To go, or not to go: that is the question.
It is Friday morning. And I am sitting at here debating with myself whether or not to go to WW tomorrow morning and weigh-in. Why am I having this internal conflict? Because I am still mad at myself for eating as much as I did on July 4th. And if I go and find out I lost weight, I will be happy. And if I go and found out I gained, I will be really, REALLY upset. And sometimes not knowing it better.
Here are a few things you may not know. WW gives you 49 "bonus" points to use each week if you go over your daily allowance. You also can earn activity points for exercising. But activity points need to be used on the day they are earned, you can't carry them over from one day to the next the way you could on previous iterations of WW. Typically, I try not to use my bonus or activity points. For one, I am neurotic, and worry that I won't be successful if I eat beyond what's allowed by my daily point range. Perhaps more importantly, I tend to use Saturday as a cheat day. So I assume that any extra bonus/activity points are being consumed on Saturday and are not available for use during the rest of the week.
Here is an explanation of my anxiety
July 1: Exercised, and earned 11 activity points. Foodwise, I tracked. Did ok. Drank all my water, had plenty of fruti and vegetables.
July 2: Pizza night. Went over my daily allottment *a little*. But ok.
July 3rd: Planned my day and tracked my points. A day that included a trip to the movies and dinner with a friend. I counted my points and made "smart" decisions. I even shared dessert which I dutifully tracked afterwards. But, being the neurotic that I am, I worry that I didn't track dessert correctly (had to guess on the portion size). I used all my points, but if I didn't track correctly, I may have gone over.
July 4th: Started the day off great. Made breakfast for the kids (blueberry pancakes, which certain children complained were 'ick'). Met a friend at the gym. Did 40 minutes on the elliptical (4 pts.), and spent 50 minutes on the treadmill doing intervals (8 pts. because I can't seem to run for more than 3 minutes at time). I felt good. Strong. Ready to go. I was deliberately saving points for a party later in the day, so I ate a little something around lunchtime. But by 3pm I was starving. As in, "I can't wait until 4pm when the party starts because I may eat my own hand. Or one of the children." So I had something little (hummus, cucumbers, and a handful of Sun Chips). But it wasn't enough. I got to my parent's house and I was over-hungry. Which translated into a complete and utter lack of impulse control: margarita(s), a little soda, chips, guacamole, baked beans, bratwursts, dessert, etc. And forget about tracking.
July 5th: Did OK.
Which leads me to today.
Rationally, I know that it's about how I feel, and not a number. I get it. But I am still human, and "getting healthy," in my mind, is secondary to "losing weight." Not losing weight (for me) is the same as failure. I will be the first to admit that this is a process, and that there will be peaks and valleys. It just seems like I have been at this number for a while and I can't seem to move. A pound up, a pound down. A couple of ounces here, a few there. I have been doing this for almost a year. I am thrilled with that I jhave done, but I am starting to wish I had more to show for myself. Irrational? Yes. But I am also my harshest critic.
I didn't weigh-in last week. . . combination of exhaustion, my period, work travel, and a desire to sleep-in. My normal meeting leader has also been out for the last few weeks and I'm not crazy about the substitute. She's nice, but she doesn't know me, where I've been, where I want to go, and how/why I struggle. I am tired of being disappointed when I weigh-in. And that is what I have experienced for the last few weeks. Maybe I won't be disappointed. Maybe I will be. Maybe unicorns are real.
Decisions . . . . decisions.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Monday, July 2, 2012
Here we go again
Back In the saddle again
It's official.
I suck at WW when I am out of my conform zone. The day starts with good intentions and goes down from there. In light of this revelation, here are my goals for the week.
1. Get in the recommended fruits, vegetables and water.
2. Take the multivitamin.
3. Track. Everything.
4. Plan ahead for the 4th of July and stick to the plan.
5. Eating out a lot this (mostly work, some pleasure). Plan ahead.
Lets see if publicly writing out (and publishing) goals for the week helps. Because I have got to do something different.
Wow. Don't I sound like a broken record.
It's official.
I suck at WW when I am out of my conform zone. The day starts with good intentions and goes down from there. In light of this revelation, here are my goals for the week.
1. Get in the recommended fruits, vegetables and water.
2. Take the multivitamin.
3. Track. Everything.
4. Plan ahead for the 4th of July and stick to the plan.
5. Eating out a lot this (mostly work, some pleasure). Plan ahead.
Lets see if publicly writing out (and publishing) goals for the week helps. Because I have got to do something different.
Wow. Don't I sound like a broken record.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Work travel and WW part II
So.....
Dinner could not come fast enough this evening. And when it's 6:30pm and most of of your points thus far have been consumed in the form coffee, you kinda-sorta crave something solid. Perhaps in the form of actual food.
Which is how I landed in a sports bar with my boss, a colleague from ASU and two donors (one of which is a board member). The way I see it, my blueberry-acai (vodka) lemonade really is serving of fruit. And the bar was playing music, some of which included songs on my iPod that I regularly listen to when I exercise. Hello activity points! Because listening to music in a bar while drinking is LIKE exercise. And lifting the drink to my mouth caused me to sweat (a little) in this oppressive Texas heat. My sandwich had vegetable in it, two actually. And french fries are made with potatoes and those are technically a vegetable. Potato...po-tah-toe. Right?
Bottom line? The road to WW is paved with good intentions.
Tomorrow starts anew. In the meantime, I'm going to crack the a/c in my hotel room down as low as it will go, snuggle under the duvet and relish the fact that for 72 hours I can pee without an audience of small children watching.
Dinner could not come fast enough this evening. And when it's 6:30pm and most of of your points thus far have been consumed in the form coffee, you kinda-sorta crave something solid. Perhaps in the form of actual food.
Which is how I landed in a sports bar with my boss, a colleague from ASU and two donors (one of which is a board member). The way I see it, my blueberry-acai (vodka) lemonade really is serving of fruit. And the bar was playing music, some of which included songs on my iPod that I regularly listen to when I exercise. Hello activity points! Because listening to music in a bar while drinking is LIKE exercise. And lifting the drink to my mouth caused me to sweat (a little) in this oppressive Texas heat. My sandwich had vegetable in it, two actually. And french fries are made with potatoes and those are technically a vegetable. Potato...po-tah-toe. Right?
Bottom line? The road to WW is paved with good intentions.
Tomorrow starts anew. In the meantime, I'm going to crack the a/c in my hotel room down as low as it will go, snuggle under the duvet and relish the fact that for 72 hours I can pee without an audience of small children watching.
Being a WW while traveling for work
Is hard.
While I admire the punctuality of Super Shuttle, I wasn't prepared for them to arrive 25 minutes earlier than their scheduled window. Putting said Shuttle at my front door at 4:20am this morning. I literally threw on some clothes, ran downstairs and told the driver he was going to have to wait for me. I then ran back into the house, got dressed, zipped up my suitcase, kissed the (sleeping) kids/husband goodbye, and was out the door. The driver was nice, and didn't seem at all inconvenienced by my tardiness. As for the other people in the van, well, they were speaking Spanish. So I am going to assume that if they had anything shitty to say about me they were saying it en Espanol.
My point is that it's now 5:20pm and I've been awake since 3:10am. I still have one more plenary session to attend, possibly a cocktail reception, and dinner with a donor (possibly donors) who are also at this conference.
My food intake thus far has consisted of: a small, iced, vanilla latte (skinny), four sips of Coke, a granola bar (with fiber!), a medium, iced, white chocolate mocha (not skinny) and 1/4 of a cookie.
This ain't good. More to come.
While I admire the punctuality of Super Shuttle, I wasn't prepared for them to arrive 25 minutes earlier than their scheduled window. Putting said Shuttle at my front door at 4:20am this morning. I literally threw on some clothes, ran downstairs and told the driver he was going to have to wait for me. I then ran back into the house, got dressed, zipped up my suitcase, kissed the (sleeping) kids/husband goodbye, and was out the door. The driver was nice, and didn't seem at all inconvenienced by my tardiness. As for the other people in the van, well, they were speaking Spanish. So I am going to assume that if they had anything shitty to say about me they were saying it en Espanol.
My point is that it's now 5:20pm and I've been awake since 3:10am. I still have one more plenary session to attend, possibly a cocktail reception, and dinner with a donor (possibly donors) who are also at this conference.
My food intake thus far has consisted of: a small, iced, vanilla latte (skinny), four sips of Coke, a granola bar (with fiber!), a medium, iced, white chocolate mocha (not skinny) and 1/4 of a cookie.
This ain't good. More to come.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Well that just sucks
I have a dirty little secret to confess. I have a habit of skipping WW meeting when I suspect that I am having a "bad" week. And by bad I mean "not losing." Fortunately, when I do this I am able to get right back on track the next week. Having coming as far as I have in the last few months. I really don't want to backslide.
Last week at WW wasn't a great week. I had skipped the my weigh-in the week before and while I tried to "be good," I knew deep down that I could/should have done better. And the scale reflected that when I learned that I had gained two pounds. It's a sucky feeling. But it was my fault. . .no one is responsible for my food choices but me. During the meeting I resolved that I was going to approach the upcoming week with the same commitment and diligence that I displayed when I started this process last July. I was going to up my water intake, track my food, and try to make better choices.
I tracked like a motherfu%$ker. I wrote down everything that went into my mouth (even the M&M's that I couldn't stop eating at a board meeting). There were a few days that I was *under* my daily point allotment. I drank more than half a gallon of water every day. . leading me to spend portions of my workday either in the bathroom or desperately looking for a bathroom. I made of point of taking my (nasty) multi-vitamin and opting for non-fat, skinny, sugar-free vanilla lattes instead of the more preferred mocha. I didn't get to the gym as much as I had hoped, but I did get in one terrific workout, which is better than nothing. Physically, I felt great. And while I wasn't over-confident going into today's WW meeting, I will say that I went in there knowing I had done the best I could do.
So imagine my surprise (horror?) when stepped on the scale and learned that I had only lost .4 pounds.
A loss is sill a loss. I get it. And I would rather be down .4 than up .4. But .4 is a trip to the bathroom. It's my bra or a pair of socks. Needless to say, I was pissed. I worked my ass off. At the moment, a large part of my self-esteem is tied to what the scale says so this wasn't the news I had hoped for. Was it the gazpacho I had for dinner last night? Did the salt cause me to retain water? Was it the I had Chipotle twice this week (16 points, and yes, I looked up the nutrition information and calculated the point value for everything in my burrito bowl).
My WW friend/mentor/guru made the comment that weight fluctuates during the day and hypothesized that I may have been heavier today at 8am than I was yesterday at 5pm. Or will be at 2pm today. That made me feel a little better. Except I ONLY weigh myself once a week, and that's during WW meetings, wearing the same outfit every week. Because consistency is key. At least for anal-retentive chicks like me.
FYI. . .fat girls don't own scales. We spend most of our lives avoiding scales, so why would we spend money on a machine to tell us how fat we are? Let alone deliberately stand on one. And the Wii Fit is just as bad. The one and only time I used it the stupid game told me I was obese and created a "Mii" that was, shall we say, a bit zaftig.
So where does this leave me? The WW leader told me to track my food again this week and that if the scale didn't move next week we could look at it together and see where modifications could be made. I appreciate the offer. The challenge I have is that I will be in Dallas for work part of next week. I had the best of WW intentions the last time I went on a business trip, but those plans didn't exactly work out as planned (Caribou Coffee, the lure of Bacon Lollipops, and not being able to plan my meals didn't help). Either way, I will keep at it. Any thoughts? Please feel free to share tips. I am all ears at this point.
Last week at WW wasn't a great week. I had skipped the my weigh-in the week before and while I tried to "be good," I knew deep down that I could/should have done better. And the scale reflected that when I learned that I had gained two pounds. It's a sucky feeling. But it was my fault. . .no one is responsible for my food choices but me. During the meeting I resolved that I was going to approach the upcoming week with the same commitment and diligence that I displayed when I started this process last July. I was going to up my water intake, track my food, and try to make better choices.
