186.4 & Hanging In There

Quite frankly, I'm astounded to have lost anything this week. My stress level was through the roof, and as a result I let my eating get out of control.

The biggest stressor -- losing my phone -- has been eliminated. While I didn't recover my old phone, my mom saved the day with an early anniversary/Mother's Day gift: a new iPhone 4. And thanks to some software magic, all but about a week's worth of my pictures were restored.

I also got an interesting phone call from a friend who needed some guidance. I have to say, it's kind of a new experience to have anyone ask me for help with a weight-related issue. She asked me how I stayed motivated, how I kept going. It's a simple question, but not a simple answer. As usual, I rambled and babbled, but hopefully gave her some of what she was looking for. Now that I've had a few days to ponder, I think I can reduce my babbles into a few more concise points.

So how do I do it? How do I stay motivated? Here's what works for me:

Accept the fact that sometimes, it's going to suck. Like, REALLY suck.
Losing weight, or getting in shape, or whatever it is you're trying to do? It's hard, friend. Some days are harder than others. So when it's hard, when what you really want to do is quit, just accept that it sucks. Get upset, get mad, cry, whatever. BUT DON'T STOP! Don't quit. Keep pushing through, and I promise, when you do, you'll look back at that suckage and think one of two things: a) it wasn't really so terrible, or b) DAMN, that sucked, but how kick-ass am I that I got through it?

Get it out in the open, ask for help, and accept help when it's offered.
No matter how strong we are, none of us can do this alone. And if you try to do it alone (like I did for a very long time), you'll most likely talk yourself out of the things you need to do most. Take it public, friends. Tell somebody, start a blog, post it on Facebook, whatever. You have to let the people in your life (or even just your virtual life) know what you're doing if you want their support. And believe me, YOU WANT THEIR SUPPORT. I couldn't do what I do every day if it weren't for my friends and my family. You'd be surprised how much a little love on your Facebook page can do for you, particularly on a down day. And when people try to help you, LET THEM. Don't let your pride get in the way, and don't live in fear of what they might think "if they knew." I'm going to let you in on a little secret -- the people in your life? They know you have a weight problem. It helped me tremendously to sort of "out myself" as a fat person, a closet eater, and someone who desperately needed to change. Once it's out there, it's a relief. Trust me.

Focus on the big picture.
These things take time. And there will be speed bumps, roadblocks, and traffic jams (bear with me, I ran out of transportation metaphors) along the way. My weight fluctuates from week to week, sometimes up and sometimes down, but when I look at the trend over the last six months or more, the overall trend is down. That keeps me going. It helps me to survive the minor setbacks, like gaining a pound after a week of being off plan. Don't be discouraged. Focus on your long-term goal, and look at the big picture. A narrow view does nothing for me except set off a cycle of obsessive, unproductive thought.

Do it for the right reasons.
In some ways, weight and my relationship with food is similar to addiction to alcohol or drugs. When people give up those substances, one of the things they're usually told during the recovery process is to do it for the right reasons. Giving up booze so your wife won't leave you? That doesn't work. So losing weight or changing your relationship with food so that someone will love you or be proud of you isn't going to work either. For your kids, for your family, to blow people away at your 20th high school reunion...those things can be good motivators in the short-term, but for the long haul, it has to be about you and only you. There is only one reason to do this: YOU.

Stop being so hard on yourself.
You have to let go of the cycle of self-abuse. Beating yourself up over poor choices (or even just less-than-perfect choices) does nothing but diminish your self-esteem. Having less self-esteem makes it easier to be even harder on yourself. And so it goes, on and on. You have to let go of it. I remember one of my favorite teachers of all time, Ms. Alley, telling me during orchestra rehearsals that if I was going to make a mistake (in this case, during a difficult section of some musical piece), make a really BIG one, and get over it. Because once you make that big mistake, it's out there, and it can't get any worse than that. You figure out what you did wrong, and you do better next time. Whether Bach or brownies, it makes no difference. Learn from your mistakes, maybe take some time to figure out why you made that choice in the first place, and then let it go. Move on.

