Confessions and Realizations

I have been toying with the idea of re-starting this blog for a while now. You see, I've gained it all back. Every. Little. Bit.
It's utterly and completely humiliating to know that I was on the right track and I couldn't keep at it. My husband tells me it's not my fault. For the past year or more I've suffered through an injury. I've had foot pain in my right foot for years and years now and it finally got to the point where I was unable to go about my daily tasks without ending in excruciating pain. So I after much reluctance I hauled myself to the doctor.
 My primary care doctor thought it was an untreated stress fracture (because what else could someone my size have?) so he ordered x-rays and sent me to an orthopedist. More x-rays and an MRI. Do you know how noisy and scary an MRI is? Turns out not broken and no major sprains or deformaties. He thinks perhaps it's tendonitis and sends me to physical therapy to strengthen the foot and ankle. That actually winds up making it worse so he sends me to an ankle specialist 2 hours away. He does yet more x-rays and another more extensive MRI. Nothing. Again. He agrees with ortho-guy that there is some tendonitis and perhaps some small fracture that's not showing up on x-ray so I get what my husband affectionately refers to as 'the kickball boot'. It's a walking cast that I get the joy of wearing around for 6 weeks. Oh, and this was during the spring and summer and I am on our local school board. So there are about 400 some kids in the area whose graduation pictures will be forever marred by my fat ass in a kickball boot on the stage handing them there diplomas. Not to mention all the times I hauled that stupid thing around to my daughters track meets all across the state. So yeah, good times. So, the boot comes off and still no improvement. In fact, it seems to be more swollen and tender than it was before. What the hell?!?! He then recommends nerve testing and starts throwing around works like 'Lupus' and 'MS' and 'ALS'.
At this point I'm terrified. I'm 34 (at the time) years old, I've got two kids and a husband who works away 6 months out of the year. This cannot be happening.
It takes me about 2 months to get in to see one of the best neurologists in the state.Meanwhile my leg had started to weaken and I was having some lower back pain which I had never had before. I had decided that I was not playing around. The neurologist, who by the way looks nothing like Derrick Sheppard but is in fact way nicer, keeps me in his office for about an hour asking me all kinds of crazy questions and wanting to know can I lift my leg this way - I can't. Can I lift my leg that way - I can. Can I walk on my toes? How about my heels? Not really on either count. Seems like something I really ought to be able to do. Can I bend over? Yes. Backwards? No. He wants to know have my hands ever gone numb. Yes. Recently? Yes.
Then he decides that Nerve Conductivity Testing is, in fact, in order. No problem, I think. Boy, was I wrong. Holy shit. Let me just say that if anyone ever wants to stick needles into your body and send electrical currents to certain points of your body all while you bend your leg this way and that - it's generally not going to end well for you. Neuro-guy informs me that we are going to do this that very day (another hour - I have never had a doctor who had basically cleared there afternoon for me and I wasn't sure if that was good or bad) The whole process did suck, as promised. But it did show that there was significant nerve damage coming from my spine, running down my leg, whereby this particular nerve (not the sciatica before anyone says that) splits behind the knee and running to both sides of my foot. So, OK that explains that. And Neuro-guy sends me to an associate, a neurosurgeon, to determine if I need surgery for said nerve problem.
I don't, thank god.
They send me to yet another associate (that's six different doctors for anyone keeping count) who is a pain management guy. I was worried before my appointment that this was going to be one of those 'pain clinics' that is basically just a pill mill. Could not have been further from the truth. This pain guy prescribes no narcotics. He is adamant about only accepting patients who are willing to do in-office injections and physical therapy. He even recommends acupuncture and yoga. My kind of doctor. I proceed to go through 3 different rounds of steroid injections in my spine. It helps a bit. Then I begin physical therapy. Again.