I tracked like a motherfu%$ker. I wrote down everything that went into my mouth (even the M&M's that I couldn't stop eating at a board meeting). There were a few days that I was *under* my daily point allotment. I drank more than half a gallon of water every day. . leading me to spend portions of my workday either in the bathroom or desperately looking for a bathroom. I made of point of taking my (nasty) multi-vitamin and opting for non-fat, skinny, sugar-free vanilla lattes instead of the more preferred mocha. I didn't get to the gym as much as I had hoped, but I did get in one terrific workout, which is better than nothing. Physically, I felt great. And while I wasn't over-confident going into today's WW meeting, I will say that I went in there knowing I had done the best I could do.
So imagine my surprise (horror?) when stepped on the scale and learned that I had only lost .4 pounds.
A loss is sill a loss. I get it. And I would rather be down .4 than up .4. But .4 is a trip to the bathroom. It's my bra or a pair of socks. Needless to say, I was pissed. I worked my ass off. At the moment, a large part of my self-esteem is tied to what the scale says so this wasn't the news I had hoped for. Was it the gazpacho I had for dinner last night? Did the salt cause me to retain water? Was it the I had Chipotle twice this week (16 points, and yes, I looked up the nutrition information and calculated the point value for everything in my burrito bowl).
My WW friend/mentor/guru made the comment that weight fluctuates during the day and hypothesized that I may have been heavier today at 8am than I was yesterday at 5pm. Or will be at 2pm today. That made me feel a little better. Except I ONLY weigh myself once a week, and that's during WW meetings, wearing the same outfit every week. Because consistency is key. At least for anal-retentive chicks like me.
FYI. . .fat girls don't own scales. We spend most of our lives avoiding scales, so why would we spend money on a machine to tell us how fat we are? Let alone deliberately stand on one. And the Wii Fit is just as bad. The one and only time I used it the stupid game told me I was obese and created a "Mii" that was, shall we say, a bit zaftig.
So where does this leave me? The WW leader told me to track my food again this week and that if the scale didn't move next week we could look at it together and see where modifications could be made. I appreciate the offer. The challenge I have is that I will be in Dallas for work part of next week. I had the best of WW intentions the last time I went on a business trip, but those plans didn't exactly work out as planned (Caribou Coffee, the lure of Bacon Lollipops, and not being able to plan my meals didn't help). Either way, I will keep at it. Any thoughts? Please feel free to share tips. I am all ears at this point.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Numbers
Rationally, I know that a number on a scale is nothing more than that. A number. Nothing more, nothing less. Despite trying to convince ourselves otherwise, numbers are too often what we use to measure our worth both personally and professionally. What size pants do you wear? How many kids do you have? How much money do you have? How much money do you need? How many times did you exercise this week? Professionally (for me) it means how many donor calls/visits did I make? How much money did I raise? How many new/lapsed/renewed donors are in my portfolio? The list of numbers that I use to measure my success (or failure) is endless.
There are some numbers I am willing to share (how much money I raised at work this year, how many times I exercised this week) and there are some numbers that you couldn't beat out of me you tried. I can count on one hand the number of people who know what I weighed before I started WW, or what I weigh now. Occasionally, my son will come with me to WW and I make him turn his head away from the scale, less I have to answer questions about how much I weigh, relative to him.
The fact that I am actively trying to lose weight (and get healthy) is hardly a secret. Generally speaking, friends and family have been supportive of my efforts. Which I very much appreciate. And I am often asked, quite directly, how much weight I have lost. Of all the numbers I use to measure my worth, this number should be one that I am thrilled to share. Instead, I hesitate. I'll answer the question, but rarely do I answer it specifically. I might say, "about XXX pounds," or I'll vaguely answer the questions but add the caveat that "I've be at this for 11 months." As if that makes a difference. Because let's face it, you would never say to someone, "How long did it take for you ass to get to be the size of a McMansion?" So why should it make a difference how long it takes someone to reduce the size of their ass to that of, say, a nice studio apartment?
Even now, in my blog, a journal that I started to keep me "honest" and on track, I hesitate to include the amount of weight I've lost. I can count on maybe two hands how many people are privy to that information.
Lately, I've been thinking about why this is. Some of it (I think) has to do with the fact that women are conditioned from an early age not to brag about themselves and/or certain things. It's gauche to celebrate our personal victories because there is a fine line between "celebrating" and "bragging." Women are also highly judgemental and competitive. . .myself included. I have friends who are doing WW/dieting. I know that my success, without context, has the ability to (unintentionally) marginalize their success. And their struggles. They look at me and think, "Why is she stressing, I would give anything to have lost as much as her." True. But they also don't know where I started or where I am going. Because where I started is at number most of them could never. imagine (let's just say that the idea is to LOSE baby weight, not gain it postpartum). They also don't realize is that I am looking at them and thinking, "What the fuck are they doing at WW? If I looked like them I would thrilled." It's all about the numbers. . .
There are some numbers I am willing to share (how much money I raised at work this year, how many times I exercised this week) and there are some numbers that you couldn't beat out of me you tried. I can count on one hand the number of people who know what I weighed before I started WW, or what I weigh now. Occasionally, my son will come with me to WW and I make him turn his head away from the scale, less I have to answer questions about how much I weigh, relative to him.
The fact that I am actively trying to lose weight (and get healthy) is hardly a secret. Generally speaking, friends and family have been supportive of my efforts. Which I very much appreciate. And I am often asked, quite directly, how much weight I have lost. Of all the numbers I use to measure my worth, this number should be one that I am thrilled to share. Instead, I hesitate. I'll answer the question, but rarely do I answer it specifically. I might say, "about XXX pounds," or I'll vaguely answer the questions but add the caveat that "I've be at this for 11 months." As if that makes a difference. Because let's face it, you would never say to someone, "How long did it take for you ass to get to be the size of a McMansion?" So why should it make a difference how long it takes someone to reduce the size of their ass to that of, say, a nice studio apartment?
Even now, in my blog, a journal that I started to keep me "honest" and on track, I hesitate to include the amount of weight I've lost. I can count on maybe two hands how many people are privy to that information.
Lately, I've been thinking about why this is. Some of it (I think) has to do with the fact that women are conditioned from an early age not to brag about themselves and/or certain things. It's gauche to celebrate our personal victories because there is a fine line between "celebrating" and "bragging." Women are also highly judgemental and competitive. . .myself included. I have friends who are doing WW/dieting. I know that my success, without context, has the ability to (unintentionally) marginalize their success. And their struggles. They look at me and think, "Why is she stressing, I would give anything to have lost as much as her." True. But they also don't know where I started or where I am going. Because where I started is at number most of them could never. imagine (let's just say that the idea is to LOSE baby weight, not gain it postpartum). They also don't realize is that I am looking at them and thinking, "What the fuck are they doing at WW? If I looked like them I would thrilled." It's all about the numbers. . .
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
The drug of McDonald's
In the last few month I've developed a fondness for iced, skinny, vanilla (or hazelnut) lattes. It's a jolt of caffeine and a serving of milk for 3 WW points.
This morning I stopped at my local McDonald's for a large, iced, skinny/non-fat, McCafe vanilla latte (yes, I've become that person who takes 10 minutes to order a cup of coffee). It was de-lish.
Not ashamed to also admit that I contemplated crawling through the drive through window and helping myself to a dozen (or so) hash browns. And a biscuit or two. But I didn't.
This morning I stopped at my local McDonald's for a large, iced, skinny/non-fat, McCafe vanilla latte (yes, I've become that person who takes 10 minutes to order a cup of coffee). It was de-lish.
Not ashamed to also admit that I contemplated crawling through the drive through window and helping myself to a dozen (or so) hash browns. And a biscuit or two. But I didn't.
Monday, June 18, 2012
Yeah, it's been a while
Just realized my last post was in February. Four months have passed without an update.
To be honest, my blogging coincided with a phase my daughter's were going through, whereby they would ONLY go to sleep at night if someone (often me) sat in the room with them while reading/writing/working on the iPad. Not a great habit, but for a while it was the best part of my day. Twenty uninterrupted minutes to do anything I wanted. Blogging during this time was a good fit. And and I had a lot of say. Or so I thought. But eventually, my girls outgrew this bedtime ritual. And I didn't enjoy the writing process as much because it seemed like all I did was talk about food, being hungry, or trying to find motivation. And if I was feeling this way, I figured that the four people reading this (thank you!) may be thinking the same. So I stopped.
Since I last posted, not a lot has changed. Work is still good. Still doing the Weight Watchers thing. Still losing weight (thankfully) but not nearly at the pace I would have liked (hearing over and over the Beyonce lost 60 pounds of fake-baby pregnancy weight didn't help). I do best with WW when I religiously track my food and plan my meals. When I don't do that I don't lose. It's as simple as that. Not to mention the fact that I've been at this for 11 months and it's hard thinking food all the time. I am lucky to have some wonderful WW friends who provide feedback, support and honesty when I need it most. After sharing with one of them for the ump-teenth time that I had lost my mojo and couldn't seem to find it, she asked me why I stopped blogging. For a while, that had been an easy way for me to keep my thoughts in check. She encouraged me to start writing again. I liked the idea, but I didn't really have the urge to write.
Until tonight.
I've hated doctor's offices my entire life because they weigh you. And no fat girl in her right mind gets on a scale unless she absolutely has to. I am a pro when it comes to avoiding the scale at the doctor's office. How good am I? Up until a month ago, it had been at least two years since I let my PCP weigh me. I am THAT good. Even when I managed to sweet-talk my way out of the scale, I'd find myself nervously waiting for the doctor to bring up the elephant in the room. And (thankfully) it never happened. On some level, I would like to think my doctor's always knew that it was a super-sensitive subject and decided to spare me the emotional trauma. They knew it was an issue. I knew it was an issue. As long as I was healthy and didn't any weight-related complications it remained nothing more than an elephant in the room.
But today was different. Of all my doctors there is only one that I both like and respect (personally and professionally). I've had an appointment with him for some time and had decided that I was going to walk in, and make that scale MY BITCH. No fear. For the first time in my life I was going to visit a doctor's office and not worry about what the numbers said. I would sit in the exam room without a sense of dread. I had used this appointment as a goal for the last two months and had a number in my head about what I wanted to weigh. I fell short, but given where I started, that was irrelevant. I wasn't even bothered by the fact that the scale in the office was off by 7.5 pounds. My blue WW card says otherwise. And I defer to my WW peeps.
A month ago I went to see my PCP. You would think a significant weight loss would illicit some sort of response. She didn't even notice. This particular doctor (and his assistant) have known I've been working on my weight for a while. But not numbers.Today, his medical assistant complimented me on my efforts as I walked in. She congratulated me and said I look good. She gave me some words of encouragement before I left. I learned from the doctor that there has been a sizable drop in my BMI. We were both pleased. I feel and look better. I am more confidant. I am more comfortable in my skin and clothes. I also vowed that when I come back next year, there will be a little less of me to look at. I'm not ashamed to brag. . . the reaction I got made my fucking day. In a BIG way. And for that, I am very grateful.
I'm not perfect. I still cheat on Saturdays. I don't know that I will ever truly kick my Mtn. Dew addiction. Shared five-ways, I am not ashamed to admit that the bacon-maple-donut I had this weekend was a culinary organism for the taste buds (and I'd eat it again!). I've also worked hard for 11 months and I won't marginalize my accomplishments because because the number on the scale doesn't say what I would like it to.
Here's to hoping that my mojo is back.
