Category Archive

When you go work at a place, and there’s a gym there, that you don’t have to pay to join, and you can work out on your lunch hour?

There’s really no excuse for not exercising.

Today I did. 20 minutes on the elliptical (previously known in these parts as the elliptihell, but I’m trying to stay positive here). I went to go do some “ab work” ha ha ha. I laid down on the ground, stayed there for a few minutes, and decided that getting up from that position was enough ab work. To be fair *cough, cough* I did just do yogalates last night, and my ab muscles are still screaming. Less insistently than they did last week, but still. Screaming.

I’m pretty proud. The eating, it is getting there, especially during the week. Weekends, as always, are where my biggest challenges lie. (weekends, and right after I get home from work.)

I’m just taking it one decision at a time. A friend of mine who has been around this block a few times had suggested that a long time ago, before I was ready to hear it. I was all about losing huge amounts of weight, and she told me to take it one choice at a time. Try to eat healthy for lunch, if you want to eat crap for dinner, well, that’s at dinner time. When you get to dinner, try to make good choices there. And so on. The same goes for exercising. I’ll exercise today, and if I don’t tomorrow, that’s my choice. Then when I get to tomorrow, try to make that good choice. One choice, one decision, one step at a time, makes the road seem much less overwhelming. I can handle one choice. I can honestly not handle the idea of changing my whole lifestyle or going on a diet. I can handle the idea of trying to make one small choice at a time, and seeing where it gets me.

We shall see.

We watched We Are Marshall tonight. Highly recommended for those nights when you just want to cry, but can’t get anything to make you cry?? This movie will take care of that for you in a jiffy. Best line? “Grief is messy”.

I did good today. I actually make good food choices all. day. long. Huh. Weird. I keep reminding myself that I can eat crap if I want to. I know this sounds weird, I do. But I have found that if I tell myself I can’t, if I take away my choice, I end up wanting to rebel. If I ask myself to please make the better choice, but hey, if you really want it, the other one is there and go for it… well, hopefully I will make baby steps towards the better choices, every day.

The new WW tag line is “diets don’t work. WW does.” I get all pissy and defensive every time I see their stupid commercial. WW failed for me I failed WW three times. I beg to differ. It is a diet, like it or not. It works for some, but someone help me out here- do the words at the bottom of all their success stories still say results not typical?

So far, I’m liking baby steps. Much less pressure.

Wow. I find when I blog every day I have way less to say. Huh.

Yogalates.

Then chocolate cake.

Baby steps here, people. Baby steps. No major reorganization of my life, no diet. Just… baby steps.

Almost eight months ago I wrote a break-up letter to junk food. I read it now and think… “What was I thinking?”

Here’s the new letter:

Dear crap that I eat on a regular basis,

I feel like you are feeling like Justin Bobby. I’ve said a million times that I’m done, and each time I promise that this time, I really mean it. I’m done with you. Yet I always come crying back. I listen to your promises. I believe you when you tell me you won’t make me fat, and that you’ll make me feel better. I will reminisce about all the good times we’ve had, and want them back. So I’ll come back, with a stronger attachment than ever.

Why would you believe me when I say I’m done?

I’m going to be honest here, unhealthy eating. I’m not done. I love you so much. I love not having to say no. I love the freedom that comes with. I adore that total lack of self-discipline it takes to be wholly involved with you. It feels so easy to just let us abuse each other, with a wonderful devil-may-care attitude.

I don’t love the consequences that you come with, though. They are almost enough to make me leave you, again. They are almost enough to make me go back to the nice habits in my life, Eating Right and Exercise. Almost. I don’t love the way you make my pants feel. They feel gross all the time. I wish I could just wear sweatpants day in and day out, they feel so nice and comfortable. I don’t like the way my body feels. I feel slow, sluggish, and tired. I never feel good. I hate the way my body looks. I am back to avoiding mirrors, and I feel like nothing looks cute on me. Nothing. Nada. Zip.

I also hate the way that how I feel about my body and my relationship with you carries over into other aspects of my life. I don’t take good care of myself. I can find the time for sitting around  and for hanging with you, Unhealthy Eating, but I can’t find the time to take a walk?!?!

Yet I love you so much. I don’t know why. I truly don’t understand the hold you have on me, much in the way that Justin Bobby has a hold on Audrina. I don’t know why I can’t say no to you. Even when I spend six, eight, or twelve months apart, only coming around for naughty trysts every few months, I still come crawling back to you full time. I know I love the freedom from self-discipline and saying no that you offer. I know that I love the allure of laziness that  you tempt me with. I know that I love the ability to indulge my every emotional whim.

The consequences of such an affair, they are not insignificant. Yet I just can’t seem to care.

I know we need to end this soon. The trouble is, that it must be for good. And I don’t know how.

Yours,

Paige

After tonight, only five more nights of daily blogging. I seemed to have an easier time this year than I did last year.

Anyways. All I have to say tonight is: I am crabby. My reasons, they are petty.

I feel fat.

I am PMSing.

My fat pants? Are too tight.

When this this just melt off my body? When, I ask you??

In case you were wondering…

The weight loss thing is not happening right now. As in, officially. After work yesterday I bought a bag of Cheetos and took them home with me. (Call me Britney.)

I just don’t care. I don’t know. I want to be skinnier, and not hate myself quite so much when I look in the mirror. But right now, how I look, what I wear, my health- none of them are motivating me enough to make good food choices or get off my ass and exercise.

Rather than make myself miserable by half-assing it, I’m just going to do what I’m going to do. I’m going to make some effort to not go bananas (i.e.: I didn’t buy the tube of cookie dough yesterday to sit and eat raw with a spoon. Go me with the willpower!), but I am not going to make myself nuts pretending that I care about weight loss when in all honesty, right now I just do not.

So there it is. I’m fully disclosed. I just don’t care right now.