But this time it's different. Pain guy wants me to focus on my back (the root of the problem - so to speak) and has me doing all kinds of yoga-like stretches along with pool therapy. Now, I do feel that it is perverse to ask an overweight white woman to put on a bathing suit in the middle of winter, but at this point I was ready to try anything. And shock of shocks it seems to have worked. I have been released from PT for two weeks now and had my follow up with pain guy. He is pleased with improvement and has written my a prescription for an anti-seizure medication that works in my case by relaxing the coatings around my nerves thereby lowering the inflammation. It is also working. I could not be more pleased considering the fact that my next option was a surgical spinal stimulator implant that is kind of like a pace maker for your spine. It works by running tiny electrical currents up and down a particular nerve to scramble the pain signals it sends to your brain.
So I can totally see where my husband is coming from when he says that my recent weight gain is not my fault. But I know the truth. It is totally my fault. Yes, I was laid up and unable to exercise for the better part of 18 months. No, I did not have to eat everything in sight. And boy did I? The less anyone was able to tell me what was wrong with me the more I ate. And the more they tossed around scary diagnoses that couldn't possibly have anything to do with me the more I ate. And the bigger I got the more I ate. And on and on and on.
But that is not even the worst part.
I've known for a while now that my son has been sneaking food. We're talking cookies and candy and granola bars and all the stuff he shouldn't have.
He's overweight. He knows it. I know it. His pediatrition is more than aware. The only person who doesn't seem to be aware is my husband, but that's a whole other issue. I mean, the kid is 5'6" and 175lbs. He'll be twelve at the end of the month. Just today we had to go buy him new shorts because the only ones he had that fit him were stretchy-type gym shorts. And I get it, kids grow. I want him to grow - taller. He's clearly already big enough. And he knows he's a big kid and it bothers him. Quite a lot, actually.
So we've joined a gym. Now that I am capable of working out again I realized just how much I had missed it. Sure it sucks balls and it hurts and I leave the gym sweating and crying and smiling all at the same time. But The Boy seems to love it. He's in a Kids Fit Class which is kind of like a Zumba meets soccer drills meets yoga situation for kids. He also has fallen in love with the elliptical machine. All to the good, I think.
So imagine my surprise when I set down on the couch with my box of Trader Joe's Gluten Free Oreo-thingys was half way gone. What the hell! Now, I know it wasn't The Girl because she doesn't like them. And I know it wasn't The Husband because he's gone. And I know it wasn't me because I just opened the box and carefully had 3 cookies. So it must be The Boy.
Why would he do this, I wonder. He knows better. We've talked about nutrition. The trainer at the gym has talked about nutrition. We've even talked about how it's perfectly OK to have a few cookies or a piece of candy as a treat as long as everything else you've eaten has been on track. I don't want him to ever think he has to be on ' A Diet'. I want him to think in terms of what he can eat rather than what he can't. But 14 cookies is certainly not on the Eat This list. I mean anybody knows that. He's not some mindless toddler just cramming anything he can get his hands on into his mouth. He knows this! We've been over this! Again, what the hell!
And then it hits me. I know that eating things I should not eat is what got me here in the first place and yet I did it anyway. I know that I can almost never stop at just one cookie and yet I buy them anyway. I knew that since I was unable to exercise my eating habits were going to be even more important. And yet? I ate all the food anyway.
Duh!
He is my son afterall. We say all the time, "Do as I say, not as I do." But every grown-up in America knows just what a cop out that is. It doesn't sound credible even to us. So how can we expect it to sound credible to our kids?
So there you have it. I have not only made myself fat. Again. I have made my son fat as well. I'd love to tell you that I have some magic plan of just how exactly I intend to remedy it but the truth is I haven't a clue. I know that we will be eating better and getting to the gym more as a family. But those are just words. Action will tell.
I guess I have no other excuses now. I've really done it this time.