To be honest, my blogging coincided with a phase my daughter's were going through, whereby they would ONLY go to sleep at night if someone (often me) sat in the room with them while reading/writing/working on the iPad. Not a great habit, but for a while it was the best part of my day. Twenty uninterrupted minutes to do anything I wanted. Blogging during this time was a good fit. And and I had a lot of say. Or so I thought. But eventually, my girls outgrew this bedtime ritual. And I didn't enjoy the writing process as much because it seemed like all I did was talk about food, being hungry, or trying to find motivation. And if I was feeling this way, I figured that the four people reading this (thank you!) may be thinking the same. So I stopped.
Since I last posted, not a lot has changed. Work is still good. Still doing the Weight Watchers thing. Still losing weight (thankfully) but not nearly at the pace I would have liked (hearing over and over the Beyonce lost 60 pounds of fake-baby pregnancy weight didn't help). I do best with WW when I religiously track my food and plan my meals. When I don't do that I don't lose. It's as simple as that. Not to mention the fact that I've been at this for 11 months and it's hard thinking food all the time. I am lucky to have some wonderful WW friends who provide feedback, support and honesty when I need it most. After sharing with one of them for the ump-teenth time that I had lost my mojo and couldn't seem to find it, she asked me why I stopped blogging. For a while, that had been an easy way for me to keep my thoughts in check. She encouraged me to start writing again. I liked the idea, but I didn't really have the urge to write.
Until tonight.
I've hated doctor's offices my entire life because they weigh you. And no fat girl in her right mind gets on a scale unless she absolutely has to. I am a pro when it comes to avoiding the scale at the doctor's office. How good am I? Up until a month ago, it had been at least two years since I let my PCP weigh me. I am THAT good. Even when I managed to sweet-talk my way out of the scale, I'd find myself nervously waiting for the doctor to bring up the elephant in the room. And (thankfully) it never happened. On some level, I would like to think my doctor's always knew that it was a super-sensitive subject and decided to spare me the emotional trauma. They knew it was an issue. I knew it was an issue. As long as I was healthy and didn't any weight-related complications it remained nothing more than an elephant in the room.
But today was different. Of all my doctors there is only one that I both like and respect (personally and professionally). I've had an appointment with him for some time and had decided that I was going to walk in, and make that scale MY BITCH. No fear. For the first time in my life I was going to visit a doctor's office and not worry about what the numbers said. I would sit in the exam room without a sense of dread. I had used this appointment as a goal for the last two months and had a number in my head about what I wanted to weigh. I fell short, but given where I started, that was irrelevant. I wasn't even bothered by the fact that the scale in the office was off by 7.5 pounds. My blue WW card says otherwise. And I defer to my WW peeps.
A month ago I went to see my PCP. You would think a significant weight loss would illicit some sort of response. She didn't even notice. This particular doctor (and his assistant) have known I've been working on my weight for a while. But not numbers.Today, his medical assistant complimented me on my efforts as I walked in. She congratulated me and said I look good. She gave me some words of encouragement before I left. I learned from the doctor that there has been a sizable drop in my BMI. We were both pleased. I feel and look better. I am more confidant. I am more comfortable in my skin and clothes. I also vowed that when I come back next year, there will be a little less of me to look at. I'm not ashamed to brag. . . the reaction I got made my fucking day. In a BIG way. And for that, I am very grateful.
I'm not perfect. I still cheat on Saturdays. I don't know that I will ever truly kick my Mtn. Dew addiction. Shared five-ways, I am not ashamed to admit that the bacon-maple-donut I had this weekend was a culinary organism for the taste buds (and I'd eat it again!). I've also worked hard for 11 months and I won't marginalize my accomplishments because because the number on the scale doesn't say what I would like it to.
Here's to hoping that my mojo is back.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Searching for motivation...and pictures of food
I feel like if I am going to celebrate success, than I also have to be willing to admit challenges. So here goes nothing.
I seem to be having a hard time getting my head in the WW game the last few weeks. I feel like I am going through the motions and that's about it. Last week I weighed and I stayed the same. I was hopeful that I had lost, grateful that I didn't gain, and honest enough with myself to acknowledge that I hadn't really done the work that leads to losing weight. I tracked my food, but I know that I could have done a better job of writing EVERYTHING down. . .because if you bite it, you've got to write it. And if you nibble it, you've got to scibble it. I also could have exercised more. It dawned on me this morning that I am supposed to participate in another 5K in a few weeks and and that I am woefully unprepared. I haven't run outside since before Christmas. Just haven't had the motivation. I know it's something I should do, and that it's something that makes me feel good afterwards, but the idea of exercising at 4:30am so I can then put in a 12-hour day (16 if you factor in the kids) isn't so appealing when I am setting my alarm clock.
I've been doing what I've been doing for seven months. I've had a really, REALLY good record of losing. I want to keep going. I need to keep going. I like that people are noticing how I look. That I have a closet full of too-big clothes. That I have more confidence. That I am not avoiding mirrors as much. So why can't I get my act together?
Where is my head right now? I joined Pinterest and found myself creating a pin board entitled "Things I Hope To Make One Day." It includes pictures of food....decadent things like lemon fudge, gooey brownies, and cheesecake in a jar. I suppose it's better to look at the pictures rather than actually making and eating it. Still, I feel like I am going through the motions and I worry that it's just not good enough anymore. The first 25 came off a lot easier (and faster) than the second 25 did. And I'd like to lose another at least another 30 by June. Part of me wonders if I need to take a little bit of a WW-holiday in order to give myself a breaks and jump-start my metabolism. However, that's a slippery slope. It's one thing to have a cheat day (or two). But longer than that means having to get back on bandwagon, refocus, and then deal with the ramifications of going off program....like gaining weight.
I know what I have to do. Maybe Pinterest is the answer to my motivation problem. Perhaps I need to just keep posting pictures of shit I want to make and eat? Reminds me of my friend Scott. When we were kids he used to cut out pictures of food and tape them to his closet door so he would have something to look at and think about when (if) his parents sent him to bed without dinner.
I'm open to thoughts and words is wisdom. Because right now I'm worried that I'll soon need GPS to find my motivation. Although cheesecake in a jar looks super yummy. As does cherry pie in a jar.......
I seem to be having a hard time getting my head in the WW game the last few weeks. I feel like I am going through the motions and that's about it. Last week I weighed and I stayed the same. I was hopeful that I had lost, grateful that I didn't gain, and honest enough with myself to acknowledge that I hadn't really done the work that leads to losing weight. I tracked my food, but I know that I could have done a better job of writing EVERYTHING down. . .because if you bite it, you've got to write it. And if you nibble it, you've got to scibble it. I also could have exercised more. It dawned on me this morning that I am supposed to participate in another 5K in a few weeks and and that I am woefully unprepared. I haven't run outside since before Christmas. Just haven't had the motivation. I know it's something I should do, and that it's something that makes me feel good afterwards, but the idea of exercising at 4:30am so I can then put in a 12-hour day (16 if you factor in the kids) isn't so appealing when I am setting my alarm clock.
I've been doing what I've been doing for seven months. I've had a really, REALLY good record of losing. I want to keep going. I need to keep going. I like that people are noticing how I look. That I have a closet full of too-big clothes. That I have more confidence. That I am not avoiding mirrors as much. So why can't I get my act together?
Where is my head right now? I joined Pinterest and found myself creating a pin board entitled "Things I Hope To Make One Day." It includes pictures of food....decadent things like lemon fudge, gooey brownies, and cheesecake in a jar. I suppose it's better to look at the pictures rather than actually making and eating it. Still, I feel like I am going through the motions and I worry that it's just not good enough anymore. The first 25 came off a lot easier (and faster) than the second 25 did. And I'd like to lose another at least another 30 by June. Part of me wonders if I need to take a little bit of a WW-holiday in order to give myself a breaks and jump-start my metabolism. However, that's a slippery slope. It's one thing to have a cheat day (or two). But longer than that means having to get back on bandwagon, refocus, and then deal with the ramifications of going off program....like gaining weight.
I know what I have to do. Maybe Pinterest is the answer to my motivation problem. Perhaps I need to just keep posting pictures of shit I want to make and eat? Reminds me of my friend Scott. When we were kids he used to cut out pictures of food and tape them to his closet door so he would have something to look at and think about when (if) his parents sent him to bed without dinner.
I'm open to thoughts and words is wisdom. Because right now I'm worried that I'll soon need GPS to find my motivation. Although cheesecake in a jar looks super yummy. As does cherry pie in a jar.......
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day
In honor of tis Hallmark Holiday from Hell, the HR department at work decided to put out a lovely spread in for the staff to enjoy in the conference room. Including heart shaped bagels, cream cheeses, juice and chocolate candies. In addition, a lovely co-worker of mine made several sheet cakes for the staff. . . lemon, chocolate and butter pecan. And they decorated the conference room to make it festive and pretty with red balloons and decorations?
Sure, I splurged and had half a bagel and cream cheese. And two small bites of cake. Truthfully? I wanted to lock myself in that room with nothing but a fork and go wild.
Sure, I splurged and had half a bagel and cream cheese. And two small bites of cake. Truthfully? I wanted to lock myself in that room with nothing but a fork and go wild.
Saturday, February 11, 2012
It's Gala Time!
Hit WW this morning and surpassed the 50 pound mark. Definitely a good way to start the weekend.
I am feeling MUCH better about the this evening's festivities. Time to get my gala on! Pictures forthcoming.
Maybe.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Never underestimate the power of a good "over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder"
The end is in sight.
To recap, I bought a pretty lace, beaded, chocolate brown cocktail dress for the gala I am attending this weekend. It took me a few tries to get the right size, but it fits. And I didn't have the strength to keep on shopping. So I kept it, knowing that I would need industrial strength Spanx to, as Tim Gunn says, "make it work."
As a woman with curves (re. fat) I am well versed on the many varieties of shapewear on the market. Because I currently own most of them. Or have owned them in the past. But nothing in my current stash quite worked with the dress. So Last week I went with a friend over to Alice Rae in Scottsdale. For those of you not familiar with this place let me tell you, this is hands-down the BEST intimate apparel store in town (southeast corner of Scottsdale and Shea, across from Oregano's). Screw Oprah and her "Bra Whisperer" over at Fashion Square. Julia at Alice Rae my new hero.
I first discovered Alice Rae in 2005. I was getting ready to go back to work full-time and had stopped nursing Thing #1. Someone referred me there in order to get a real bra. As in, one that actually fit. Let me tell you, it was WAY cheaper than a boob job and without the bruising and chicken-cutlet look. Over the years I've referred people to the store and I've been back myself (they made shopping for a bustier for a bridesmaid dress a little less horrific). It's not cheap, but they know what they're doing and it's worth every penny.
So me, the friend and the dress headed over to Alice Rae. Tried on a few things, learned that I lost a cup size, and ordered something called a cincher. If you're not sure what it is Google it. Bottom line? When you wear it it smooths your stomach, gets rid of the back fat, and makes me look like a have a waist. Something I last had for about 10 minutes in 1998.
Last night I went back to the store and picked up the cincher and a new bra (which my friend bluntly said, "looks like something leftover from Madonna's Blonde Ambition tour). Took them home and tried them on with the dress.
My daughter's took their eyes off Yo Gabba Gabba long enough to tell me I looked pretty. And that they liked the sparkles.
My husband said wow.
My son didn't understand why I was wearing a dress.
I am my own worst critic. Part of me thinks clean up nicely. The other part of me thinks I look like a sparkly Tootsie Roll.
My intimate apparel for this event cost more than my actual dress (and tragically, I couldn't expense the costs even though they are CLEARLY work-related). I may not be able to sit comfortably, and I haven't figured out how to successfully go to the bathroom while wearing an additional five pounds of spandex and Lycra. But Saturday night my ta-ta's will be pointing to the sky, my stomach will be smoothed over, and my hips will reveal themselves for the first time in 14 years. Even better, the dress looked like it actually belonged on my body.