This blog started as a weight loss blog.

And, of course, in my world sometimes I’m trying to lose weight and sometimes… well… I’m not. Sometimes I’m working on loving myself no matter my size, sometimes I’m trying to love myself by taking care of myself and losing weight.

Probably just about this whole year, I haven’t really been committed to weight loss for myself.

I’m not sure I am still.

However, today I did something I haven’t done in a while: I exercised.

That’s right, broke out a very easy Firm video and got down.

Woot! Go me.

I was having one of those days when I felt all woe is me. my life sucks. I don’t fit into any clothes, anywhere.

And so I was in a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad mood.

Despite the fact that the clothes not fitting is entirely my own fault. The chips I ate afterward to help myself feel better about the clothes not fitting (how’s that for a self-destructive cycle?) are entirely to blame. Who put them in my mouth? me.

The thing that I hate most about clothes shopping is that I don’t just get frustrated with the fact that I can’t find clothes that fit, that I like. I start to hate myself.

Literally. I tell myself I’m a bad person because I’m too fat for cute clothes.

Ugh.

So, I was working all day to fight those feelings and thoughts. I was trying to remind myself that I’m lovable, worthy, and good no matter my weight or what clothes fit or don’t fit. I have a husband that loves me, family that loves me, friends, I’m good at my job. Etc.

I got home, and Rory followed me around the house. When I sat down she cuddled in for a long winter’s nap, purring wildly. She was happy that I was home, as was I. She was happy to see me and she could care less if I am a size 16/18 or a size 2. She just loves me.

I could take a lesson or two from her.

It didn’t take long for me to run out of things to say. Huh.

 Random Posts I’ve started and erased, then deciding to put them all into one “big” post:

Last Comic Standing

anyone else bored with this show? Just give the title to Jerry Dee already, guys.

Burnout

In the field of social work, it’s very bad to start thinking “I don’t care”. That’s a clear sign you’re on your way to burn-out. It’s not that I actually don’t care, it’s that I’m overwhelmed and so it’s harder to care about each and every detail.

A numbers post

about how totally and completely weird and disorienting it feels to not have any idea what I weigh, how much I’ve gained or lost, etc. And also freeing.

That’s all I got, folks.

To give myself some credit, I haven’t pulled out the scale. This is in an effort to not define myself by my weight.

So instead of defining myself by the numbers on the scale, I keep thinking about how I feel. And how that I feel that I look.

The only word for it is fat. I hate mirrors right now, because I look fat. I feel fat.

The grocery shopping is done. I’m ready to be exercising. I’m ready to not feel fat every day. I hate it and am dangerously close to hating me.

Another thing I’m working on in therapy: Not viewing my value in terms of numbers. Pounds. Not letting the scale dictate my worth.

This sounds so little. Right??

Here’s the thing. I can tell you how much I weighed at any given point in my life. I also base how I feel about myself on how much I weigh. If I’m working out, and eating well, and losing weight I feel great about myself. I’m worth something, I’m good at things, my mood is better. If I feel fat, I feel worthless.

Fat does not equal worthless, as it turns out. But I apparently think that it does. My therapist asked me to work on loving myself no matter what I weigh. I didn’t- and still don’t, to be honest- totally understand this concept. Because if you work on loving yourself no matter what you weigh, how do you get yourself to lose weight? Don’t you have to hate yourself at a certain weight so that you can motivate yourself in order to lose weight? Don’t you??

No. In fact, you don’t. I’ve talked before about loving myself (no, I can’t find the post. sorry.) and I think I was working hard at doing that. I do know on some level that part of losing weight is about taking care of yourself, which you have to love yourself in order to do. Another words- hating myself = not caring if I take care of myself = not exercising and eating like crap = weight gain. On the other hand loving myself = taking care of me = eating well and exercising = losing weight.

huh. It sounds so simple. Why then is it so hard??

I’m the first non-sponspored link in Ask.com  under “food rehab”.

Go see for yourself!

I know. My blog has finally made it.

In more serious news, I have lost another 2.4 pounds on my Up Day Down Day Diet. I’m down to 197.8. I kept praying just to be under 198. And I was. Rock on.

Went from 203.4 last Sunday. That was my first “down” day.

This week I am 200.2. So 3.2 pounds is a good start. I was reallyreallyreally hoping to be under 200, but hey, I guess I’ll take .3 up from that. Ah well.

In other breaking news, my pants feel better. And this diet feels doable.

We’ll see where we go! Good luck to me on my second week!

I am climbing on the fad diet bandwagon. Thus far in my weight loss journey, I have managed to avoid fad diets. I have not tried Atkins, South Beach, the cabbage diet, or the banana diet. I have tried Weight Watchers, a whopping three times now. Clearly those three times were a big success for me. I’ve also done the Diabetic Exchange.

But as of yesterday, I have gone where I have never gone before: Fad Diet Land. The place where diets aren’t necessarily backed by years and years of evidence. The land of scary propositions such as cutting out entire food groups. The land of yo-yo dieting. The land where… if it’s sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

However, I’m at a point where I just don’t care. I know, in my head somewhere, that the trick to weight loss- real, sustainable weight loss- is a lifestyle that includes consistently healthy food choices and regular exercise. The problem for me is that at this point in my life, I just can’t do that. I just can’t.

I think this goes a little deeper than laziness. Right now I can barely stand myself. I hate the way I look and am questioning myself in other ways every time I turn around. The last few months have hit really, really hard and that’s making it so every day takes an effort. Just to be, never mind go above and beyond. If I’m not self-loathing then I’m grieving. If I’m not grieving I’m a sniping bitch. I can be hard to take these days. I’m working on it- I really and truly am. I get better every day. But some days it’s all just too much.

So there’s no room in my brain or in myself to love myself enough to really make the changes that need to be made. On the other hand, I can’t do nothing. I am so sick of my body that something has to be done. I just can’t deal anymore. Which creates quite a dilemma- hating myself, but not willing to change myself.