Why I Eat

So it seems that I may finally be back on track with my workouts which is a good thing. Bad news? My eating is still not so good. I admit this.
It has been suggested to me that I should probably look into the reasons WHY I eat. So I have. I have looked and looked and looked. Turns out that I eat because . . . wait for it . . . I like it. I like the way it tastes and smells and I like cooking it and reading about it. In short, food is awesome. Groundbreaking, I know.
See, they say; and by they I mean the endless diet and nutrition experts who go on ad nauseum about this kind of thing; that one whould never eat for reasons other than hunger and nutrition. Ummmm, yeah, about that. . .
I'm going rogue!
Saying that I will only ever eat when I'm hungry is like saying that I'm only ever going to have sex for procreation. For the record I don't think I've ever had sex for the express purpose of procreation. And I have two kids. Just sayin'.
It's not realistic, OK. What is the point of having a long healthful life if I can take no joy out of it?
Yes, I know I need to make better eating choices. Understood. My problem is in finding the balance.
Of course I still want the chocolate cake. Who doesn't? But I guess I just need to fit more brocoli into my diet in order to make the chocolate cakes of the world not so tragic. Outrageous concept, right?
Now the trick is learning to like eating more brocoli.

Temporary Insanity Due to Hormonal Imbalance

Today I lost my mind.
Seriously.
But I am not worried. Much. You see it happens every month around the same time. In fact you could set your watch by it. I probably have the most regular menstrual cycle in the free freakin' world. Every 28 days. Around mid-day. No kidding. You can't make this crap up. Who would want to?!? And I'm not on the pill.
Now I know that it may not me the most lady-like subject to discuss, (ironic, no?) but despite all evidence of extreme regularness- I seem to have a bit of period craziness going on.

You see, on the second day of my cycle I lose my mind. Again, seriously. I have been known to drive 30 minutes out of my way. Before I even realized it. Or go on buying binges for clothes that I didn't even check the sizes on, much less bothered to try on. I've gotten the kids up and dressed for school before one of them became awake enough to remind me, "Uh, Mom? It's spring break." And always, every freakin' month, I go on a crazy lady eating binge.
Everyone has times when you eat something that you know you probably shouldn't and you look at it, weigh your options, commit to the extra cardio, and go for it anyway. I'm not talking about that.  I'm talking about me eating hot dogs for supper. Something I would never otherwise consider worth the calories. Two of them. Plus a bowl of cherries, which in and of itself wouldn't be so bad. But I followed it all up with a Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Pie. Are you kidding me? Little Freakin' Debbie? I blew it all on hot dogs and Little Debbies? WTF? I won't even go into the Hostess Ho Ho incident of 1996. Suffice it to say I can't even have them in the house for fear of a relapse.
The truly disturbing thing is that I didn't even consider what I was doing while I was doing it. There was never a moment of, "maybe this isn't the best thing for me to be eating it" I didn't even give myself the courtesy of trying to lie to myself or make excuses for why I "needed" that junk. I'm not entirely sure yet if that's a good thing or bad. I mean, there could have been a huge-ass chocolate cake on the counter and I might have eaten the whole thing and been wiping crumbs off my shirt before I thought to ask myself if cake was really what I wanted.
Usually I try to plan ahead for "Day 2" as my husband calls it. He doesn't avoid the PMS, like most husbands. PMS really isn't a problem for me. But he is aware that on Day 2 he's going to have to follow me around like a newly-sprung mental patient because I'm as likely to give all our money away to buy back-packs for homeless orphans of circus freaks or some other such bull shit as I am to eat a whole box of saltines. However, Hubby is not here. He is on the boat. Just like he is every other month. Lucky bastard!
That is why I cannot make, nor keep, any appointments on the third Monday of every even-numbered month. Besides, I would be too busy eating pickles, or 14 scrambled eggs, or just toast - all day.
All I can say is that it is a good thing that it only lasts one day. I suppose one day is not going to kill me. Provided that I don't suddenly develop a craving for rat poison or something. I can always go on super-detox tomorrow. My usual "day after" eating plan includes yogurt, whole grains, and fresh vegis. I actually do this for a couple days along with a bit of extra cardio. In this way I have managed not to gain like 1,000 pounds following my King Henry VIII at the banquet days.
"After all, tomorrow is another day. . ."

What the Hell is Wrong With Me?