And if I'm lucky, Saturday night I'll even get to enjoy a drink. Which will *hopefully* give me just enough of a buzz to forget that I possibly look a little sparkly, Tootsie Roll-esque.
To recap, I bought a pretty lace, beaded, chocolate brown cocktail dress for the gala I am attending this weekend. It took me a few tries to get the right size, but it fits. And I didn't have the strength to keep on shopping. So I kept it, knowing that I would need industrial strength Spanx to, as Tim Gunn says, "make it work."
As a woman with curves (re. fat) I am well versed on the many varieties of shapewear on the market. Because I currently own most of them. Or have owned them in the past. But nothing in my current stash quite worked with the dress. So Last week I went with a friend over to Alice Rae in Scottsdale. For those of you not familiar with this place let me tell you, this is hands-down the BEST intimate apparel store in town (southeast corner of Scottsdale and Shea, across from Oregano's). Screw Oprah and her "Bra Whisperer" over at Fashion Square. Julia at Alice Rae my new hero.
I first discovered Alice Rae in 2005. I was getting ready to go back to work full-time and had stopped nursing Thing #1. Someone referred me there in order to get a real bra. As in, one that actually fit. Let me tell you, it was WAY cheaper than a boob job and without the bruising and chicken-cutlet look. Over the years I've referred people to the store and I've been back myself (they made shopping for a bustier for a bridesmaid dress a little less horrific). It's not cheap, but they know what they're doing and it's worth every penny.
So me, the friend and the dress headed over to Alice Rae. Tried on a few things, learned that I lost a cup size, and ordered something called a cincher. If you're not sure what it is Google it. Bottom line? When you wear it it smooths your stomach, gets rid of the back fat, and makes me look like a have a waist. Something I last had for about 10 minutes in 1998.
Last night I went back to the store and picked up the cincher and a new bra (which my friend bluntly said, "looks like something leftover from Madonna's Blonde Ambition tour). Took them home and tried them on with the dress.
My daughter's took their eyes off Yo Gabba Gabba long enough to tell me I looked pretty. And that they liked the sparkles.
My husband said wow.
My son didn't understand why I was wearing a dress.
I am my own worst critic. Part of me thinks clean up nicely. The other part of me thinks I look like a sparkly Tootsie Roll.
My intimate apparel for this event cost more than my actual dress (and tragically, I couldn't expense the costs even though they are CLEARLY work-related). I may not be able to sit comfortably, and I haven't figured out how to successfully go to the bathroom while wearing an additional five pounds of spandex and Lycra. But Saturday night my ta-ta's will be pointing to the sky, my stomach will be smoothed over, and my hips will reveal themselves for the first time in 14 years. Even better, the dress looked like it actually belonged on my body.
And if I'm lucky, Saturday night I'll even get to enjoy a drink. Which will *hopefully* give me just enough of a buzz to forget that I possibly look a little sparkly, Tootsie Roll-esque.
Otto Titsling
All this talk of bras and shapeware reminded me of this mucsical number from the movie Beaches.
My mom used to sing this whenever she took me bra shopping.
Otto Titsling
My mom used to sing this whenever she took me bra shopping.
Otto Titsling
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Epiphany
So, I was asked to apply for a leadership development program that is being piloted at my synagogue. I filled out the paperwork, waited, was accepted and tonight was the first class. It was fun. We had dinner, socialized, talked, and spent some time studying Jewish text with partners and discussed the text as a group. No one was on their cell phone or iPad (even me!) and everyone was present and I the moment.
I was processing the experience as I drove home and it dawned on me that this is the first time in at least three years (since Things 2-3 were born) that I've been able to carve out some time for myself. I spend my days at the mercy of work and my morning, nights, weekends, every moment in between at the mercy of family, friends, community responsibilities, etc. This was three hours where I could sit, listen, and do something for me. I'm not going to be tested. I don't have to write a report, draft a proposal, craft an email, have a "difficult" conversation or manage a relationship. Making the time to be there wasn't easy, but it was worth it.
Then I started thinking about this experience relative to my desire take care of my health. And I absolutely think there is a connection. I had to get to a place where I was ready. I needed to be in a physical, emotional and spiritual place where I was able to step back, take a deep breath and JUMP. When the girls were about 15 months someone asked me what I was
doing to take care of myself. The answer was easy: nothing. I was I survival mode. You ask any parent with three young kids (and a full-time job) and they'll tell you the same thing. Maybe I figured out how to survive. Or I got used to surviving. Regardless, something changed. It's all connected and it's all good.
OMG....just saw a commercial for a show called "Swamp People. W.T.F.?
All my posts lately seem very introspective and serious. So not be. Need to find the funny.
I was processing the experience as I drove home and it dawned on me that this is the first time in at least three years (since Things 2-3 were born) that I've been able to carve out some time for myself. I spend my days at the mercy of work and my morning, nights, weekends, every moment in between at the mercy of family, friends, community responsibilities, etc. This was three hours where I could sit, listen, and do something for me. I'm not going to be tested. I don't have to write a report, draft a proposal, craft an email, have a "difficult" conversation or manage a relationship. Making the time to be there wasn't easy, but it was worth it.
Then I started thinking about this experience relative to my desire take care of my health. And I absolutely think there is a connection. I had to get to a place where I was ready. I needed to be in a physical, emotional and spiritual place where I was able to step back, take a deep breath and JUMP. When the girls were about 15 months someone asked me what I was
doing to take care of myself. The answer was easy: nothing. I was I survival mode. You ask any parent with three young kids (and a full-time job) and they'll tell you the same thing. Maybe I figured out how to survive. Or I got used to surviving. Regardless, something changed. It's all connected and it's all good.
OMG....just saw a commercial for a show called "Swamp People. W.T.F.?
All my posts lately seem very introspective and serious. So not be. Need to find the funny.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
The hot pink post-it note
A good friend of mine, and fellow WW'er, showed me a picture she keeps of herself in her wallet. It was taken before she dropped 90+ pounds (and counting!). I don't have a picture. I have a hot pink post-it note.
I've been heavy my entire life. Fat, chubby, plump, big-boned, obese, zaftig. Whatever you call it, I've been it. Who can forget the humiliation of being labeled "obese" the first time I stepped on the Wii Fit with my son (and he wondered why I didn't like it)? My weight has fluctuated over the years. The only time I was something resembling "thin" was after six months in Israel during college. Ate what I wanted and walked/hiked everywhere. Best. Diet. Ever.
I've spent a lifetime avoiding scales and their evil numbers. You might call it denial....I prefer to look at is a talent. I was GOOD at avoiding the scale at the doctor's office. And it's easier than one would think. I avoided doctors like the plague BECAUSE of the scale and only went when desperate. I was usually sick and so miserable that the nurses didn't bother arguing with me when I refused the scale. They shrugged their shoulders and led me down the hall.
The only time in my life that I wasn't able to talk my way out of a mandatory weigh-in was when pregnant and/or at my annual exam. Under these circumstances I knew there were legitimate medical reasons for being weighed because I was pregnant. Even then, I never looked at the number. (Once the doctor left me in the room with my chart and I was too chicken-shit to look at what was written inside out of fear that I would see what I weighed). Being pregnant was, surprisingly, the only time in my life that I didn't worry about my weight. In my warped little world, I was gaining weight for a reason. So I adopted a don't ask, don't tell attitude. I figured that if my weight and/or weight gain was an issue someone would tell me. Plus weight is a tough subject for me to talk about without bursting into tears. Throw in a double dose of hormones and you've got a potential disaster in Exam Room 3.
Which is how I managed to get through two pregnancies, and deliver three kids (twins) without ever knowing:
1. How much I weighed when I got knocked up.
2. How much I gained while knocked up.
3. How much I weighed when I delivered.
So in the spirit of taking responsibility, life changes, and accepting harsh realities, I took the bull by the horns.
Just before the holidays I called my doctor's office and asked these questions. I just decided that I needed to know. I needed the perspective. I needed to know where I had been and where I was in order to understand where I wanted to go. So I asked. The numbers were what I expected. And they weren't pretty. My immediate reaction was shame (which quickly turned to relief when I thought about what I weigh now). But I was prepared. I could never have done this six months ago....or even two months ago. But now I know. And I'm glad I do.
I wrote the answers down on a hot pink post-it note that now lives in my wallet. My friend carries her fat picture. I carry a hot pink post-it. Whatever works.
I've been heavy my entire life. Fat, chubby, plump, big-boned, obese, zaftig. Whatever you call it, I've been it. Who can forget the humiliation of being labeled "obese" the first time I stepped on the Wii Fit with my son (and he wondered why I didn't like it)? My weight has fluctuated over the years. The only time I was something resembling "thin" was after six months in Israel during college. Ate what I wanted and walked/hiked everywhere. Best. Diet. Ever.
I've spent a lifetime avoiding scales and their evil numbers. You might call it denial....I prefer to look at is a talent. I was GOOD at avoiding the scale at the doctor's office. And it's easier than one would think. I avoided doctors like the plague BECAUSE of the scale and only went when desperate. I was usually sick and so miserable that the nurses didn't bother arguing with me when I refused the scale. They shrugged their shoulders and led me down the hall.
The only time in my life that I wasn't able to talk my way out of a mandatory weigh-in was when pregnant and/or at my annual exam. Under these circumstances I knew there were legitimate medical reasons for being weighed because I was pregnant. Even then, I never looked at the number. (Once the doctor left me in the room with my chart and I was too chicken-shit to look at what was written inside out of fear that I would see what I weighed). Being pregnant was, surprisingly, the only time in my life that I didn't worry about my weight. In my warped little world, I was gaining weight for a reason. So I adopted a don't ask, don't tell attitude. I figured that if my weight and/or weight gain was an issue someone would tell me. Plus weight is a tough subject for me to talk about without bursting into tears. Throw in a double dose of hormones and you've got a potential disaster in Exam Room 3.
Which is how I managed to get through two pregnancies, and deliver three kids (twins) without ever knowing:
1. How much I weighed when I got knocked up.
2. How much I gained while knocked up.
3. How much I weighed when I delivered.
So in the spirit of taking responsibility, life changes, and accepting harsh realities, I took the bull by the horns.
Just before the holidays I called my doctor's office and asked these questions. I just decided that I needed to know. I needed the perspective. I needed to know where I had been and where I was in order to understand where I wanted to go. So I asked. The numbers were what I expected. And they weren't pretty. My immediate reaction was shame (which quickly turned to relief when I thought about what I weigh now). But I was prepared. I could never have done this six months ago....or even two months ago. But now I know. And I'm glad I do.
I wrote the answers down on a hot pink post-it note that now lives in my wallet. My friend carries her fat picture. I carry a hot pink post-it. Whatever works.
I've been a bad blogger
I haven't been blogging much for the last 10 days or so. Not 100% sure why.
I'm thinking that it's been for a variety of reasons. Exhaustion from trying to manage three kids, a household, and a (demanding) full-time job. Not to mention the stress of meetings, events (both work and personal), parental responsibilities like soccer games and conferences. And let's be honest. You can only blog about craving Mountain Dew for so long. Eventually it becomes redundant.
WW-wise, things have been okay. Still losing, which at the end of the day is all that matters. Without even realizing it, I've been setting a series of short-term goals for myself. And after six months I am getting close to hitting a "big" number of pounds lost. It is a number I never envisioned I would hit, but a HUGE accomplishment nonetheless. But....I also have a tendency of getting really close to hitting my goals and then missing them. Example: I decided I was going to lose 25lbs by my 35th birthday. I worked my ass off. Lived by the mantra "if you bite it, write it." And tracked my points with OCD precision. What happened? I missed the mark by .2. To be fair, I was on my period (bloat) and I didn't weigh-in at my regular meeting or at the usual time. All of which I've since learned can impact weight. Similar things have happened to me twice before. And this past Saturday was no exception.