It's transformation, not change. And it doesn't happen overnight.
We're bombarded with articles, infomercials, and TV shows that try to make us believe we can magically fix our weight problems with a special diet, a new gadget, or a stay on some ranch where we can work out with a celebrity trainer for six hours a day. They might call it reality TV, but it's not reality by any stretch of the imagination. The cold hard fact is that significant weight loss takes time, sometimes longer than you ever thought it would take. While it's possible to lose weight quickly, it's neither healthy nor likely to give you long-term success. I've lost 35 pounds in a month before by working my ass off and eating a truly frightening diet. That weight stayed off for maybe three months, and then it came back with a vengeance. And when it did, I felt awful. I felt like I had failed to change. Now I understand that this isn't a change, it's a transformation. I'm not suddenly changing into a different person; I'm learning and growing and transforming. Think about the caterpillar/butterfly scenario. The caterpillar doesn't just wake up one day and say, "Hey! I'm going to be a butterfly today," strap on some wings and fly away. Not at all. He has to prepare; he eats, he finds a good spot for his cocoon. Then he gets all snuggly and over a period of time, he becomes a better, more evolved version of himself. I don't know about you, but I don't want to be someone different; I want to be a better version of myself.

As always, this is what works for me. It may or may not work for you, or resonate with you. I can only hope that you can take something from this, maybe one little thought that helps you get through your day. Thanks for reading -- knowing I'm actually writing for real people and not just the black void of the internet helps me more than you know.

Practice Heroically

These words were used as an introduction to an amazing yoga video posted by my favorite instructors, Avery Jones (check out his studio, it's a great place to practice!). It seems a bit morbid at first glance, but it's really resonating with me lately:

"Encouraging Words" by Zen Master Guishan

Some day you will die.

Lying on your sick bed
about to breathe your last,
you will be assailed by every kind of pain.

Your mind will be filled
with fears and anxieties
and you will not know
what to do or where to go.

Only then you will realise that
you have not practiced well.

The skandhas/aggregates
(matter, sensations, conceptions,
impulses and consciousness)
and the four elements in you
will quickly disintegrate,
and your consciousness will be pulled
whereever your ancient,
twisted karma leads it.

Impermanence
does not hesitate

Death
will not wait.
You will not be able
to extend your life
by even a second

How many thousands more times
will you have to pass through
the gates of birth and death.

If these words are challenging
even insulting,
let them be an encouragement
for your change.

Practice
heroically.

Do not accumulate
unnecessary possessions.

Don’t give up.
Still your mind,
end wrong perceptions,
concentrate, and do not run
after the objects of your senses.

Practice diligently.
Be determined not to let your days
and months pass by wastefully.

I keep hearing the same three lines in my head:

Practice heroically.
Don't give up.
Be determined not to let your days and months pass by wastefully.

I can't help but think that these are words to live by.

Pushing It

Sometimes, the universe is unrelenting in its efforts to drive a point home. A message or a sign, faint at first, gets repeated and repeated and repeated, thrumming in your head like an inescapable pulse. You can ignore it, sure, if you try. But not for long. Eventually it breaks through.

Since my yoga class last week, and my realization at the sushi case, my message has been playing in a loop, with the volume increasing at every repetition:

I am strong, I can do anything, and the only real obstacles in my life are the ones I create myself, in my head.

I heard it loud, so loud tonight. Smith came over to work out with me. He'd called on his way to let me know that we were going to be doing stuff outside. Greaaaat, I thought. I just love exercising outdoors. I tweeted about it, of course, making the comment that I feel fatter outside than I do anywhere else. It's weird, I know, but it's true. Working out outside makes me feel super vulnerable, self-conscious, and insecure. (This is why my treadmill is my best friend.)

Anyhow, it turned out to be not as bad as I'd feared. Some goofy high-stepping, burpee thingies, and stretching. Then back inside, where I did standing squats (which Smith assures me will give me the butt I've lacked my whole life). After that? You guessed it...running.

Now, I've been running a little bit on my own. Or, I thought it was running. Chuffing away on the tready, one foot in front of the other, getting sweaty and all that business. Oh no, friend. No, no, noooooooo. Smith proved to me beyond any reasonable doubt that what I've been doing is NOT running. What I've been doing is (shocker!) being lazy, and not pushing myself anywhere near my limit. So what did ol' Smithypants do? He (shocker number two!) pushed me.