I have spent the last couple of months trying to maintain my weight - to varying degrees of success. I've finally lost the few (OK, four) pounds I gained over the holidays, but I'm not about to start bitching about that again. Instead I'm going to start bitching about something completely different.
The thing is I've spent so much time maintaining that I can't get back in the groove of losing. At least I thought that was the problem. The thing is, I'm starting to think that that's not it. I think something else may be the culprit. And I think the something else may be me. Now, I try not to take responsibility for much. (wink wink) but I'm thinking this really might be my fault. What I can't figure out is why.
Why don't I want to lose this weight? I've been 204 for the longest time. All I want to do is get below 200 right now and I was actually doing pretty good. So why the stall? And, seriously, I know all about plataus and how it's completely normal. This just doesn't feel like a normal platau. Lord knows I've had enough of those. I'm thinking maybe I'm keeping myself from losing those four pounds.
I read somewhere that you have to give yourself permission to live the life you want. Very Oprah-y, I know. But, what if there's something to all this? What if I really am scared of losing the weight? What is to be scared of?
Well, after giving it some deep bubble-bath induced thought, turns out there is quite a bit to be scared of. I decided to start at the beginning. As in, when was the last time I was under 200 large? Fire up the WayBack Machine for this one, it's been a while. Over 10 years to be exact. When I was a 20 year old college student who just found out she was pregnant. Naturally you gain weight when your pregnant, but it wasn't just the pregnancy that packed on my pounds. When I decided to keep my baby it brought about some - let's say - familial difficulties. I'm not going to go into personal stuff, mainly because I've worked really hard to put some of that behind me. And I am totally not blaiming my family - I'm blaming myself for the way I dealt with it. I ate.
Then I got married. And ate. And bought a house. And ate. And had another baby. And ate some more. Then we built a new house. And I ate and ate and ate. Then I saw a picture of myself at a party. A party where I thought I was looking particularily hot when I left the house. Yeah, not so much. Anyways, I have dealt with all this. Seriously. I've even talked to someone about it professionally. So why is it all coming back up now?
I guess, like bad pennies and Cher, it just does. But, what with the fear? What's holding me back? Am I afraid of going back to a place where all this started? Am I afraid that being in my old body will bring back all those old emotions? Or is it even more random than that? I have never in all my adult life (which started when I became a mother) been an average weight. My husband started dating me when I was waaaaaay thinner. He has loved me at my smallest and at my largest and at every size in between. Surely I'm not afraid that he won't love me if I lose the weight. I know he will. In my head, anyways.
No, I can't seem to put my finger on it. But something is keeping me from losing the four pounds just as surely as something caused me to put on all those others. Hopefully I can power through and lose them anyways. Maybe when I do, it'll be a little clearer. Maybe not. Maybe I've just hit a snag and am being too introspective. Whatever the reason, it's four pounds too many and it's time they hit the bricks. Oprah, are you listening, I give myself the permission to let go of those four pounds and finally live my life below 200.

The Perils of Gambling

I don't know exactly what I was thinking. My luck has never been what anyone would call good, especially when it comes to predicted outcomes. So why I thought it would be a good idea to go to Keenland Racetrack last weekend to play the ponies with my best girl friends - I don't know.
Now before I go any further let me state, without a doubt, that we had a really great day. The weather not only held, but actually turned out to be pretty darn good. We all looked smokin' hot, if I do say so myself. And, more importantly, we had escaped our everyday lives, if only for a day, to celebrate the impending end to one of our good friend's bachelorette days.
The trouble started at the first race. Being a native Kentuckian, I am somewhat familiar with the horse racing industry. I know what the odds are, what exactly a furlong is, the difference between fillies and mares, and I even half-assedly follow a couple of different jockeys. And I could even tell you what it means to win, place, or show and what it means when they list super-fecta, tri-fecta, and exacta winnings. So you would think that I could look at a betting sheet and over the course of 10 races at least manage to come out even, give or take a few bucks. You would be wrong.
Every horse I picked came in dead last. Seriously. One race I picked two different horses, thinking to increase my odds. They came in last and next to last.
The first race I bet $5 on Call It The Blues to win place or show. Led the race for almost a mile then dropped to dead last like he was doing it on purpose. Race 2, I bet on Hot Little Mama because, I mean come on. The name says it all. Repeat of last race. At this point I have lost a small amount of money, but I'm not worried. It's only the third race. My luck's bound to pick up, right? So I bet on Sweet Lemon Chello. This time, she doesn't even make a showing. Starts last and ends last. All right, this is about enough. So I decide to set out race four and just reset my luck a little. I just set back, watching all my friends rake it in. WTF? But, I don't begrudge them any of it ( really, I don't) I just want a little bit of the taste of victory for myself.
So next up comes race 5. Here's where I start to employ a little strategy - so to speak. I look at the odds and carefully choose two horses who appear not to suck too much. Everybody knows that you never bet on a favorite, even if they win, the odds were so good that you almost never win any money. So I put down another $5 on an Irish horse with decent 8-1 odds, that should pay out pretty decent and $5 on a 20-1 horse that had bad odds, true, but was being ridden by a jockey with a better than average track record. This was the infamous last, next to last finish. Meanwhile, my friend (The Bride, BTW) bets $20 on Lucky #7 because, get this, she left her program laying open on the bench while she went to the powder room and a bird came along and, shall we say -picked, it for her. She won. The odds for that particular horse were 5-2, so she didn't win whole lot, but still. I mean, really. People who find bird poop on their programs are now considered to be luckier than me?
At this point I did what any sane Kentuckian would do. I started drinking. Piss on them ponies. If I'm going to throw my money away, I ought to at least enjoy it, right? So I proceed to the Equestrian Bar, a Keenland tradition, where I proceed to consume no less than six (yes - really) Bourbon Manhattans. Say what you will about Kentucky, but the liquor sure is fine and in Lexington my drink was done up right. A whole lot of Bourbon (Woodford Reserve, for those keeping score) and very little Manhattan (sweet vermouth).
The next five races were enjoyable if unprofitable and all in all I had one of the best days out with the girls that we've managed to have in a while.
The moral of this story is this. Don't gamble unless your prepared to lose. And don't prepare to lose with out preparing to drink.