Huh. Enter Fad Diet Land. The diet that sounds just too good to be true. I have started Johnson’s Up Day Down Day Diet. See www.traineo.com for some folks who have had some really great results. What makes this a fad diet?? The fact that these folks have been on it for only a few months. And that it just seems so easy. Eat whatever I want one day, the next eat next to nothing. The mindset being- I can eat whatever I want tomorrow. Which is somewhat freeing for me. This gives me much less anxiety- I know I can have it the next day. Every other day. Whatever I want. Whatever. I. Want.

We shall see how it goes. Yesterday was my first “down” day and I did well. Two slim-fast shakes and a Luna bar, for total calories of 540. Today I’ve had- well, whatever I wanted.

I haven’t posted because I didn’t know what to say. What to tell you? I’m gaining weight, I’m not dealing with any of my grief. Want to see more pictures of my cat?? So I just didn’t post. I think it helps to be writing, though. I tend to come upon insights as I write things out or create blog posts in my head. So I am going to try to keep doing it.

A very popular catchphrase in the dieting world these days is “lifestyle change”. I’m not entirely sure I subscribe to this phrase. I’ve made a “lifestyle change” no less than four times.

I’m in the middle of the fifth lifestyle change. I’ve done the Lean Cuisine Lifestyle Change, the Weight Watchers Lifestyle Change (three times), the Diabetic Exchange Lifestyle Change, and now I’m working on the I Have No Clue What I’m Doing Lifestyle Change.

Let’s not even talk about exercise plans. I’ve done the Swimming thing. I’ve done Yoga Booty Ballet. Done the go-to-the-gym-for-two-months-pay-for-a-year plan. I’ve done the Firm. Have tried running and walking. I briefly tried some striptease videos that were horrible.

Here’s the problem. First of all, nothing has actually been a lifestyle change. I like crap for food. Do I love myself enough to make the changes?? I don’t know. See, I reaaaaaaaaally like the foods I recently broke up with. I mean, I love them. I don’t want to imagine a life without them. Every time I start a new “lifestyle change” it goes great for the first… week… month… four months. The longest I have ever lasted is six months. I have actually stuck with exercise longer than I have with my diets lifestyle changes.

Here’s where I am now. I am lost, that’s where I am. Right before I lost my dad and grandma, I was kind of stuck. I had been doing the diabetic exchange, but had kind of plateau-ed. I started looking at my exercise. Well. One place tells you it’s important to do cardio. Another tells you NO! Skip cardio, you need weight training! Lift heavy! Lift light! The third tells you to do both. One says work muscles every other day, another says you can do every day. One says eat before you exercise, another says not to. How do you know?

It’s way worse with the food stuff. Between Weight Watchers, Diabetic Exchange, South Beach, the Zone, low Glycemic Index, low carb, low fat, low calorie, no carb, Mediterranean Diet, YOU on a diet… what’s the right one?? If you read one it sounds wonderful. It sounds like exactly what you need. It makes promises it can never keep. Then you read the next set of information and it tells you how wrong the last set was, and how THIS is the important one.

I know what you’re thinking. No, really I do. You’re thinking one of two things. The first is this: “Well, I did _______ and it worked for me! I’ve taken it off and kept it off for _________ amount of time and this is my lifestyle change. You should try ________.” Or number two: “Keep it simple Paige. Just cut the calories and exercise. The details don’t matter. Eat less, exercise more. It’s simple.”

I know. I’ve thought both things. I’ve tried both things. Been there, lived that. I’m truly at a loss. I need to talk to someone in real life about it and not get my information from the internet. In the meantime…???

So. I started out at 199. (you know- one. nine. nine.?) Then, two weeks later, I had not really done anything, had made a very half-assed effort at eating well and exercising, the whole shebang. I felt sorry for myself- poor me! Dad died! Grandma died! I’m fat and my clothes don’t fit! I must eat more!!

 So I did. Then last week I decided to get up off of my ass and do something about it. I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. Let me clarify: I did not say stop the grieving process. I am still grieving. I am still sad. But I am not eating my feelings. I’m not using grief and all it’s associated feelings as an excuse to eat whatever the hell I want all the time, as much of it as I want, and sit on the couch all the time.

I got on the scale on Monday, the first day of my fourth attempt to lose weight. (ah, that’s a FUN sentence to write.) The scale laughed at me. It said “hahaha!! Look at that loser, you gained SIX pounds in the past two weeks!” (I gain weight VERY easily, I think. Or that’s just an excuse and everyone gains six pounds in two weeks.) I was up to a solid two. zero. five.

However, I made some much better choices. I didn’t let the scale or my feelings dictate how I ate. I am following the old diabetic exchange, but pretty loosely. I’m doing it a little lower carb and a little less regimented, but with the same basic outline. I am exercising, but I’m alternating videos (the Firm) and walking. The goal is to not get sick of what I’m doing. I’m already sick of eggbeaters, but that’s another story.

So. Monday I got on the scale- it didn’t laugh as hard. It told me that I had lost 2.8 pounds, down to 102.8.

It’s a start at least.  A move in the right direction. Have things been perfect? No. However, they are better. I’m finally making decent choices. I’m loving myself enough to make the good choices. Huh.

Dear McDonald’s, Taco Bell, and Burger King; french fries and chocolate shakes; chicken fingers and fries with ranch; Lime Tostitos and Oreos; tortilla chips with a block of cream cheese and salsa, entire bags of popcorn, and small bags of Fritos; Dunkin Donuts, Dairy Queen, and Starbucks desserts; three times too big portions at dinner, double helpings or rice, potatoes, and bread; Diet Coke; coffee ‘lite and sweet’; brownies, full fat ice cream, and Samoas; Mexican, pizza, and big bowls of white pasta; and- well, all the other crap I ate on a regular basis:

I know we were friends. I know you made me feel better when I was sad, angry, lonely, bored, and tired. I think I made you feel better because I wanted you so, and often made that clear. I loved having the option of turning to you whenever I wanted- it made me feel comforted and happy. Calmer. I knew you would always be there for me, just waiting. You would always taste the way I wanted you to. You would always reward me with equal parts of sweet satisfaction and guilt. You knew how I liked you and were always that way- fattening, greasy, and bad for me.