When I run on my own, the fastest pace I usually hit is about 4.2 mph -- maybe 4.4 if I'm feeling feisty. Tonight, I maxed out at over 5 mph. Granted, it was not a continuous run at that pace; Smith had me doing intervals. Over the course of two miles, he kept alternating, fast and slow, fast and slow, increasing the "fast" pace every time.

It was during one of the fast intervals, the fastest one of the workout, I think, that my message came through again. I saw Smith's finger on the button, that horrible, horrible up-arrow that increases the speed of the tready, and my immediate reaction was to think "CRAAAAAAP! I CAN'T GO ANY FASTER!"

And then it happened. Those words fell away, and I felt my body do something I've never really noticed before. Somehow, some way, through some weird tightening of muscles and relaxing of breath, it told my brain to shut up. I felt my feet kick up a little higher, my arms (of which I'm hyper-aware when I run, simply because I don't want to look goofy) fell into a nice rhythm, my stride lengthened a little bit, and I felt this sort of bounce in my step. It was hard, and my breathing was strained, complete with knives in the diaphragm and that goose-honkish panting that no one should have to hear. But I was doing it. Running. FOR REALS. Smith even told me I was making it look easy (what the WHAT?!) and gave me a coveted high five. To put that into perspective for you: high fives from Smith are harder to score than an Hermès Birkin bag.

Once again, I got the message that all these stupid obstacles, all these lies I tell myself about what I can and can't do, they're all in my head. I'm strong. I can make my body do whatever I want it to. I can. I can. I CAN.

I ended up doing over two miles in under 40 minutes. I was soaked in sweat, bright red at the end, and climbing up the stairs to shower required Herculean effort. AND I LOVED EVERY MINUTE OF IT.

I'm feeling beyond amazing right now. My body isn't where I want it to be yet, for sure, but all these moments that keep happening give me so much hope. I feel so good. I feel strong. I feel happy, and proud, and peaceful, and excited, all at the same time.

I'm A Visual Person

I made a sort of project board in my office to keep track of the three big goals I have for this year (NCE, AAS, and esthetics school). It's a daily reminder for me. Whenever I'm about to get distracted with Facebook, or Twitter, or wandering around the internet, I look at this board.

What visual reminders (if any) do YOU use to stay on track?

RIP Heidi Montag

Cue the triumphant music, bitches.

Remember that checklist of medical issues I wrote a while back? Well, I'm super stoked to tell you that ALL of those issues are resolved. For realsies. Fred the Face Lump -- GONE. My knee -- still hurts from time to time but the orthopedist found no problems. And most importantly, my own personal pain in the ass, Heidi Montag, is DEAD AND GONE.

(Before people start wigging out and zipping over to People.com for confirmation, I have to clarify: I gave my gall bladder a nickname.)

This past Friday, my wonderful and trusted surgeon (Doc Basil) put some dime-sized holes in my abdomen and fished out my stone-filled and pain-inducing gall bladder. While he was in there, he also checked my mystery lump and found it to be (as he suspected) a pocket of fluid. And as if that were not enough, he discovered the cause of those debilitating pains I had back in September -- the surgical mesh used to repair my incisional hernia had SLIPPED as the area healed. Super fun, huh? At least now I know it wasn't all in my head.

Anyway, so here I am four days out from surgery, and I feel pretty much awesome. The only ookie part of this whole ordeal is that the fluid pocket thingy is still draining. What that means is every couple of hours I have to swap out a big wad of gauze pads that are taped to my belly. Gross, yes, but it's a hell of a lot better than having some mystery lump staring back up at me.

The physical stuff is straightforward, but there's also been an emotional change that I can hardly wrap my brain around. The best way to describe it is to say that it's as if somebody lit a bonfire under my ass. I have never, and I do mean NEVER, felt so motivated to get things done in my entire life. I'm not talking about housekeeping, or writing, or just scratching things off the To Do list. I'm talking about making all the changes that I've been talking about and dreaming about for years. I'm talking about having concrete plans for work, exercise, family, and travel. I'm talking about looking at those goals that seemed unattainable and KNOWING, not just thinking but KNOWING, that they are attainable. I feel inspired, ambitious, passionate, and excited about my life. And man OH man, is it a good feeling.