p.s. I didn't totally blow my diet. I had no lunch and I walked off my drink with a nearly mile and a half walk tot he car, followed by a 30 minute drive to the restaurant where I had grilled salmon and broccoli and vast quantities of water. Not the best day nutritionally but, hey. Life happens, you know?

My Aha Moment

The other day I had an epiphany of sorts. I'm a little ashamed to say that I have been working towards losing weight (seriously this time) for almost a year and I just now had my aha moment.
I was sitting around wondering why in the world that it took my almost 10 years of being overweight to actually do something about it. Sure I had tried in the past, but I had always failed and I couldn't figure out why. Why could I never lose weight? When I was younger my weight was hardly ever an issue. If I was up 10 lbs, well then, I would just cut out pop and desserts and that 10 lbs would come right off. So why couldn't I do the same thing now?
It occurred to me that I had never been afraid of my weight - and here's the kicker - because I had never failed at losing weight. Suddenly I was 20 yrs. old with new baby and a new body. Somehow it had escaped my notice that after the baby was born all of that weight that I had gained while I was "eating for two" would not just magically fall away. Yes, I was 20; but while all my friends were worrying about mid-term exams and college parties and the like; I had a mom body and worse - no time to do anything about it.
So I over the course of the next few years I went on every fad diet known to man. I've listed them all before so I don't feel like I need to relive that embarrassment again. And time after time - I failed. I failed and I failed and I failed. Until finally it hit me. I cannot keep doing this to my body. I needed to get myself healthy and happy. So I just took the bull by the horns. I joined a gym, I've been watching what I'm eating and the results have been positive. So far I've lost almost 35 lbs. Yes, it's slow, but it took me 10 yrs. to gain the weight so to lose the weight for good I expected it to take a while. After all, I had tried fast, right?
But I still couldn't figure out why this time, it seemed to be working. Sure, I'm determined not to be 30 and overweight. But there had been times in the past where I had wanted to lose weight for this that and the other. Then one day, there it was, out of no where. I suddenly wasn't afraid to fail. I just simply was not. Why? I'm not sure. Maybe because I have failed so much in the past. What's one more failure, right? I mean I've been there. I've failed (many times) and nothing horrible happened. My husband didn't leave me, my kids didn't love me any less, no one died because of it, nothing.
The only difference is that now when I have small failures I don't indulge them. Previously if I had one bad day I would just throw up my hands with the whole thing. Fuck it. What's the point?
Not now. Now if I have a bad day I just say 'that's OK. It's one day. I'll just do better tomorrow" and that's what I do. I can't believe how simple that is and how much time I wasted beating myself up. I mean, I could have lost this weight years ago if I had just used my brain a little more and my mouth a little less. What was I thinking during all those 'diets'?
Well, fuck it! I'm done beating myself up today. I will just have to do better tomorrow.

The Wagon Drove On . . .