You are like my bad boy. The one thing I just can’t walk away from, even though I knew how bad you all were for me. You could give me diabetes, heart disease, and make it harder for me to get pregnant. Yet I come back to you time and time again. You make my tummy hurt after I eat you, yet I let you abuse me some more the next time. I knew how bad you were for me, people told me how bad you were for me, and yet I couldn’t walk away.

I can’t lie- I may come and visit, but I can’t stay anymore. When I do come visit- things won’t be the same. I won’t be going all the way with you- I won’t be filling myself until I can’t eat anymore, I won’t keep coming back. I have to walk away now. All the consequences of loving you are becoming too hard. I’m tired all the time. I hate the way my body feels and looks. None of my cute clothes fit. I feel like I’m dragging all the time. You’re just not worth it anymore.

I know this is going to be a hard break-up. I already miss you. You sit there taunting me, all M&M like and looking all cute in pink and orange when I drive by you just craving a hot chocolate. Yet… it’s time for me to walk away. To learn to love the good guys, who will love me back and make me feel better about myself and healthy. I must leave you though.

It was a good time, but the effects suck. Good luck with all your other lovers, I know there are many.

~Paige

It’s time to stop feeling sorry for myself. Get over it. Move on.

And start losing weight again.

Most of the junk has been thrown away, the rest will go tonight. Healthy food has been bought. A plan has been made (the Diabetic Exchange, except a bit more low-carb) and exercise will be happening.

I fully expect to be a raging bitch for the next few days, as I will be going off caffeine, fat, and sugar all at once, as well as adding exercise. Khalil already told me he’s glad he’ll be out of town for a few days.

I have to do this. I feel disgusting, I know I’m not healthy, I’m tired all the time. And none of my clothes fit. I need to put FAT clothes in the FAT bin again.

Those were the three numbers that showed up on my scale on Monday. In that order. Last time I stepped on a scale, it was a bit closer to… 18something. 3? 5? I have gained at least fifteen pounds. In approximately two months. That’s by far the fastest I’ve ever gained, I think at least. I certainly don’t question that I gained it. I am the Queen of Eating Crap and Not Exercising.

When I mentioned to Khalil how much weight I’ve gained, he said, “Hon?” and I said, “What?” He said, “It’s ok”. And I have to believe him. Am I sad? Yes. Am I frustrated? Yes. Do I have to let all of that go and focus on what I have to do? Yes.

I’m frustrated with myself. I hate the way my body looks. I’m still trying to squeeze my 1 9 9 body into my 1 8 3 clothes. The result is not cute. I do not recommend it. I had to pull out the big tub and pull out some of my 1 9 9 clothes. That was sad, frustrating, and a wee bit… humiliating? I didn’t do it in front of anyone, but still feel humiliated. I put those clothes away with the plans to never pull them out again unless I was losing baby weight. Instead I’m losing stress and baby weight. Which royally sucks.

I hate the way my body feels. I have a distinct recollection of not having all of this extra fat on my body. I remember when I had more energy. I remember not feeling this way. I remember not cringing when I looked in the mirror. Those feelings aren’t far away because time wise, it was only about a month and a half to two months ago when I felt that way. I remember being frustrated about gaining a little weight over Christmas. About not being able to get under 181. Now I’m back at almost 200.

Here’s the thing. In order to not feel my feelings, I’m still eating them. Also, I’m doing this in part because I just don’t yet feel like I have the energy to make the good food choices. So I’m still making the crappy food choices. Go me. Every time I’m presented with the option, I make a crappy choice. Choice A: (somewhat less crappy) sausage and peppers and onions, on a small roll, two slices of cheese. Apple. Small bag of chips. Choice B: (seriously more crappy) Quarter pounder with cheese, fries, diet coke, chocolate shake. What do you think I chose yesterday? B. Why? For the simple reason that I felt like it. And I couldn’t bear to deny myself food. Not yet. I feel so sad, so overwhelmed, so frustrated with everything else that I cannot. deny. myself. food.

On the upswing, I have been exercising. I have worked out the last three days in a row. I’m tired, and having a hard time getting through the workouts. But I’m pushing through. Making this positive choice, the choice to do something really and truly good for me feels oh-so-good. It feels right. It makes me happy. Then I enter the rest of my day. And that feeling fades away into the stress, sadness, and being overwhelmed.

I know that I will get there. I have no doubt that I will be back to the place where I can make positive choices about food. Where I can deny myself the negative choices and remind myself that I’m worth the better choices. And that what feels like self-denial is really self-praise, because it means that I’m loving myself enough to make the positive choices. In the meantime, I shall cross my fingers that the exercise helps, and I’ll give myself a little extra room and forgiveness. I will know that I will get there, and that time will be soon. It’s coming.

I can tell when I’m starting to get anxious. Or be overwhelmed. Or be overwhelmed by anxiety.

The first thing that happens is I start snapping at people. I do this both in my head and out loud. My road rage, which is typically… not pretty, gets a wee bit out of control. The person at the check out line where I buy my lunch looks at me wrong and I think hateful things about her outfit. Like she had any choice in it. I get crazy judgemental about everyone I see. Things that don’t typically annoy me make me want to jump off buildings. I guess you could say my fuse gets a wee bit short. I work on controlling it, so most of the stuff stays inside.