I'm not going to lie. It sucked. It really did. All I needed was to lose 1.8 pounds. I can do that. Piece of (Costco) cake, right? Except that in hindsight, I probably could have done a more thorough job of tracking my points. And I could have made more of an effort to wake-up early and exercise (something that I hate doing but always makes me feel good afterwards). Still, I did lose this week and I am sure there are others who didn't. So I'll take the loss even if it wasn't what I had hoped.
Even if the number on the scale isn't quite where I had hoped, the loss has been noticeable. And anyone who says they don't like compliments about how they look is lying. I recently ran into a work colleague that I hadn't seen in about six months and she commented on it immediately. As did a co-worker o mine. In her case, she said "I see you every day but it wasn't until I saw you last week that I really realized how much you've lost." It was flattering, and good motivation too.
I know it's gauche for people, especially women, to brag. But if others are proud of me, than why can't I also be proud of myself? Some days haven been easier than others, but no matter how you slice it dice it, it's an accomplishment to be proud of.
Here's a funny WW story to demonstrate how this lifestyle change is rubbing off on my family. To make life a little easier for my husband I usually take at least one kid to my Saturday WW meeting (whoever goes gets a bagel from Brooklyn's Best, which *I think* is their real motivation). Last week was Noah's turn. And I thought he spent the bulk of the meeting playing on my iPad. Not so. Because yesterday we went out to lunch and mid-meal he looked at me and said, "So mom, how was WW? Did you discuss green-light and red-light foods?" Then he proceeded to describe what these are and what his green-light and red-light foods are. Guess it's rubbing off.
I'm thinking that it's been for a variety of reasons. Exhaustion from trying to manage three kids, a household, and a (demanding) full-time job. Not to mention the stress of meetings, events (both work and personal), parental responsibilities like soccer games and conferences. And let's be honest. You can only blog about craving Mountain Dew for so long. Eventually it becomes redundant.
WW-wise, things have been okay. Still losing, which at the end of the day is all that matters. Without even realizing it, I've been setting a series of short-term goals for myself. And after six months I am getting close to hitting a "big" number of pounds lost. It is a number I never envisioned I would hit, but a HUGE accomplishment nonetheless. But....I also have a tendency of getting really close to hitting my goals and then missing them. Example: I decided I was going to lose 25lbs by my 35th birthday. I worked my ass off. Lived by the mantra "if you bite it, write it." And tracked my points with OCD precision. What happened? I missed the mark by .2. To be fair, I was on my period (bloat) and I didn't weigh-in at my regular meeting or at the usual time. All of which I've since learned can impact weight. Similar things have happened to me twice before. And this past Saturday was no exception.
I'm not going to lie. It sucked. It really did. All I needed was to lose 1.8 pounds. I can do that. Piece of (Costco) cake, right? Except that in hindsight, I probably could have done a more thorough job of tracking my points. And I could have made more of an effort to wake-up early and exercise (something that I hate doing but always makes me feel good afterwards). Still, I did lose this week and I am sure there are others who didn't. So I'll take the loss even if it wasn't what I had hoped.
Even if the number on the scale isn't quite where I had hoped, the loss has been noticeable. And anyone who says they don't like compliments about how they look is lying. I recently ran into a work colleague that I hadn't seen in about six months and she commented on it immediately. As did a co-worker o mine. In her case, she said "I see you every day but it wasn't until I saw you last week that I really realized how much you've lost." It was flattering, and good motivation too.
I know it's gauche for people, especially women, to brag. But if others are proud of me, than why can't I also be proud of myself? Some days haven been easier than others, but no matter how you slice it dice it, it's an accomplishment to be proud of.
Here's a funny WW story to demonstrate how this lifestyle change is rubbing off on my family. To make life a little easier for my husband I usually take at least one kid to my Saturday WW meeting (whoever goes gets a bagel from Brooklyn's Best, which *I think* is their real motivation). Last week was Noah's turn. And I thought he spent the bulk of the meeting playing on my iPad. Not so. Because yesterday we went out to lunch and mid-meal he looked at me and said, "So mom, how was WW? Did you discuss green-light and red-light foods?" Then he proceeded to describe what these are and what his green-light and red-light foods are. Guess it's rubbing off.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
The dress saga continues
The dress came. Tried it on and my husband ever say diplomatically and mental-health-professionally said, "How do you feel in it? Are you comfortable?"
Translation: Looks like ass. Get a bigger size.
F**k.
On the bright side, Macy's was happy to sell me a new dress, honor the sale price I paid, and waive the shipping. So if the bigger size works it will end up costing me less than the the dresses that arrived to.
I know size is just a number. Had a rough shopping experience this past weekend and the two events together have left me feeling discouraged.
Translation: Looks like ass. Get a bigger size.
F**k.
On the bright side, Macy's was happy to sell me a new dress, honor the sale price I paid, and waive the shipping. So if the bigger size works it will end up costing me less than the the dresses that arrived to.
I know size is just a number. Had a rough shopping experience this past weekend and the two events together have left me feeling discouraged.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Addict
Food is an addiction like anything else.
In order to get sober, an alcoholic can't have liquor. A drug addict can't have drugs. A nicotine addict can't have a cigarette. And when all is said and done, yes, I do think that on some level I am a food addict.
The challenge with this is that one can't live without food. What I've been trying to do (like just about everyone else I know) is figure out what are good, healthy foods for me. I've tried to approach this process as a lifestyle change, and not a diet. I freely admit that Saturday (after weigh-in) I eat whatever I want and enjoy it. That works for me. I don't believe that you can/should deny yourself anything. But I have learned that there are certain foods I have have to avoid altogether. Either because I can't stop eating them, or because I know that eating them represents a slippery slope. For example, I have a favorite neighborhood bagel place. It's locally owned, has an awesome owner, and makes killer NY-style bagels. Stopping there on my way to work a few days a week for a bagel, cream cheese and a soda is one reason I landed at WW. There is NOTHING wrong with the bagel if I count the points and I "own" what I am eating. I get it. But I know me. And I know that if stopping for that bagel becomes habit, eventually, I'll stop tracking that points. Or I will go over my points. Or both. I'll find disingenuous ways of justifying the
bagel. Because that meal alone is about half of my daily allotment of points. To eat all that at 7:30am with a 16-hour day ahead of me just isn't worth it.
I mentioned to a friend that I missed the burgers from Five Guys. And that got me thinking about other foods that I (try to) avoid whenever possible because they're just not worth it anymore. So I made a list. And I am NOT ashamed to admit that I miss these foods (and others). For two reasons: admitting that I miss them is ok, and half the battle, and any woman in my shoes who doesn't mourn the loss of a particular food(s) is lying through her Spanx. Here goes.
1. 32 oz. Mountain Dew's from Circle K (special cups keep your drink cold ALL DAY!)
2. Sausage biscuits and hash browns from McDonald's
3. Deep dish pizza. Chicago-style. I could eat pizza 24/7.
4. Ben & Jerry's Phish Food
5. Five Guys burgers
6. French fries...including the ones from the cafe at work. With ranch.
7. Warm chocolate chip cookies after the kids go to bed
8. Birthday cake
9. Chimichanga, chips and salsa
10. Virtually anything fried
Now I must wrap this up and go watch Dance Moms.
In order to get sober, an alcoholic can't have liquor. A drug addict can't have drugs. A nicotine addict can't have a cigarette. And when all is said and done, yes, I do think that on some level I am a food addict.
The challenge with this is that one can't live without food. What I've been trying to do (like just about everyone else I know) is figure out what are good, healthy foods for me. I've tried to approach this process as a lifestyle change, and not a diet. I freely admit that Saturday (after weigh-in) I eat whatever I want and enjoy it. That works for me. I don't believe that you can/should deny yourself anything. But I have learned that there are certain foods I have have to avoid altogether. Either because I can't stop eating them, or because I know that eating them represents a slippery slope. For example, I have a favorite neighborhood bagel place. It's locally owned, has an awesome owner, and makes killer NY-style bagels. Stopping there on my way to work a few days a week for a bagel, cream cheese and a soda is one reason I landed at WW. There is NOTHING wrong with the bagel if I count the points and I "own" what I am eating. I get it. But I know me. And I know that if stopping for that bagel becomes habit, eventually, I'll stop tracking that points. Or I will go over my points. Or both. I'll find disingenuous ways of justifying the
bagel. Because that meal alone is about half of my daily allotment of points. To eat all that at 7:30am with a 16-hour day ahead of me just isn't worth it.
I mentioned to a friend that I missed the burgers from Five Guys. And that got me thinking about other foods that I (try to) avoid whenever possible because they're just not worth it anymore. So I made a list. And I am NOT ashamed to admit that I miss these foods (and others). For two reasons: admitting that I miss them is ok, and half the battle, and any woman in my shoes who doesn't mourn the loss of a particular food(s) is lying through her Spanx. Here goes.
1. 32 oz. Mountain Dew's from Circle K (special cups keep your drink cold ALL DAY!)
2. Sausage biscuits and hash browns from McDonald's
3. Deep dish pizza. Chicago-style. I could eat pizza 24/7.
4. Ben & Jerry's Phish Food
5. Five Guys burgers
6. French fries...including the ones from the cafe at work. With ranch.
7. Warm chocolate chip cookies after the kids go to bed
8. Birthday cake
9. Chimichanga, chips and salsa
10. Virtually anything fried
Now I must wrap this up and go watch Dance Moms.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Random
Well I made it to weigh-in on Saturday. With one of my lucky charms in tow. Although it should be noted that the only reason she came is because she wanted a bagel....which her sister got when she came with me to WW last week. It was a good week. I lost, which always makes me happy. The leader made a big stink out of how much. It was nice and embarrassing at the same time. Personally, I'm on the fence about sharing. I'll do it sometimes, but not every week. I am all for celebrating success but I don't need my ego stroked every week. If that makes sense. Had a fabulous weekend with friends and food. Including a reunion lunch at one of my favorite restaurants (Windsor, Central & Oregon) with my colleagues from Girl Scouts followed by dinner and a movie with my husband and friends. And I didn't count a single point. I had Coke. And dessert. And I opted for the homemade chips instead of mixed greens with my salad. And I enjoyed every bite.
Back on the wagon Sunday.
Normally this isn't an issue. But yesterday I seemed to have a case of the munchies. Didn't really have anything "bad," but after a while I have to think it's quantity over quality. Something a little similar happened tonight. Who knows? That said, I'm wondering if I'm getting my period (I know, TMI, but it's a natural thing).
What else. . .spurred on by some awesome friends I hit the gym the last two days. I like running. But I am getting frustrated that I can't seem to run more than three minutes at a time without having to stop. I can easily ride the elliptical for 45 minutes or ride the bike. But I can't seem to break the three minute barrier. I had frieds this weekend run the PF Chang's Half Marathon. 90+ minutes of running. In a row. Without stopping. For 13 miles. Ho. Ly. Shit. Not to marginalize my efforts, but I run the equivalent of across the parking lot at the mall (to a sale). I know I have to keep at it. And believe me, I will. But I keep waiting for it to get easier. And it doesn't. Or maybe it is getting easier and I can't see it. I did go ahead and sign up for a race on March 3. I heard there are hills. My ass is already preparing to be kicked.
Wife Swap is on as I write this. I will never understand why people go on that show.
And the dress saga continues, but I am cautiously optimistic there will be a happy ending. My backup dress choice (which was very similar to the one I originally had my eye one) went on sale. It was half off. I ordered two, in two different sizes. Fingers crossed the this works out. I hope so. Because finding a dress has been stressful. As was my trip to Macy's yesterday. Seemed like everything was either too big, too small, or too expensive.
Sigh. I don't know what my problem is tonight. Which is why I a going to crawl into bed and watch Fashion Police with Joan Rivers. It's the Golden Globes special. Maybe the snark will lighten my mood.
Back on the wagon Sunday.