So what are these things that I'm so excited to tackle?

• I'm finally, finally, FINALLY taking the NCE and getting my license to practice massage therapy. I've sent in all my paperwork, scheduled a test prep class, and now I'm just waiting for a test date.
• I've decided that after the NCE, I'm going to finish my Associate's Degree. I looked over some of my school paperwork, and I'm actually much closer to being done than I thought I was. I'm scheduling an appointment with an admissions/advisory person at the local community college before the end of March.
• After the Associate's is done, I'm considering going to esthetics school. It's a 600 hour program, and it would cost a good chunk of change, but being both a CMT and a licensed esthetician would make it extremely easy for me to either a) get a full-time position at a spa or b) start my OWN business, which is really what I'm more interested in.
• FITNESS! I had a fantastic workout with Smith on the Wednesday before my surgery. It felt so good, and it was exactly what I needed. He gave me a serious kick in the booty along with some great words of motivation (I'll be writing more about those later).

This is my year, kids. This is the year we're going to make it all happen. Let's GO!

The Proof is in the...Pants?

At work the other day, I kept feeling something funny on my backside. I couldn't figure out what it was. It was a sort of tickle-y, swishy feeling -- really hard to describe. Then it dawned on me that what I was feeling was my back pockets rubbing against my (baggy) underpants. Do you know how long it's been since my pants were loose enough for that to happen? Oh, just about FOREVER. Usually, the pockets are squeezed so tight against my butt that I can't put anything in them. Now, I have swishy-pants.

As if that weren't enough good news, check THIS out. I was rummaging through my dresser yesterday, trying to find something to wear. At the bottom of my pants drawer were two pairs of size 16 jeans I'd ordered a few months ago. They didn't fit when I got them, but I put them aside and thought maybe I'd get into them by my birthday (January).

Since I had a little extra time, I decided to try them on. And guess what?

THEY FIT.

Now, I still have some serious muffin-top action going on, just from all the skin and pudge on my upper abdomen. But these jeans, they FIT. Like, I don't have to lay down on the floor to zip them. This means I'm down TWO SIZES since I started working out in earnest. TWO SIZES.

These two little things make me feel so motivated! I did a really long workout this morning (thank you, Hubs, for giving me the time to sleep in AND work out interrupted) and it felt awesome. I did 3.2 miles on the treadmill (mostly walking, but fast walking!) and then did weights (back & shoulders, legs) and abs (ohhhhhhhhhhhhh not fun). I wish I could do that kind of workout every day.

In other news...my left knee is still bothering me. It feels sort of like there's little elves jamming a big screwdriver under my patella and trying to wedge it out of place. This knee's been wobbly since my first and only skiing experience, wherein I twisted it about 90 degrees in the wrong direction. But until this past week of running, it hasn't bothered me. I think the impact of my 200+ pounds slamming down on it might be a little much for it to handle right now. I'm NOT worrying about it, though -- I can still walk, I can still lift -- and I'm NOT using it as an excuse to give up or back out of my 5K.

So HOORAY for progress and swishy-pants! Hooray for staying motivated! Hooray hooray HOORAY!

Handy Dandy Tip

Sleep in your workout clothes.

I thought this was the dumbest thing EVER the first time I heard it, but it actually helps. I don't sleep in my running pants, but I keep them right next to the bed. So, as soon as I wake up, it's like they're saying, "Good morning! Get your ass on the treadmill!"

It's A Choice

I've been posting cellphone shots of my treadmill display to my Facebook page on the mornings that I run. Partially because I want to keep track of my times, and partially as sort of an exercise in accountability - more than a day without a picture is my signal to send the workout police. A couple of surprising side-effects have sprung up, the first being an amazing show of support from my friends, both near and far. It makes me wish I'd gone "public" with my fitness endeavors in the past, simply because their enthusiasm and encouragement help keep me going.

The second? Well, I'm getting a lot of "Oh my GAWD, how do you get up so EARLY?" (My runs are usually done around 3AM, since I have to be at work most mornings by 4:45AM.) Someone even commented on it at a party I went to this past weekend. "I don't know how you do it."