Another weird thing happens. And this may peg me in the crazy category. I start counting letters in my head. It’s this weird thing I do with vowels and consonants and I can’t really explain it. But when I get overwhelmed, anxious, and anxiously overwhelmed, my brain just starts going on auto pilot. I think I start doing it when there are things I want to keep my mind off. Things that, if I dwell on them, may just do me in. So my brain works double time to keep me distracted. And then it starts to get on my nerves.

There are a very limited number of things I can do to keep my brain clear of letters. The things I do have to be all consuming. Watching TV, if it’s good, sometimes can help. Talking to Khalil sometimes helps. Eating almost always helps. A few other things.

I want to turn it off. But if I do, the things I am working so hard to avoid will crowd in. I might have to deal with what is going on with my father. I might have to face the fact that I will be saying goodbye to my grandmother this weekend, for quite possibly the last time. I will deal with the fact that I will be leaving my father this week. I will have to process all of this information, which means more than just typing it out in a cold, hard fashion.

The thing is, I just can’t process it. My brain has no idea what to do with all of this information. I’ve started to cry a few times in the last few weeks, and I always have to shut it off. I can not let go and cry. There’s never the right time, the right place, the right state of mind. There’s really no letting go. Where do you start? And once I start, where can I stop? When can I stop?

So I just hold on. For dear life.

Half of a bag of Lime Tostitos and six Oreos will briefly make you feel better.

Then they will make you feel very, very ill.

Someone got to my site by searching “bullshit goals”. I think that may be the name of my next blog. Because sometimes, it it so apropo.

The eating thing has basically gone down the drain. I am making a half-hearted attempt to stay in my goals (bullshit goals), particularly with lunches. Half-hearted being the operative word here. I’m trying not to give up completely. I really am.

The problem is two-fold. The first is the fact that I really do not know what the best plan for me is. The Diabetic Exchange worked for a while. However, I began to have concerns with how few calories I was eating, given the very-scientific internet research I was doing. I got worried that I was starting to burn my own muscle instead of fat. This got worse when I plateaud back in September. Was the plateau a result of my diet or my lack of discipline? I honestly don’t know. Or was the lack of discipline a result of being so rigid for so long? Again, I’m not sure. On this journey, hindsight isn’t always 20-20.

The other problem is all of the stress I am dealing with. I’ve never had an easy time eating well under stress, it’s one of my coping mechanisms, I’ll admit it. I’m not a big overeater, per se. However, I do lack the motivation to make good choices. Making good choices requires a lot of work and dedication for me. It’s something that dealing with a dying grandmother, a sick father, and trying to conceive just don’t leave me with. I have no emotional energy left. One might argue that eating well isn’t emotional. They would not know me well at all if they tried to propose that. They might then argue that I should seek some professional help if eating is an emotional issue. I am not sure I could argue with them. But if I’m not stressed out, I’ve been able to make some good choices.

For the time being, I am going to keep exercising. And doing the best I can day to day, but I cannot beat myself up for making not-the-best-choices. I just can’t. So that is where I stand.

Oh. Khalil has also put the scales away- they’re in his closet. Until, maybe… June? July?

Yesterday it got cold. Biting, frigid, raw. All season long we’ve been saying things like, “Can you believe this weather?” and, “Where’s winter?” Well, winter has reared it’s ugly head.

Alright. Ugly may not be the word for it, depending on who you are. With winter’s arrival came a cold for me. It’s been a while since I’ve been sick and I think I may be a bit whiny about it. I hate being sick. I really and truly do.

Last year winter whipped down on us in blizzard form. This year it’s taken a while to come, again (is this a trend?) but is arriving more gently. Instead of showering us with a blizzard, it’s wooing us with frigid temperatures and biting wind.

For the longest time I listened to my mom. She always told me when you’re sick you have to let your body rest. Since I started exercising I’ve done some research on whether or not to exercise when you have a cold. It has been highly scientific research as well, done primarily on message and chat boards on the internet. Very reliable, I am sure. Well, my reliable, scientific research has shown that it is ok to exercise if the cold is in your head, but if it moves to your chest to take it easy (you know, that whole needing-to-breathe thing).

Since my cold is in my head, I’ve been exercising every day. This is huge for me. I’m so determined to lose the Christmas weight and finally, once and for all, move out of the stupid 180s. I was glad to get into them, when I was in the 190s. But now that I’ve been in them for, I don’t know, four and a half months, I’m quite ready to say goodbye.

What kills me? Is that once, one day, I was in the 170s. Then another day? I was in the 210s. I can’t focus on that, because it will do my efforts in. But it does make me sad.

I gained eight pounds over Christmas, approximately. I have lost 6.2 of them. The first week I lost 3.6 and this past week? 2.6.

 I’m proud of myself. I’m actually doing this. I’ve made mistakes, and just picked myself back up. If I screw up, I haven’t given up the whole day. I’ve moved on. I’m slowly but surely finding a way to live with the life I have to live with if I don’t want to be huge and sick my entire life.

Yup. I’ve been a horrible blogger all week. This is what happens when there are things going on, but I don’t want to write about them. I just stop writing altogether. Good coping skill, no?

 Moving on. I lost three point six pounds this week. On the one hand, I’m thrilled. On the other, I feel like it almost doesn’t count because it’s still the weight that I gained over Christmas. Go me.

I’m still making good choices. Still hanging in there. This lame catch-up post sucks, I know. But. But! I’m going tonight to see my niece and nephew, and am bringing my camera. So Friday or Saturday you can count on a picture post. That’s always a good thing to do when avoiding talking about something you really don’t want to deal with just yet.

Khalil was at his mom’s doing laundry. I was home, finally getting ready to wind down after taking down Christmas decorations, putting up our regular stuff, and cleaning.

I see the Moose Munch. I think, “What will one bite hurt? It won’t.”