Normally this isn't an issue. But yesterday I seemed to have a case of the munchies. Didn't really have anything "bad," but after a while I have to think it's quantity over quality. Something a little similar happened tonight. Who knows? That said, I'm wondering if I'm getting my period (I know, TMI, but it's a natural thing).
What else. . .spurred on by some awesome friends I hit the gym the last two days. I like running. But I am getting frustrated that I can't seem to run more than three minutes at a time without having to stop. I can easily ride the elliptical for 45 minutes or ride the bike. But I can't seem to break the three minute barrier. I had frieds this weekend run the PF Chang's Half Marathon. 90+ minutes of running. In a row. Without stopping. For 13 miles. Ho. Ly. Shit. Not to marginalize my efforts, but I run the equivalent of across the parking lot at the mall (to a sale). I know I have to keep at it. And believe me, I will. But I keep waiting for it to get easier. And it doesn't. Or maybe it is getting easier and I can't see it. I did go ahead and sign up for a race on March 3. I heard there are hills. My ass is already preparing to be kicked.
Wife Swap is on as I write this. I will never understand why people go on that show.
And the dress saga continues, but I am cautiously optimistic there will be a happy ending. My backup dress choice (which was very similar to the one I originally had my eye one) went on sale. It was half off. I ordered two, in two different sizes. Fingers crossed the this works out. I hope so. Because finding a dress has been stressful. As was my trip to Macy's yesterday. Seemed like everything was either too big, too small, or too expensive.
Sigh. I don't know what my problem is tonight. Which is why I a going to crawl into bed and watch Fashion Police with Joan Rivers. It's the Golden Globes special. Maybe the snark will lighten my mood.
Friday, January 13, 2012
Friday night
I f***ing hate the night before weigh-in.Please see here.
http://tobys365challenge.blogspot.com/2012/01/weighing-in-on-weigh-in.htmlCheers!
http://tobys365challenge.blogspot.com/2012/01/weighing-in-on-weigh-in.htmlCheers!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
The dress dilemma
And not just any dress. . . a formal dress. For a work-related black tie fundraiser. Which is a tall for a girl who MUCH prefers jeans and flip-flops. Also somewhat of a challenge for "girl with curves" (re. fat) on a budget. Not to mention the fact that I work on a team with women who seems to have endless budgets. And taste.
I seem to recall stressing out about this same issue last year. Except that last year I was nearly 45 pounds heavier and desperate for something, (anything) that fit. I frankly didn't care much about what it looked like as long as it was reasonably flattering and it fit over my ass and boobs. As luck would have it, I found a black lace baby-doll dress on sale. I bought it, wore it, and pretended that I looked cute when really I suspect that I looked like a watermelon draped in black lace.
The dress still fits. But really, I don't want to wear something that fit last year. It's a baby doll dress. I could wear it while nine months pregnant and no one would know the difference.
Here's what I'm looking for: something black, short and sexy, and with some kind of sleeve. I'd like to have my arms covered because it will be cold and I'll be working....I don't want to be worried about hanging on to my pashmina all night. Or flashing my bat-wings to a donor.
So I went online. And I found a gorgeous dress that I think could work. Is fun, sexy, youthful, and not something I could have worn last year. What's stopping me is the price. I just can't justify it. But $179 (even with free shipping) is a lot of money for me. That's a weeks worth of groceries. The electric bill. A new summer wardrobe for my son. A month and a half of gymnastics classes for the girls. Not to mention the fact that I still have to buy shoes and accessories. And its not like
I will wear it again soon...because wearing a black, sequined cocktail dress to preschool pick-up would be a bit much.
My friends keep telling me to buy it anyway, that I deserve it after all my hard work. But as my friend and WW-buddy bluntly said, "Bullshit. You won't be that size for long." And she's right. Cute as it is, I don't want to be wearing it next year.
My sister told me to buy it, wear it, (dry clean it) and return it. But I believe in karma. Got a feeling this option would somehow bite me in the ass.
I could go shopping locally. Although finding the time would be a challenge.
My mom offered to loan me a "cute, sparkly top that could be worn with pants." For reasons that need not be stated, this is NOT a viable option.
Another possibility? There is a black dress in the back of my closet that I last wore at my wedding rehearsal dinner, circa 2002. It fits. Although I would need to purchase a wrap. And a large supply of industrial strength Spanx (or duct tape). The pros are that I would only need shoes and accessories and I could stop shopping and stressing. Plus it would feel GOOD to wear something that I never thought would fit again. The cons are that while it fits, I don't know how flattering it is. I want to be comfortable and for me that means feeling good about what I'm wearing.
Truthfully, I'd be more excited about this event in the first place if I knew I had something to wear already. And I felt good about the option. Because everyone else I work with is going to look awesome. Although being young, thin, and not having saggy-from-breastfeeding boobs helps.
Thoughts? Advice? Connections with people who know people who could just loan me a designer gown?
I seem to recall stressing out about this same issue last year. Except that last year I was nearly 45 pounds heavier and desperate for something, (anything) that fit. I frankly didn't care much about what it looked like as long as it was reasonably flattering and it fit over my ass and boobs. As luck would have it, I found a black lace baby-doll dress on sale. I bought it, wore it, and pretended that I looked cute when really I suspect that I looked like a watermelon draped in black lace.
The dress still fits. But really, I don't want to wear something that fit last year. It's a baby doll dress. I could wear it while nine months pregnant and no one would know the difference.
Here's what I'm looking for: something black, short and sexy, and with some kind of sleeve. I'd like to have my arms covered because it will be cold and I'll be working....I don't want to be worried about hanging on to my pashmina all night. Or flashing my bat-wings to a donor.
So I went online. And I found a gorgeous dress that I think could work. Is fun, sexy, youthful, and not something I could have worn last year. What's stopping me is the price. I just can't justify it. But $179 (even with free shipping) is a lot of money for me. That's a weeks worth of groceries. The electric bill. A new summer wardrobe for my son. A month and a half of gymnastics classes for the girls. Not to mention the fact that I still have to buy shoes and accessories. And its not like
I will wear it again soon...because wearing a black, sequined cocktail dress to preschool pick-up would be a bit much.
My friends keep telling me to buy it anyway, that I deserve it after all my hard work. But as my friend and WW-buddy bluntly said, "Bullshit. You won't be that size for long." And she's right. Cute as it is, I don't want to be wearing it next year.
My sister told me to buy it, wear it, (dry clean it) and return it. But I believe in karma. Got a feeling this option would somehow bite me in the ass.
I could go shopping locally. Although finding the time would be a challenge.
My mom offered to loan me a "cute, sparkly top that could be worn with pants." For reasons that need not be stated, this is NOT a viable option.
Another possibility? There is a black dress in the back of my closet that I last wore at my wedding rehearsal dinner, circa 2002. It fits. Although I would need to purchase a wrap. And a large supply of industrial strength Spanx (or duct tape). The pros are that I would only need shoes and accessories and I could stop shopping and stressing. Plus it would feel GOOD to wear something that I never thought would fit again. The cons are that while it fits, I don't know how flattering it is. I want to be comfortable and for me that means feeling good about what I'm wearing.
Truthfully, I'd be more excited about this event in the first place if I knew I had something to wear already. And I felt good about the option. Because everyone else I work with is going to look awesome. Although being young, thin, and not having saggy-from-breastfeeding boobs helps.
Thoughts? Advice? Connections with people who know people who could just loan me a designer gown?
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Good problems
I am running out of pants that fit.
Six months ago I was worrying that my pants were too big. Now I have the opposite problem. Admittedly, this is a terrific problem to have. The pants I purchased in September? Too big. The skinny pants that fit in October? Too big (and the crotch area sags to my knees). The formerly too tight pants that I last wore in 2005? They fit, but they seem to be getting longer. Today I busted out a pair that I purchased in 2003 and last wore shortly after my son was born. Those I am able to pull up to my chest, button, and then slouch them down to my waist.
Again, these are GOOD problems to have. I would much rather go through all my "skinny" pants as opposed to the shame associated with "outgrowing" pants at age 35. However, I am also not made out of money. And despite all my hoping, there isn't a money tree in my backyard blossoming with Andrew Jackson's. I'd like to *ideally* keep losing weight so the idea of spending money on clothes that within a few months may not fit isn't appealing. Then again, neither is going to work in clothes that are too big. And going naked isn't an option either.
What's a girl to do? Tailor the existing pants? Pray for a "What Not to Wear Makeover?"
Six months ago I was worrying that my pants were too big. Now I have the opposite problem. Admittedly, this is a terrific problem to have. The pants I purchased in September? Too big. The skinny pants that fit in October? Too big (and the crotch area sags to my knees). The formerly too tight pants that I last wore in 2005? They fit, but they seem to be getting longer. Today I busted out a pair that I purchased in 2003 and last wore shortly after my son was born. Those I am able to pull up to my chest, button, and then slouch them down to my waist.
Again, these are GOOD problems to have. I would much rather go through all my "skinny" pants as opposed to the shame associated with "outgrowing" pants at age 35. However, I am also not made out of money. And despite all my hoping, there isn't a money tree in my backyard blossoming with Andrew Jackson's. I'd like to *ideally* keep losing weight so the idea of spending money on clothes that within a few months may not fit isn't appealing. Then again, neither is going to work in clothes that are too big. And going naked isn't an option either.
What's a girl to do? Tailor the existing pants? Pray for a "What Not to Wear Makeover?"
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Resolution Run 2012
Well...I did it!
To quote my friend Erin, "I propelled myself in a jogging like motion towards the finish line." That I did. It was harder than anticipated, but I am SO glad that I did this race. I always knew I could finish a 5k but I didn't know how much of the race I would actually run. It was harder than I expected, but I finished and (for me) with a better time than when I run a 5k on the treadmill at he gym. There were two things I didn't anticipate: the hills at Papago Park (gorgeous scenery!) and that I would start to get really thirsty in the middle (I didn't drink enough water before the race because I didn't want to have to go to the bathroom in the middle). But it was a great experience and now that it's over I can't wait to do it again. Sure, I got passed by tons of people. But I didn't finish last, right?
One funny part of the day was when I crossed the finish line. Every runner is microchipped, and using your number, they know who is crossing the finish line when. The guy doing the announcing happened to be someone who taught PE and coached at my middle/high school. It was one of those "I know who you are, but you don't know who I am" situations.
Or so I thought. Because when I crossed the finish line (excuse me, hauled ass) he announced my name and said, "Toby Fox, I think I know you! Aren't you from the old Shadow
Mountain gang?" Yep. That would be me! It was funny, a little embarrassing, and impressive that he recognized me by my married name.
I also had the pleasure of spending this morning with four incredible women who also did the race. We each went at our own pace and having them cheer me in made a HUGE difference. I don't know if the experience would have been the same had I gone alone. And they did fantastic! Talk about motivation! After finishing, the second best part of the day was breakfast with them at Chompie's.
P.S. Out of curiosity I looked up the final race results. Granted, this was NOT about where I finished. But suddenly I'm feeling a little bummed. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know it's about the journey and not the destination. But clearly I have some work to do.
The "official" pre-race photo! Clearly it's a before shot.
To quote my friend Erin, "I propelled myself in a jogging like motion towards the finish line." That I did. It was harder than anticipated, but I am SO glad that I did this race. I always knew I could finish a 5k but I didn't know how much of the race I would actually run. It was harder than I expected, but I finished and (for me) with a better time than when I run a 5k on the treadmill at he gym. There were two things I didn't anticipate: the hills at Papago Park (gorgeous scenery!) and that I would start to get really thirsty in the middle (I didn't drink enough water before the race because I didn't want to have to go to the bathroom in the middle). But it was a great experience and now that it's over I can't wait to do it again. Sure, I got passed by tons of people. But I didn't finish last, right?