I didn't just fall off the wagon. I did a total belly flop and lay there breathless as the wagon rolled on without me. In fact nobody even noticed I was gone. I don't think they cared.
The month of August hasn't exactly been the easiest for me or my diet. I am not really sure what the deal is - other than the fact that I lost all will power. I thought that perhaps things would be a bit easier, what with the kids going back to school and all, but evidently not so much.
There has been much stacked against me. The State Fair and their corn dog sabotage, a friend's pig-roast with a table full of Good Ol' Southern Deserts, and a Cincinnati Reds baseball game that I enjoyed in the Luxury Box courtesy of Sara Lee Foods. I'm not trying to make excuses but more offering an explanation of what happened. No - what I let happen.
I did not have to eat the corn dog - but I did. I did not have to eat all the deserts and drink all the beer - but I did. And I certainly didn't have to eat the mammoth bratwurst on kaiser roll and super awesome guacamole dip - but I did. And to add insult to injury, I have not used my workout time to full advantage. I strained my back a few days ago putting in a stone retaining wall in my landscape. So I had to miss a couple days of my circuit training. I could have used that time to get out and enjoy some of the beautiful weather we have been having lately and taken a few nice long walks. But did I? I think you know the answer to that by now.
Now it is time to pay the piper - so to speak. I have gained a total of 3 lbs. I am not sure that this is a completely accurate figure because I am experiencing what my grandmother whisperingly refers to as "my monthly visitor". But the point is that I sure as hell haven't lost any weight this month - which sucks. Big time.
So I have wallowed in self pity for too long already. It is time to do something and not just set back and say that I have to do better. What I need is a plan.
A new weight management class starts at my gym on 9/10. I will definitely be participating in that. I am going to enjoy myself responsibly this holiday weekend. Then starting Tuesday I am going to start a 1 week diet jump start. (More on this in a couple of days.) I will go to the gym 4 days a week and walk 2+ miles 3 days a week. I will give up all pop (even diet). And I will strive for 5 servings per day of fruits and vegetables.
Hopefully in two weeks I should be completely back on track. I know it's a marathon and not a sprint. But I'm hoping that this little boost will at least give me enough energy to catch back up to the wagon.

Why the KY State Fair Hates Me and Wants Me to Fail.

I just spent 24 eye-opening hours at the KY State Fair, a fairly decent state fair - to be sure. I have managed to make it almost 30yrs (4 of which I was a dedicated FFA member) and have never had to attend the state fair. Just to be clear - I hate a fair. I am one of those crabby, hateful people who hates a fair, circus, or parade, or any other gathering of "the public" in which there is merriment and joy. I would be relatively happy being a hermit, I am sure.
There was only one thing that could cause me to overlook all this bourgeois crap. It was a concert of Journey featuring Heart. That's right Journey. And Heart. Oooohhhh . . . Barracuda!
What I discovered at the fair, though, is that you CANNOT be on a diet at the fair. I felt like Templeton the rat in the animated Charlotte's Webb movie. "A fair is a veritable smorgasbord!"
There were hamburgers, hot dogs, sausages, potato ribbons, cotton candy, ice cream, a beirgarten, corn dogs ( a personal downfall ), and of course, the obligatory funnel cake. Damn the fair! We had to walk almost a mile to and back from our hotel to the concert so I felt that a corndog was justified. Come on, it's a literal State Fair Corn dog. And truthfully, it was the most delicious cord dog I've ever had in my life. And I consider myself a (former) connoisseur.
So, bottom line: Concert - awesome. The new lead singer for Journey kicks ass! And Heart, come on. If I can still rock out when I'm in my 50s then everybody else can, as my favorite comedian Kathy Griffen says, suck it! But do not go if you are watching what you eat and can't deal w/ temptation. Unless, of course, there is a kick ass concert that you absolutely can't miss.
Next up U2 and The Black Eyed Peas in Oklahoma in October. I can hardly wait. For U2 I would brave any corndog - State Fair or otherwise.