I take one bite, and sit on the couch. aaahhh that tastes good. ( my one bite was a piece that was more like three bites.) Rory’s head pops up, which means that Khalil is home. Greaaaat. I hope that maybe she actually heard a neighbor, or something…

No such luck. Khalil knocks with laundry. I shove the last two bites in my mouth and get the laundry inside.

“What’cha snacking on?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Maybe nothing.”

“hmm.”

“Alright. Fine. Moose munch.”

“hmm.”

“What? I just wanted one bite. Of course. I haven’t eaten anything bad in almost a week, resisted the stupid Moose Munch. I finally have one piece and you come home. I can’t even CHEAT!”

“Maybe that’s God’s way of saying you shouldn’t eat the Moose Munch?”

We threw it away.

Had this ongoing conversation with myself all night. This follows four days of eating well and very bad news about my grandmother’s health:

I really want some chocolate. Oh. There’s still Moose Munch here. Hmm… I’ll wait until after dinner. Maybe I’ll have some after dinner. No. I really don’t want any. I have all those pounds I gained to lose, Moose Munch is not going to help that. But I’m having a bad night. I deserve some Moose Munch already. Who deserves crap? Really, Paige? You deserve Moose Munch? Don’t you deserve to treat your body right, to listen to it and feed it well? Don’t you? No. Wait on the Moose Munch. But I want it. I really do. I’m craving it. It’s been four days. Once I eat it I’ll feel better, at the very least I won’t be riding this roller coaster anymore- you know, the “do I? don’t I?” rollercoaster. It’s getting pretty annoying. Just eat it. Then you’ll feel better. Then you can just admit you made a mistake. You can write about it and then just own up to it and move on. That’s what you do right? Make mistakes then admit them? Right? No. I don’t want to have any. All those pounds I gained. Do I want to waste all that exercising? It was hard to get up and exercise!

********

It ended briefly when I entered my food into Sparkpeople. Realizing that I was still in my calorie range for the day even after pizza made me not want to blow it with Moose Munch. But this is the cycle I go through all the time. To exercise or not to? Eat well or eat crap? Drink water or skip it?

This time around my resolve has been pretty strong. I’d like to keep it that way and not blow it just because I’m upset. I’d like to not eat my feelings for once. I can do this.

I’m in withdrawal mode. In that, I’m withdrawing from all of the indulgences I’ve been enjoying the last few weeks.

For starters, there’s the couch. I’m pretty sure my butt hurts just from sitting on the hard chairs at work. My couch is very soft and giving. It allows me to sit up or lay down. I can even sleep if I want to. They don’t look fondly on me sleeping on the hard chairs at work.

There’s also the caffeine. I’m sluggish and basically craving a huge coffee. I just want the… small buzz that goes along with it. I could even use a Diet Coke. But Diet Coke is one of the gateway drugs for me- I drink so much water when I’m eating well that I don’t have room in my bladder for Diet Coke. If I’m drinking Diet Coke, it’s in lieu of water. Which is a bad sign. But I miss it.

Should we get started on fried food and, um, sugar? SUGAR. Sugaaaaaaaaaaaaar. What I wouldn’t give for something soft, sweet, and full of carbohydrates. Preferably chocolate. Chocolate bread perhaps? (wait. That’s brownies.)

I don’t miss feeling like crap though. And that’s what it really boils down to. I miss losing weight and feeling good more than I miss the stuff I’m withdrawing from. I do pity my husband for the process though. I’m not a pretty person right now.

Kitchen cleaned out? check

Chocolate in trash? check

Healthy foods bought? check

Exercise videos dusted off? check

Transfirmer step out and about? check

Exercise completed? check

Sparkpeople membership reactivated? check

Food journal printed and ready to go? check.

I’m on my way, you guys. I have updated Sparkpeople, exercised, and eaten decently. I’m 48 or so calories over the top of my range, but for day one that ain’t half bad. I have said no to a freshly baked cinnamon roll at staff meeting this morning. I have not inhaled the Moose Munch that’s still here when I was starving. So I’ve had mostly good decisions today.

On to tomorrow.

This being out of control? The fun is kind of really only in theory.

 I’m not controlling my eating in the way I should be. I’m not yet at hot-chocolate-bagel-with-butter-two-donuts from Dunkin Donuts just yet. But I’m not at spark people-exchanges-no-thank-you either. I’m somewhere in between.

I went grocery shopping with Khalil tonight. I was picking out some crap. I was apologizing to him (!?!?), “I’m getting back on track after the New Year. This isn’t going to last”.* I continued with… I feel like I have to justify myself. Not just to you, but to everyone who sees me eating crap. Everyone. The three people who saw me eat the jelly donut at work. A supervisor. My husband. Anyone. Khalil said, “You do have to justify yourself”. I gave him a quizzical look- wasn’t he supposed to be telling me I don’t have to justify how I eat? He continued, “Not to me. To yourself.” And he’s right.

When I’m eating poorly, I find myself wanting to snap, “Back off!” to anyone around. To those who are telling me I should be making better choices, put down the brownie/donut/french fries. Then I look around. There’s no one tellin gme that. Everyone around me is aware that I’m an adult, I know what I should be doing, and I make my own choices. There’s only me.

I do have to justify myself to me. I haven’t given myself permission to let go, nor do I plan to. Maybe I should, but I’m not going to. I’m scared then that I will completely let go. If I just keep hanging on- keep reminding myself that after the New Year, I’ll be back on track- then I will. Then I will not completely slip off the edge.

This being out of control thing. It’s hard. I wish I could be one way or the other- I wish I could let go completely and do this guilt-free, or get back on track. I know though that right now I’m not in the place for either. 

* I really don’t need to apologize to Khalil. He’s never been the guy who cared. Thank God for me.  

Overeating? So not worth it.

Seriously.

The way I feel this morning. So not worth it.

Seriously.

Know thy limits, woman.

Seriously.