One funny part of the day was when I crossed the finish line. Every runner is microchipped, and using your number, they know who is crossing the finish line when. The guy doing the announcing happened to be someone who taught PE and coached at my middle/high school. It was one of those "I know who you are, but you don't know who I am" situations.
Or so I thought. Because when I crossed the finish line (excuse me, hauled ass) he announced my name and said, "Toby Fox, I think I know you! Aren't you from the old Shadow
Mountain gang?" Yep. That would be me! It was funny, a little embarrassing, and impressive that he recognized me by my married name.
I also had the pleasure of spending this morning with four incredible women who also did the race. We each went at our own pace and having them cheer me in made a HUGE difference. I don't know if the experience would have been the same had I gone alone. And they did fantastic! Talk about motivation! After finishing, the second best part of the day was breakfast with them at Chompie's.
P.S. Out of curiosity I looked up the final race results. Granted, this was NOT about where I finished. But suddenly I'm feeling a little bummed. Yeah, yeah, yeah...I know it's about the journey and not the destination. But clearly I have some work to do.
The "official" pre-race photo! Clearly it's a before shot.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Weighing in on the weigh-in
Normal people spend cut loose on Friday night. Maybe the have a drink at happy hour or share a meal with family and friend. They go out. They socialize. They relax and unwind after a long week of work/school/family.
I am not one of these people. Friday night (and most of Fri-DAY) is spent worrying about my Saturday morning weigh-in at WW.
When I rejoined WW in July I was determined not to fall in this trap. I tried to convince myself that if I did what I was supposed to do during the week (tracked my food, healthy choices, exercise) that Friday wouldn't matter. Because if I go out to dinner, eat normally, and track my food responsibly I won't see it on the scale Saturday morning. And if it DOES show up on the scale, than perhaps the rest of the week wasn't so great after all. This sentiment lasted exactly two weeks.
Anyone who has ever been on WW will tell you that they have their own special ritual when they go to weigh-in. It might include wearing the same clothes each week, using a particular scale, exercising beforehand, eating a certain meal the night before, or in some cases, restricting what they eat altogether. And if you're neurotic like me, you try and do a combination of all of these things. Hell, I've been known to bring my kids with me to meetings. Why? Because I realized that I lost weight when they came. And that's when my children became more than my children. . .they became WW good luck charms.
I spend my Friday nights worrying about what the scale will say. Will it be up? Will it be down? I agonize over a weeks worth of food and exercise choices. It's ridiculous. And I know it. Because it shouldn't matter what the scale says if I feel good. But like most people, I measure success quantitatively. My clothes might fit better and I might feel good, but show me the numbers. I need to make the scale my bitch.
For my own sanity, I don't own a scale. And the only time I weigh myself is at my regular WW meeting. Contributing to my anxiety this week (among other things) is that I am coming off my holiday feeding frenzy. Last weekend was New Year's Eve (skipped the meeting, ate what I wanted) and the weekend before that was Christmas Eve. After all the latkes, soda, amd Better than Sex Balls (3.5 points each) that I consumed hell would have to freeze over before I would even CONSIDER coming within 10 feet of a scale. I'm all for accountability but I'm not a glutton for punishment.
With the exception of New Year's Eve, I've been back on track for about 10 days. So I am going to finish this blog entry, pop half a Xanax (it's this or a glass of wine...like I need the points and bloat), crawl into bed with my iPad and the remote, and pray to the weight loss G-ds above for a good weigh-in.
Not to mention the fact that good weigh-in helps alleviate the guilt associated with going straight from the meeting to my favorite place for a bagel and cream cheese. With a Mountain Dew chaser. 'Cause a girl as gotta splurge a little bit.
I am not one of these people. Friday night (and most of Fri-DAY) is spent worrying about my Saturday morning weigh-in at WW.
When I rejoined WW in July I was determined not to fall in this trap. I tried to convince myself that if I did what I was supposed to do during the week (tracked my food, healthy choices, exercise) that Friday wouldn't matter. Because if I go out to dinner, eat normally, and track my food responsibly I won't see it on the scale Saturday morning. And if it DOES show up on the scale, than perhaps the rest of the week wasn't so great after all. This sentiment lasted exactly two weeks.
Anyone who has ever been on WW will tell you that they have their own special ritual when they go to weigh-in. It might include wearing the same clothes each week, using a particular scale, exercising beforehand, eating a certain meal the night before, or in some cases, restricting what they eat altogether. And if you're neurotic like me, you try and do a combination of all of these things. Hell, I've been known to bring my kids with me to meetings. Why? Because I realized that I lost weight when they came. And that's when my children became more than my children. . .they became WW good luck charms.
I spend my Friday nights worrying about what the scale will say. Will it be up? Will it be down? I agonize over a weeks worth of food and exercise choices. It's ridiculous. And I know it. Because it shouldn't matter what the scale says if I feel good. But like most people, I measure success quantitatively. My clothes might fit better and I might feel good, but show me the numbers. I need to make the scale my bitch.
For my own sanity, I don't own a scale. And the only time I weigh myself is at my regular WW meeting. Contributing to my anxiety this week (among other things) is that I am coming off my holiday feeding frenzy. Last weekend was New Year's Eve (skipped the meeting, ate what I wanted) and the weekend before that was Christmas Eve. After all the latkes, soda, amd Better than Sex Balls (3.5 points each) that I consumed hell would have to freeze over before I would even CONSIDER coming within 10 feet of a scale. I'm all for accountability but I'm not a glutton for punishment.
With the exception of New Year's Eve, I've been back on track for about 10 days. So I am going to finish this blog entry, pop half a Xanax (it's this or a glass of wine...like I need the points and bloat), crawl into bed with my iPad and the remote, and pray to the weight loss G-ds above for a good weigh-in.
Not to mention the fact that good weigh-in helps alleviate the guilt associated with going straight from the meeting to my favorite place for a bagel and cream cheese. With a Mountain Dew chaser. 'Cause a girl as gotta splurge a little bit.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Race Weekend
I used to have this recurring dream that I was running. I wasn't being chased and in the dream I was running at a leaisurely pace and enjoying it. I wasn't winded and I never had to stop for water. After having the dream I would wake up feeling strong. Powerful. In control. It's one of the few dreams I actually remember having and I always loved how it made me feel afterwards.
I want to be that runner. With long, sinewy arms and legs, awesome muscle tone and a killer body in my Lululemon workout skirt and matching tank. Someone who could run for miles without feeling like they were going to die at any given moment.
Why am I sharing all of this? Because I signed up to run in a 5K on Sunday and I am starting to worry about getting my ass kicked by a few thousand runners. In public.
I use the phrase "run a 5K" loosely. I can easily walk a 5K (my feet still have not forgotten the 207 Breast Cancer 3-day) but running is an entirely different story. Sure, I've trained for this event (intervals) and I will attempt to run parts of the race. How much running I actually do remains to be seen. Time and time again I've heard good things about how supportive the running community is of newbies like me. And the people who know I am doing this race have been nothing but encouraging. But that doesn't change a few simple truths.
That I am going to look like a hot mess both before, during and after the race in my ratty Walmart t-shirt and pants. Because I cannot comprehend spending $100+ for clothes that will be worn while I sweat like a pig (and that will barely fit over my boobs).
That I will probably end up being the LAST of my friends (if not the majority of the race field) to cross the finish line. Not that it's about finishing first, but anyone who tells you they are ok with finishing at the bottom of anything is lying.
That when people look at me, whether it be at the Resolution Run in Tempe on Sunday or on the treadmill at the the JCC, they may see a fat chick sweating like a pig in Walmart t-shirt who can't seem to run more than 3 minutes at a time without taking a break. What they don't see is what I've done to get to this point. And what they don't know is that I don't give a shit what they think.
I am (surprisingly) OK with all of this. Because in my head, I'm the runner in the dream.
Although I'm still mentally prepared to get my ass kicked.
I want to be that runner. With long, sinewy arms and legs, awesome muscle tone and a killer body in my Lululemon workout skirt and matching tank. Someone who could run for miles without feeling like they were going to die at any given moment.
Why am I sharing all of this? Because I signed up to run in a 5K on Sunday and I am starting to worry about getting my ass kicked by a few thousand runners. In public.
I use the phrase "run a 5K" loosely. I can easily walk a 5K (my feet still have not forgotten the 207 Breast Cancer 3-day) but running is an entirely different story. Sure, I've trained for this event (intervals) and I will attempt to run parts of the race. How much running I actually do remains to be seen. Time and time again I've heard good things about how supportive the running community is of newbies like me. And the people who know I am doing this race have been nothing but encouraging. But that doesn't change a few simple truths.
That I am going to look like a hot mess both before, during and after the race in my ratty Walmart t-shirt and pants. Because I cannot comprehend spending $100+ for clothes that will be worn while I sweat like a pig (and that will barely fit over my boobs).
That I will probably end up being the LAST of my friends (if not the majority of the race field) to cross the finish line. Not that it's about finishing first, but anyone who tells you they are ok with finishing at the bottom of anything is lying.
That when people look at me, whether it be at the Resolution Run in Tempe on Sunday or on the treadmill at the the JCC, they may see a fat chick sweating like a pig in Walmart t-shirt who can't seem to run more than 3 minutes at a time without taking a break. What they don't see is what I've done to get to this point. And what they don't know is that I don't give a shit what they think.
I am (surprisingly) OK with all of this. Because in my head, I'm the runner in the dream.
Although I'm still mentally prepared to get my ass kicked.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Not funny (enough)
In starting this project, one thing I am worried about is not being funny enough.
I've kept blogs before. Hell, I even had a short-loved career as a magazine columnist. And I was funny. Or at least I tried to be. The best advice I received was to always write what you know. And with a voice that is authentic. Which I can do. But I don't want this blog to just be about WW and my endless desire for a Mountain Dew (the nectar of the g-ds). It's about the daily struggle to make heathy choices when your first inclination is hit the drive-thru when hunger pains rear their head. Because while nothing tastes as good as thin feels, McDonald's French fries are still pretty fu*cking awesome. And anyone who says otherwise is lying.
I've kept blogs before. Hell, I even had a short-loved career as a magazine columnist. And I was funny. Or at least I tried to be. The best advice I received was to always write what you know. And with a voice that is authentic. Which I can do. But I don't want this blog to just be about WW and my endless desire for a Mountain Dew (the nectar of the g-ds). It's about the daily struggle to make heathy choices when your first inclination is hit the drive-thru when hunger pains rear their head. Because while nothing tastes as good as thin feels, McDonald's French fries are still pretty fu*cking awesome. And anyone who says otherwise is lying.
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
A day paved with good intentions
The day started off positive.
Had he daynoff. Woke up, took the girls to school, and headed to the gym to spend some time on the treadmill. Knocked out a 5k and headed home with Noah to shower and get ready for the rest of the day.
Here is where things started to go off the rails.
After a hearing a talk at Friday night services about the importance of blood donation, I decided to take United Blood Services up on their offer to donate platelets (my blood type is AB+ which makes me a universal donor). So I made the appointment and headed down there, and ate a turkey sandwich in the car. I was told that donating platelets takes longer than whole blood (2 hours), and part of me thought *I might* be rejected for low iron (it's happened in the past). What I did not expect was that I'd be there for three hours and that when it was over I would feel as lethargic as I did. Sure, I drank water, munched on popcorn and corn nuts. I even took Noah to Starbucks afterwards and opted for the skinny vanilla latte, hoping that would give me a little jolt of energy. Instead, I drank 1/3 and threw it away because it tasted bitter.
After the blood bank Noah and I ran a bunch of errands, picked up the girls and headed home. Where dinner was in the crock pot ready to go. And in typical fashion, I didn't enjoy the dinner I made (though everyone else did). By this point, I was still tired and had a pounding headache. I wanted a MEAL. And preferably one I didn't have to cook. After desperately looking for something exciting to magically appear in the refrigerator, Dan offered to pick up a sandwich at Pita Jungle. And Pita Jungle posts their nutritional information online so I could still try and track my points (after my 10-day feeding frenzy it's the least I can do). I also had him bring me a soda, thinking that the caffeine would perk me a up. As luck would have it, the soda syrup needed to be replaced and my drink tasted awful. Which I interpretted as a I sign that I shouldn't be drinking it in the first place.