The answer is surprisingly simple, and it's taken me a really long time to get to this lightbulb moment:

It's a choice.

I can choose to get up and run at the only time of day when I won't be rushed, or interrupted, or feel guilty for not doing something else. Or, I can lay in bed another hour, then spend the rest of the day alternately finding excuses NOT to run and beating myself up for not running. Is it an easy choice? Not really. I won't even lie and say I leap out of bed filled with an overwhelming desire to get on the treadmill and sweat and gasp for air and (occasionally) cry my eyes out. For lack of a better phrase, it fucking SUCKS.

But you know what sucks worse? Weighing over 200 pounds and not being able to keep up with my kid. Never being able to find clothes that fit. Being self-conscious, oh, EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY. Seeing myself in the mirror and thinking, "Dang, did that recessive Michelin Man gene decide to pop up or what?"

So I choose. I choose to drag myself out of bed, put workout clothes on, get on the treadmill, and (beware, Smithism) run it out. Every step, every tenth of a mile is a choice. Keep going? Push harder? Or give up and get off?

Now, I don't always make the right choice, or the best choice. Feel free to go back an entry or two and read about my Halloween weekend debacle. And there have certainly been mornings when I should have, could have run longer or harder or faster, but I didn't. But after every bad choice is an opportunity to make a better one. Ate cake for breakfast? Well, you can give up and eat crap for the rest of the day, or you can choose to eat something better at the next meal.

Again, this is such a simple concept, and I can't for the life of me think of why it's taken thirty-one years for me to get it. But I do. I get it now. For the majority of my adult life, I've chosen to not take care of myself, to let myself get out of shape, and I've chosen to make excuses and hide from the truth. That's no one's fault, there's no one to blame. It was my choice.

Night & Day

I didn't get much rest last night, so I decided to sleep in rather than bust out a run before work. ("Sleeping in" means getting up at four instead of three, so don't get too jealous.) What a farking mistake THAT was. I have felt like 100% ass all morning. No energy, no focus, no oomph! at all. It sucks. So, lesson learned there. Even if I think I'll be tired, I'm going to run anyway. If this is how it feels not to run, by God, BRING ON THE RUNNING.

I talked to Smith about it when he called to check in today. During the course of our conversation, he told me he wasn't happy about me signing up for that 5K. He had planned to sneak me into a longer run without me knowing it, like "Hey, let's go for a jog!" and then telling me "You know you just ran three miles?" when we were done. I feel kind of bad. I see what the point is to doing it his way -- no pressure, and a big confidence boost. I'm still doing the 5K, though. It's a good goal for me, I think, and it has lit a bit of a fire under my heiny. Oh well. I'm sure he still has lots of other wonderful surprises in store for me. And by wonderful, I mean painful and possibly barf-inducing.

Spark!

I was looking for a good calorie counter/exercise tracking app for my Blackberry yesterday. When I discovered that Lose It (the one I really wanted) is only available for the iPhone, I was a little disappointed. But then I stumbled onto SparkPeople.com. My friend Luce had told me about this site a while ago, and I'd completely forgotten about it. Well, they have all the trackers I need, and more.

One of the cool things about this site is that they help you set specific goals, something I really suck at (just ask Smith). I tend to be very vague and/or overambitious. I think it's easier to quit if you're not specific. The things I'm focusing on this week are water consumption (I've been slacking), exercise, and tracking my calories. I think this will be a good compliment to what I'm already doing with Smith.

Smith is out of town this week, which is kind of a bummer. I've gotten back on track with my running after that month of inactivity, and I was looking forward to starting with weights this week. Of course, there's a good chance he'll read this, and I'll get a text message saying something like "Aww, you miss me? ADD A HALF MILE TO YOUR RUN."

Speaking of running...I took a big leap yesterday and signed up for my very first 5K run. My dear darling Peggy talked me into it, and this post from Sundry, one of my favorite bloggers ever, was extremely inspirational. I do need to take on something ass-kicking, something I think is impossible. I need a goal, and a deadline.

So, on December 5th, I'll be doing my truffle shuffle around the local university campus. Hopefully I don't die. Or barf. But if I do, at least it'll be for a good cause!