Here We Go

OK, so I'm losing weight. So, I'm like one of about a billion people out there trying to do the same thing. Why is it so damn hard? Why is it so easy to eat the 400 calorie doughnut, but so freakin' hard to run the three miles to work it off?
I don't know the answer to that. And to be honest I'm not sure anybody really does. Sure we all read books and magazine articles and watch TV shows and news specials that all claim to know the answer, but why is so often competing information. The truth is that every one is different. Our bodies are all different, and the reasons we got fat are all different, so why shouldn't the way we lose the fat be different for everybody too? Duh.
I am by no means an expert on weight loss. If I was I wouldn't be looking at my 30th birthday coming up at 220 lbs. But I am an expert on what doesn't work. For me.
Let's review what hasn't worked for me: Slim Fast (OK, but I gained the weight all back and more), Atkins (I would have ran over my grandmother for a cracker by the time it was over), The Celebrity Juice Detox (Torture), The Cabbage Soup Diet (let's just say I was not pleasant to be around for a time), Diet Pills of all Kinds (Never a good idea), Running (killed my knees), Alli (gross), MediFast (800 calories a day, what was I thinking?), Jenny Craig and/or NutriSystem (too expensive and unrealistic), Weight Watchers (too complicated). So you see, I really have tried it all. I have had limited success on a few of the plans but I always managed to gain back everything I lost and then some.
Right before I turned 29, I finally reached bottom. I just got fed up with myself. How had I let myself get this way? Well, (#1) I had two kids by the time I was 23 (the first when I was just 19). I love my kids dearly, but let's be honest - teenage motherhood is not the ideal situation. Add to that (#2) parental disapproval and (#3) marriage at 20 to a husband who works away for long stretches at a time. You could say that the deck was pretty much stacked against me emotionally. And we all know what emotional eating does.
So here I am 29 and fat. Not plus-sized or curvy or big-boned, just plain F-A-T fat. I have wasted my 20s on being fat and unhealthy. Am I going to do the same with my 30s? Hell no!
I have decided to take charge of my life and make my thirties the best decade of my life. Why should I look ahead to turning 30 with dread and humiliation, when I should be looking forward to coming into my own as a mother, a wife, and- yes- a damn fine looking woman? I'm going to be hotter at thrity than I was before I got married. Talk about a MILF. I'm bringing sexy back, baby.
Two weeks before my 29th birthday in November I weighed in at 242 pounds. Scary, huh? I even just now cringed a little bit just typing the number. What's even scarier was that I was having heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and aching joints. Not to mention zero energy. And I wasn't even 29. Something had to change.
So I took myself to my local Curves. (a gym just for the ladies) and signed up. Normally I would never have done such a thing on my own. I would have waited on a friend to join with me. But I suddenly realized that I had no more 'wait's, all I really had was weight and it had to go. Now. The first day at Curves I was surrounded by all this equipment and fast paced music and to be honest it scared the hell out of me. But then I looked around at the other women there. Some of them were older (like- your grandma old) and some of them were in really good shape and some of them not so much, but what I noticed most was that while everyone was really friendly - they didn't care about me. Not in a bad way, they just didn't care. Everyone was there for a reason and they were all so focused on their own personal struggles and goals that they just didn't have the time to care about what I looked like or what I was doing. And eventually that's what I did too.
I stopped focusing on everyone else and started focusing on myself. At first it was hard to tell my kids that I couldn't have that ice-cream with them or that they had to quit what they were doing and go to grandma's for a little while so that I could go to the gym. It was especially hard with my nine year old daughter (who happens to be super skinny - I don't even think she's mine)to explain that I was going to the gym and watching what I eat to lose weight without giving her any hangups about her own body. I eventually settled on telling her and her brother that I was just trying to get healthier so that I would have more energy and be around longer to be with them. And you know what? The more I said it, the more true it became. It stopped being some line I was feeding them do disguise my own selfishness. I realized that I had really been selfish by depriving them of the mom they should have had.
So that was then. Now it's the middle of May and I have lost 22 lbs. Slowly, yes. But that is OK. I still have about 40 more pounds to go. (yes- that will still leave me technically overweight, but maybe that's OK too. I will re-evaluate when I reach that goal.) And I am figuring out what works for me (a diet rich in Omega-3s, low fat dairy, whole grains, and vegi's and lots of cardio combined with weight training) and am proud of what I've accomplished. I am no longer ashamed of setbacks, but have learned to accept them as part of the process. I no longer think I can do this. I know I can!!! Corny, yes. But true nonetheless.