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.
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
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.
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