Panty Raid

I've been holding on to a few pieces of maternity wear for too long now. They're so comfy; broken in, a little baggy. They accommodate my post-baby belly flap so nicely. Not my maternity jeans, or work pants, or even stretchy pants -- I'm talking about my underwear.

For about two years, I've been rocking these granny panties. You know, the ones that come all the way up to your bra and have leg holes that come down around mid-thigh? I was warned during my pregnancy that it'd be hard to let them go, these belly-warmers. But I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror a couple of weeks ago, and MAN. Me in huge underpants? DEFINITELY NOT BOOM BOOM SEXY TIME.

So, in hopes of feeling slightly better about how I look in my underroos, I decided to order some new ones and bid farewell to my grannies. I was tempted to have an official retirement ceremony and burn them, but Hubs told me the last thing he wanted was to have the fire department here putting out an underpants blaze. Because seriously, with my luck, I'd burn the damn house down.

Calling for Backup

We had a party last night. A huge, tacky, messy, loud, drunken, full-of-cupcakes kind of party. I didn't eat much, but I think I drank more than my share of calories. The fitness planets must have been in alignment, because two amazing things happened: my friend Jesse showed up, and I got an offer that I can't refuse.

Among other things, Jesse is a personal trainer. (Not mine, unfortunately -- I can't afford him.) Sometimes I have a hard time picturing him training people, just because he's so laid back. He's like an in-shape Buddha, with a red goatee. Imagine him standing over someone on a weight machine saying stuff like, "Dude, I can't MAKE you do this. It's all about you, brotha."

Seeing Jesse always makes me want to do something new; he talks about surfing and I think, "Ooooh, I want to do that!" And then I picture myself in a bathing suit, and think, "Meh, not so much." In a roundabout way, it motivates me. It makes me want to tell self-deprecating Fattie to shut the fuck up and DO something about it.

And that amazing offer? My friend Smith* said he wants to help me. He's been reading this here blog, and a few minutes after he arrived, he looked at me and said, "So, I want to help Foodie."

I was slightly dumbstruck. He wants to HELP? Wait, so like, people care about me? People other than my Hubs and my mom? I almost cried. Why have I never thought to ask for help? Oh yeah, because I'm supposed to be Wonder Woman and hide the fact that I'm scared about not fitting into my giant blue star-studded underpants, afraid to admit that I need someone not related to me to light a fire under my (fat) ass.

Smith has to be super fit for his job, and as a result knows all sorts of ways to get in shape and stay there. He also seems to understand that it's hard for me to let go of food. After we talked a while about eating lots of chicken and running in parking structures, I got the impression that he could make me puke, cry, and laugh all in one workout. That's what I want. I need (and want) somebody to kick my ass and push me past my limits until I can push myself. It's like when you're learning to ride a bike -- somebody holds the seat and pushes and your little legs pedal, pedal, pedal, and then suddenly, the hand is gone from the seat and you're gliding down the street.

I'll pedal if you push.

*Not his real name. Not everyone wants to be a blogosphere celebrity.

Then and Now

The Hubs & Me, December 2004

That's me at my thinnest - probably around 175 pounds. Not my ideal weight, but I was in a size 12 and very happy to be there. See, only one chin! And look at those COLLARBONES! 

My wedding was only four months away, and the pressure of having to fit into my (very expensive) dress was keeping me and my food in check. I was doing Weight Watchers that year, and so was the Hubs (that's his "skinny" picture, too). We look hot, don't we? Heh.

Fast forward about five and a half years, and here I am:

The Fat Roll and Me, July 2009

Wow. Just...wow.

My friend Peggy took this picture at a cookout over 4th of July weekend. When I saw it, I couldn't believe how bad I looked. That big ol' roll...I never had that before. Did I? DID I?! O DEAR GOD HOW LONG HAS THAT BEEN THERE?! And you can't tell where my head ends and my neck begins. Nice food stain on the fat roll, too. *sigh*

This is the picture that I needed to see. It was a big, fat (literally) kick in the ass. I don't want to look like this anymore. I don't want to hide from the camera. So whenever I want to give up, I'm going to look at this post. Just a reminder of what is, what was, and what WILL be.