I’m not really going to keep doing that, I promise.

I went to Starbucks this morning. Forever, I went to Starbucks every Friday morning. I mean, for years. I did it the first time I lost weight- Friday morning was like my treat. As I was walking out of Starbucks with my Peppermint Mocha and chocolate-glazed donut, I had a pang of missing this. Missing my Friday morning Starbucks ritual. It may be a silly ritual but I still miss it.

I also miss something I did yesterday. I miss being able to choose from whatever “restaurant” I want, be it fast-food or a real restaurant. I miss saying, “hhmmm. I’m really craving Taco Bell right now. I think I’ll go.” And once I get to said whatever-restaurant-I-want, I miss ordering whatever I want. Caramel apple empanada, please.

I miss the meals I used to have. Half a bag of peanut butter oreos with a tall glass of milk for breakfast. A bag of tortilla chips, half a block of cream cheese, and salsa for lunch. A bagel, two donuts, and a hot chocolate for snack. (yes, there’s clearly no need to wonder how I got fat.) A box of macaroni and cheese for dinner, followed by a huge bowl of full-fat ice cream.

Lime tortilla chips, Starbucks, cream cheese and salsa. In and Out (that’s actually part of a whole different post about California), Taco Bell, Wendy’s, KFC. The desserts and bagels at Panera. Pizza. Oh GOD, pizza. Brownie batter. Hot chocolate from Dunkin Donuts. The freedom to do whatever I want. The freedom to walk into Target and get a Snickers and huge bag of Cheetos on the way out just cuz I feel like it.

The sleep. The sleep I have lost as part of exercising. Not having the ugly Firm box cluttering up my living room. The space next to my cable box and DVD player where all my Firm videos are.

Sometimes I want to wallow in the things I miss. There are things that I have going right now, while I am somewhat out of control, that I don’t miss. I don’t miss this feeling of always-being-tired. I don’t miss feeling completely out of control. I don’t miss the guilt. I don’t miss the draginess my body is feeling because it’s not being well cared for. I don’t miss the on and off nausea. I don’t miss the anxiety.

I have alot more reasons to be healthy than I do to not. The reasons I have to not are stupid. They all last about five minutes and the consequences of them last alot longer. ALOT longer. Not only the stuff I listed above and the reasons I don’t want to get fat. But also? The increased risk of diabetes. The difficulties getting pregnant. The consequences of diabetes once I do get it- my grandmother the last few years has experienced a whole host of health problems directly related to her diabetes that I would much prefer to avoid, thankyouverymuch.

I’m getting there. I can feel it. Getting myself back to a place that is out of the out-of-control spiral I’ve been in. I’m on my way back. Bear with me while I get there. And I’ll try to bear with myself while I get back there.

59 is the number my insulin was at about six months ago.

17 is what your insulin should be under.

17 is what my insulin was three months ago.

9 is what my insulin was today.

8 is the number of pounds I have lost.

3 is the number of months I have lost those 8 pounds in.

100 is the percent I feel better today.

Talk about a cruel joke. I’ve been trying to get out of the 180s forever. Daydreaming about seeing even 179.9. Anything that doesn’t start with a 1-8.

 I haven’t exercised in almost a week. I’ve been eating crap. Yesterday? I subsisted primarily on donut holes, chocolate-caramel popcorn, and pizza.

This morning, I decide to weigh myself. I want to be “prepared” for what the tech at the sugar doc will tell me when he weighs me.

What a cruel joke. I weigh 179. How to motivate myself to do better? HOW??

Update on sugar doc tonight. I strongly imagine that appointment will give me all the motivation I need and then some.

This weekend I have been relaxing. Chillin’. I sat on my couch so much that my neck started to hurt. I didn’t leave the apartment a whole lot. I didn’t exercise. I ate whatever I wanted. I went to bed early and got up late. I watched a zillion movies and alot of TV. I started a puzzle. Cuddled with my husband and my kitten.

It was a great weekend. Don’t get me wrong.

But tomorrow? Reality strikes. I’m dreading it.

Tomorrow I have to get up and exercise. I have to measure out my breakfast and lunch. I have to eat what I have measured and not more. I have to eat what I bring for lunch. I need to think about it.

I think that’s been the best part of the weekend. I didn’t have to think about a whole lot. I just ate whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. I honestly didn’t go crazy with the food, by some miracle. But I didn’t eat well, either. Not by the ‘xchange standards, anyways. I ate alot of carbs and alot of sugar.

I’ll miss being home. I’ll miss Rory and seeing my husband all day. I’ll miss the relaxing part of the weekend. I needed it and I’m not ready to go back. I don’t have a choice, but I’m going back to my real life under protest. Wish me luck.

I don’t want to be fat.

1. I hate feeling out of control.

2. I hate when my thighs chafe.

3. I hate feeling tired all the time.

4. I want to be healthy.

5. I like when I’m not ashamed of what I’m eating when I’m eating in front of people.

6. Not hating what I see in the mirror.

7. Not hating the way my body feels.

8. Watching my body change in a good way feels so good.

9. Carrying around 40 extra pounds? Is tiring.

10. I hate hating exercise.

11. It sucks when the thought of food makes me want to cry.

12. Dreading the scale sucks.

13. Fat = high insulin

14. high insulin = higher risk of diabetes, heart disease, more fat, and more difficulty getting pregnant.

15. I want to never wear the clothes in the tub of fat clothes again. Unless I’m holding a newborn. That is mine.

16. Buying clothes in stores that only go up to 14/16 is fun.

17. Being able to find my size is also fun.

18. That feeling of being out of breath most of the time? Bites.

19. I want to love myself and take care of myself. That’s hard to do when I’m fat.

I’m not in a place today to be able to do a Love Thursday post. I’m just… not. I’m sorry.

Today, I ran.