What's the moral of this long, and probably boring story?
1. Have a food plan for the day. A good, reasonable plan. If you don't, you'll regret it later.
2. Don't rely on shitty snacks at the blood bank for sustenance. Because corn nuts are the SPAM of the snack world.
Oh, and as I was leaving the blood bank the lovely attendant asked if I would like to schedule an appointment to come back in eight weeks. Um...happy as though I was to help, that's going to be a NO. I'll stick to regular blood donations.
Had he daynoff. Woke up, took the girls to school, and headed to the gym to spend some time on the treadmill. Knocked out a 5k and headed home with Noah to shower and get ready for the rest of the day.
Here is where things started to go off the rails.
After a hearing a talk at Friday night services about the importance of blood donation, I decided to take United Blood Services up on their offer to donate platelets (my blood type is AB+ which makes me a universal donor). So I made the appointment and headed down there, and ate a turkey sandwich in the car. I was told that donating platelets takes longer than whole blood (2 hours), and part of me thought *I might* be rejected for low iron (it's happened in the past). What I did not expect was that I'd be there for three hours and that when it was over I would feel as lethargic as I did. Sure, I drank water, munched on popcorn and corn nuts. I even took Noah to Starbucks afterwards and opted for the skinny vanilla latte, hoping that would give me a little jolt of energy. Instead, I drank 1/3 and threw it away because it tasted bitter.
After the blood bank Noah and I ran a bunch of errands, picked up the girls and headed home. Where dinner was in the crock pot ready to go. And in typical fashion, I didn't enjoy the dinner I made (though everyone else did). By this point, I was still tired and had a pounding headache. I wanted a MEAL. And preferably one I didn't have to cook. After desperately looking for something exciting to magically appear in the refrigerator, Dan offered to pick up a sandwich at Pita Jungle. And Pita Jungle posts their nutritional information online so I could still try and track my points (after my 10-day feeding frenzy it's the least I can do). I also had him bring me a soda, thinking that the caffeine would perk me a up. As luck would have it, the soda syrup needed to be replaced and my drink tasted awful. Which I interpretted as a I sign that I shouldn't be drinking it in the first place.
What's the moral of this long, and probably boring story?
1. Have a food plan for the day. A good, reasonable plan. If you don't, you'll regret it later.
2. Don't rely on shitty snacks at the blood bank for sustenance. Because corn nuts are the SPAM of the snack world.
Oh, and as I was leaving the blood bank the lovely attendant asked if I would like to schedule an appointment to come back in eight weeks. Um...happy as though I was to help, that's going to be a NO. I'll stick to regular blood donations.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Shopping
Decided to hit the Outlets today. Hoping to maybe find an end of year Christmas sale that was too good to pass up.
I need to lower my expectations.
Made a pilgrimage to the new COACH store. It was mobbed. And while people were grabbing everything (and anything) they could get their hands on, there was plenty I could live without. Even with 70% off, the wallet I found was still overpriced.
Wandered in to the fat lady store (there, I admitted it) and found a pair of pants that I could use for work. But I still want to lose weight. And I have a couple of pairs of pants in the closet that I bought, wore for a month and then retired because they became too big. I know these are GOOD problems to have, but I'm not made of $$ and I can't afford to keep buying new stuff. That said, I also can't go to work naked. But I walked away. If I wavered, I probably didn't need it that badly.
When all is said and done, the only thing I have to show for myself are some soaps from Bath and Body Works and two shirts for the girls. Talk about disappointing. On the bright side, given the almost 80 degree weather I did some shopping in my closet and came up with some pants that fit better than when I originally bought them.
THAT was a good feeling.
I need to lower my expectations.
Made a pilgrimage to the new COACH store. It was mobbed. And while people were grabbing everything (and anything) they could get their hands on, there was plenty I could live without. Even with 70% off, the wallet I found was still overpriced.
Wandered in to the fat lady store (there, I admitted it) and found a pair of pants that I could use for work. But I still want to lose weight. And I have a couple of pairs of pants in the closet that I bought, wore for a month and then retired because they became too big. I know these are GOOD problems to have, but I'm not made of $$ and I can't afford to keep buying new stuff. That said, I also can't go to work naked. But I walked away. If I wavered, I probably didn't need it that badly.
When all is said and done, the only thing I have to show for myself are some soaps from Bath and Body Works and two shirts for the girls. Talk about disappointing. On the bright side, given the almost 80 degree weather I did some shopping in my closet and came up with some pants that fit better than when I originally bought them.
THAT was a good feeling.
What is this???
It's January 1, 2012. Happy New Year!
In July 2011 I joined Weight Watchers. Again. I was tired of my clothes not fitting, of always feeling my joints ache, and worrying about how to avoid the scale at the doctor's office. Plus I had a friend who had recently lost a lot of weight and started running. She look FABULOUS! And I wanted that to be me.
I've joined WW a thousand times before. I used to joke that this alone should qualify me for Lifetime Membership. I've struggled with weight my entire life, and there has always been a tremendous amount shame associated with dieting. When I did WW (and Atkins, and Jenny Craig, and South Beach) in the past I kept it to myself. Figuring that if I wasn't successful I wouldn't feel bad because no one but me would know. But my experience this time has been different. In addition to tracking my food and exercising and watching my portions, I told people what I was doing.
I've always been someone who worried a little too much about what others thought. So in this instance I decided to use it to my advantage. I figured that the more people who knew what I was doing, the more incentive I would have to make better, more deliberate food choices. . .out fear that they would look at me and say, "Isn't she on WW?? What's she doing downing a 32 ounce Mountain Dew with a donut chaser???" I let go of the shame and I took ownership of my weight, my health and what I was doing by taking about it with friends and colleagues.
Perhaps it sounds stupid, but it worked. It was hard. Over the weeks, (and then months) the weight started to come off. And people started to notice. Which is a nice feeling when you're used to walking into a room and thinking "Oh shit, is everyone looking at me and thinking that I've gained weight?" So I kept at it. I kept watching my points, and I increased my exercise, and before I knew it I was ending 2011 41.8 pounds lighter than when I started. So while it may be tacky to brag about yourself, yeah, I'm going to brag about myself. Because it's a big accomplishment and I worked hard.
Watching the numbers go down on the scale is nice (who am I kidding.. .it's awesome), but there has also been another positive, slightly unintended outcome: through this process I was able to tap into a community of women who were each on their own path of improved health and fitness. And through them I found level of support and encouragement that was different from that of my husband and family.
Which leads me to this blog.
I wanted to create a journal to talk about what I'm doing. To share successes and challenges in order to keep myself accountable. Besides re-learning how to make smarter, healthier choices, I've realized that I'm not the first person to do these things. So I'm challenging myself to not only stick with WW and exercise this new year, but to blog about. The good, the bad, the funny, and the ugly.
In July 2011 I joined Weight Watchers. Again. I was tired of my clothes not fitting, of always feeling my joints ache, and worrying about how to avoid the scale at the doctor's office. Plus I had a friend who had recently lost a lot of weight and started running. She look FABULOUS! And I wanted that to be me.
I've joined WW a thousand times before. I used to joke that this alone should qualify me for Lifetime Membership. I've struggled with weight my entire life, and there has always been a tremendous amount shame associated with dieting. When I did WW (and Atkins, and Jenny Craig, and South Beach) in the past I kept it to myself. Figuring that if I wasn't successful I wouldn't feel bad because no one but me would know. But my experience this time has been different. In addition to tracking my food and exercising and watching my portions, I told people what I was doing.
I've always been someone who worried a little too much about what others thought. So in this instance I decided to use it to my advantage. I figured that the more people who knew what I was doing, the more incentive I would have to make better, more deliberate food choices. . .out fear that they would look at me and say, "Isn't she on WW?? What's she doing downing a 32 ounce Mountain Dew with a donut chaser???" I let go of the shame and I took ownership of my weight, my health and what I was doing by taking about it with friends and colleagues.
Perhaps it sounds stupid, but it worked. It was hard. Over the weeks, (and then months) the weight started to come off. And people started to notice. Which is a nice feeling when you're used to walking into a room and thinking "Oh shit, is everyone looking at me and thinking that I've gained weight?" So I kept at it. I kept watching my points, and I increased my exercise, and before I knew it I was ending 2011 41.8 pounds lighter than when I started. So while it may be tacky to brag about yourself, yeah, I'm going to brag about myself. Because it's a big accomplishment and I worked hard.
Watching the numbers go down on the scale is nice (who am I kidding.. .it's awesome), but there has also been another positive, slightly unintended outcome: through this process I was able to tap into a community of women who were each on their own path of improved health and fitness. And through them I found level of support and encouragement that was different from that of my husband and family.
Which leads me to this blog.
I wanted to create a journal to talk about what I'm doing. To share successes and challenges in order to keep myself accountable. Besides re-learning how to make smarter, healthier choices, I've realized that I'm not the first person to do these things. So I'm challenging myself to not only stick with WW and exercise this new year, but to blog about. The good, the bad, the funny, and the ugly.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Feeding Frenzy
The last 10 days have been one long, gluttonous feeding frezy.
Being Jewish, I naively thought I could avoid the food trappings of the holiday season. I did pretty well at the office holiday party. And I did my best to track my food...because if you bite it, you gotta write it. Unfortunately, my willpower waned a bit when I found myself making 300 Better Than Sex Balls/Oreo Truffles** as holiday gifts. Then there were the potato latkes, both mine and the one's from Trader Joe's. Followed by the some fabulous lunches at places like Switch and Windsor. And since I was already indulging a little, I might as well add some soda to the meal. Because nothing tastes better than Coke over ice in a restaurant. There were some dinners out, some dinners in, a few parties, and before I knew it I was sampling a variety of desserts on New Year's Eve. And enjoying some booze. (In my defense, I did spend some time on the treadmill both Friday and today).
Now I am back I the saddle again. I am focused. I know what I have to do. Which is why I have no shame in admitting that I would LOVE a Mtn. Dew right now. And a burger. And maybe a pizookie (http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2009/08/how-to-make-a-pizookie-or-a-pizza-cookie-recipe.html).
** Thanks to my colleague Maureen, I know that each Sex Ball has 124 calories. And one batch of Sex Balls is the equivalent of 176 WW points, or 7 points per serving (two balls). Sigh. Calculating that was time well spent.
Being Jewish, I naively thought I could avoid the food trappings of the holiday season. I did pretty well at the office holiday party. And I did my best to track my food...because if you bite it, you gotta write it. Unfortunately, my willpower waned a bit when I found myself making 300 Better Than Sex Balls/Oreo Truffles** as holiday gifts. Then there were the potato latkes, both mine and the one's from Trader Joe's. Followed by the some fabulous lunches at places like Switch and Windsor. And since I was already indulging a little, I might as well add some soda to the meal. Because nothing tastes better than Coke over ice in a restaurant. There were some dinners out, some dinners in, a few parties, and before I knew it I was sampling a variety of desserts on New Year's Eve. And enjoying some booze. (In my defense, I did spend some time on the treadmill both Friday and today).
Now I am back I the saddle again. I am focused. I know what I have to do. Which is why I have no shame in admitting that I would LOVE a Mtn. Dew right now. And a burger. And maybe a pizookie (http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2009/08/how-to-make-a-pizookie-or-a-pizza-cookie-recipe.html).
** Thanks to my colleague Maureen, I know that each Sex Ball has 124 calories. And one batch of Sex Balls is the equivalent of 176 WW points, or 7 points per serving (two balls). Sigh. Calculating that was time well spent.
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