly, I hate worrying about it. I like to enjoy food, not worrying about food. When did food become something to worry about like the ozone layer and my kids' good grades?

It's Sunday Again...

It's been a week. Yes, I've lost a pound and a half. I still say, one pound is nothing.

How come when other people make changes in their diet and exercise, they lose three pounds the first week? The Special K Challenge and every magazine on the stands this week promises up to six pounds in two weeks! Yeah, not here. I'm one of those that falls into the "less than" group. I'm guessing a majority, but the rest of the majority doesn't have to find me something to wear to church today. In this sense, I'm a majority of one.

Call Me Grumpy

I'm several days, but not even a full week in to the changes in activity and diet. This is the point at which my body says, "That was an interesting little jaunt, but the joke's over. I'm hungry." Nothing seems to make that hungry feeling go away no matter how well planned and positioned the protiens are. I know it's in my head. It doesn't make it any less loud to the rest of my body. Distraction helps, but the growling voice is still there.

50 Books, 50 Pounds, and 50 Weeks

Last year I took on the challenge to read 50 books before 2008 was over. That's roughly a book a week. I tracked the challenge on a fun website called Shelfari. I completed that challenge and surpassed it with great satisfaction. I also kept track of the number of pages, but stopped tracking as I crossed over 20,000. This year I'm going to repeat that challenge. My twist on it this year will be to track not only the titles, but how much they weigh. I want my body to go down by 50 pounds in the next 50 weeks at I want my books to add up 50 pounds. Hmmm....more hardbacks I think.