The post should end there. That news is so big that the post should just end there. I got up too late to do a full Firm video, and so I decided to go out for a walk. I wasn’t in a good mood for other reasons, and so a walk was a good idea.

I walked down my very long driveway to the road. Then I decided to run. You should know, I hate running. Hate it. Within two seconds I’m usually cramping and fire is shooting up my calves and thighs. So I stop and walk. But today was somehow different. Today, I started running and couldn’t stop. It was kind of like Forrest Gump but ALOT less distance. I only ran down my street and down another street, but they were pretty long streets. It took me about 15-20 minutes to run. I can honestly say that I have never in my entire life run for 15 minutes straight.

By the end I had the ‘ole cramping-gut-fire-in-legs feeling, but I got to my goal. Which I only set towards the end.

I don’t know what was different. I really don’t. I NEVER RUN. Today, I ran. This huge long amount. The whole time I was running I had visions of becoming a marathon runner (I never get carried away with stuff). But I didn’t mind it. It felt good. I don’t know- it felt like I pounded all my angst and frustration out one step at a time.

Who knows if it will ever happen again. We’ll see. But for today, I ran.

And we didn’t go to the support group. So there that is.

I’ve talked about exercise a few times before. I’ve been doing the TransFIRMer and other assorted Firm videos since approximately March of this year.

My body has changed. It’s insane. I’ve lost weight, yes, and a significant amount, yes. But my body has never changed this… quickly before. (I hesitate to say quickly. That seems like an exaggeration.) I’ve watched my legs get smaller, and my arms. I can almost see my clavicles! (side note: One day I said to Khalil, “Look! I have clavicles now!” He said, “you’ve always had clavicles” in his dry humor kind of way. Maybe you had to be there but it was funny.) And my butt! My butt is disappearing!

Listen, don’t get me wrong. I still don’t like exercising. I wish that I could live without it. I wish that I could feel healthy, and energized, and lose weight without exercising. I’m coming to the conclusion though that this may be something I have to resign myself to. Every day, every morning, I have to plan to exercise. It’s something I literally have to mentally plan for. If I don’t, I won’t exercise. My natural tendency is not to jump out of bed and EXERCISE! Nor is it to come home from work and EXERCISE! My natural tendency is to get out of bed, putz around, remind myself that I got up early to exercise, and well I already have my exercise clothes on, I might as well get around to it. (There’s no way I’d exercise after work. That’s just… laughable).

I’m doing it though. That is the miracle. For eight long and horrible short, wonderful months I have been exercising. I’m less tired, less sick, and look better.

Who woulda thunk?

I have reached a very crucial point in my weight loss journey.

I am sick of discipline. Sick of watching what I eat. Sick of getting up early to exercise. Sick of weighing myself. Sick of thinking about all of this. Sick of it. I want to quit.

However, I do not want to quit. I do not want to gain weight. I do not want to pull clothes out of the fat clothes bin. I do not want to lose control. I do not want to be unhealthy.

A crossroads. I don’t know what to do.

I need to do something. I know what I need to do, but see the first paragraph. I’m sick of what I need to do.

So I will show you pictures of pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, which I think led to this place in my life anyways.

I know you love the rockin’ seventies counter. I know, stop yourself. It’s mine, and you can’t have it.

In the weight loss world, typically the huge exciting things that happen are that you lose weight. The scale moves .6 pounds, and you think, “Well, at least it was a loss”. The scale moves three pounds and you’re on cloud nine for the rest of the day. The scale goes up and you’re pissy all day. Is it sad and a little scary that the numbers on a scale have such power? Absolutely. However, at least for me, it is what it is and I have accepted it.

But there are other ‘events’ in weight loss also. There’s the day you move down a size. There’s the time you can put an entire bin full of clothes away because they’re all too big. There’s when you finally get out of your biggest size. It’s when those jeans you bought? That you never got to wear because you got too fat for them too fast– fit. Nicely. It’s little things like that.

Also, there are the food choices. Like, when you decide to take a meal “off”. And when, in the past, your regular meals could easily consist entirely of an entire small pizza. An entire box of mac and cheese. Approximately six ounces of meat, over a cup of starch, and no veggies. Chips with a side of oreos and diet coke. So, you take a meal off. And it ends up consisting of three pieces of pizza and two brownies, instead of the entire pizza and box of brownies you planned to gorge on. Or you go out and end up with a relatively mean- because it sounded good and not because you were trying.

But today? Today the best change EVER happened. EVER. One time I wrote about learning to love myself. It’s a really hard thing to do. It’s very hard to love your body. Not just who you are as a person, but your body. For a very, very long time I have looked in the mirror and every time- every. time. - I have had a negative comment. Even the times when I look at my body changing in good ways, there are always negatives to be had. I’m hard on myself. I hate my body and the way it looks. For a very long time, if I was at a mall or somewhere there were mirrors, I would avoid them like the plague because it was almost painful for me to catch a glimpse of myself. I’d look in the mirror and it would be a shock. I’d think, “Is that ME? Do I REALLY look like that? Who can even bear to look at me?” It’s painful. Really.

Today. I wore size 12 jeans. For the first time in yeeeaaaaaaaaars. This is a HUGE damn deal for me. When I restarted my weight loss, I was in 20, and getting close to and occasionally in 22. While I’m not always in 12s now, sometimes 14s are tight, 16s are too big. Things are going in the right direction. I went shopping in my size 12s. I walked by the floor to ceiling mirrors in a large and ritzy department store.

As I walked by myself, I did a double take.

Oh. I don’t look half bad. I actually look kind of cute today.

Shutupshutupshutup. I didn’t hate on myself as I caught sight of myself. Huge.

Another thing that is huge, that goes with this? I could have written about my mistakes today. There were a myriad of them. But I am choosing to focus on the positive.

I’m a size 12/14, I’m not that bad looking, and I can walk by a mirror without wanting to cry. All in all, not a bad day.