Perspective

So here's the thing about a really heavy person losing weight -- not a chubby person who could stand to lose a few pounds -- a really heavy person: there are many many many little changes that take place that no one in the world would notice. A roll becomes a crease which becomes smooth -- the size -- from outside -- through clothes -- doesn't change a bit, but the body does. It is wonderful, but privately so.

I experience these private victories and revel in them -- but it does make me sad that my progress isn't evident from the outside. I remind myself constantly that I am doing this for myself and that the opinions of others shouldn't matter.

But, dammit, I want to look good to to others. 

That is vain and stupid and shallow and I need to get over it. I don't think it is going to happen. And it shouldn't matter.

Another observation: when I went home for Christmas -- 50 pounds lighter but still, admittedly, significantly overweight -- no one seemed to notice. Friends I haven't seen in months notice, but family and friends from home did not. I think -- and this is pure speculation -- that that may be because my local friends have never known me as anything other than very very fat -- so the change from very very fat to very fat was noticeable. People who have known me all my life -- who knew me in my teens and 20's when I was not even kinda fat, much less very or very very fat just didn't notice what -- in the grand scheme of things -- was a relatively small outward change.

It was a reminder that -- while I've been patting myself on the back and feeling like I'm all fierce -- I'm still a fat middle-aged woman.

But a less fat middle-aged woman than I was 9 months ago.

I'm off to the gym.

It's what I do.

I go to the gym and I eat super-low carb.

I behave like people who look a helluva a lot better than me. I look like people who behave a helluva lot worse than me. It's not fair, but it is what it is. I'll keep doing these things that are good for me because I feel better.

Today, though, I feel more lumpy than fierce.

But maybe tomorrow...

Salt in a Wound

The holidays and the weeks leading up to them have been rough. Not in the way you might think -- I haven't been gobbling up cookies or other goodies. I haven't been neglecting my workouts. I haven't even had a cocktail. All I can figure is that it must be a sodium issue. Out of necessity I have been eating way more processed foods than my body is accustomed to. And instead of countering that by drinking more water, like a person of normal intelligence would, I'm drinking less.

I am puffy and gross and my jeans don't fit the way I want them too.

And the real food issues are in the immediate future.

There is a part of me that thinks looking puffy and gross over the holidays -- when, I'll admit, I was sort of looking forward to seeing people I haven't seen in a year in a new body -- is some sort of karmic retribution. I was cocky. I was proud. I was even a little bit vain. Maybe a lot. What better reality check than to not be able to zip my jeans without doing a little dance?

I had gotten to a place in this journey -- emotionally -- where I was able to focus on the positive changes I've made. For the past two days, all I can really see is how far there is left to go.

I AM stronger.

But I'm still really fat.

Really, really fat.

The cheekbones that, I'll admit, I vainly admired have faded into puffy oblivion.

AND YET,

I know that, given the situations that I've been in, I've made the best choices I could possibly be expected to make. Will I be able to do so for the next two days? Feeling down on myself and disgusting? Man, I hope so.

When I'm home and the traveling part is over I can drink water like a boss to flush this out. I can sit in a steam room. Heck, I can do sit-ups in a steam room.

This is not the end of the journey. I've come too far (though you wouldn't know it to look at my lumpy-ass self today) to let a little roadblock stop me.

But it would be a lot easier to pass by cookies and treats if I still felt fierce and hot. Hercules makes better choices than the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man.

But maybe it was time for a little humility. Maybe it was time for a reality check. Maybe it's time to see if I can't knock out some push-ups on my mom's squeaky floor before people start waking up and making cinnamon buns. Maybe it's time to stop feeling sorry for myself and power through this the best I can.

I'm disappointed in myself. I feel like I'm following all the rules and I'm still losing the game. (But not, semi-ironically) the weight.

Christmas, man.

Humbug.

Back With a Vengeance

Backslide managed.

Plateau resumed.

Cortisone injected.

It. Is. On.

A great visit with the doctor and a couple ginormous salads later and all is well.

Holiday weekend?

Bring it!

Head Down, Power Through

I gained weight.

I gained fucking weight.

I fucking gained weight.

I am so angry at myself right now.

It's not been a great week.

We have eaten out a lot.

Like -- breakfast, lunch and dinner a lot.

I make the best choices I can.

Except that damn fudge at work. That was not a good choice. And I made it two days in a row.

But mostly I make the best choices I can.

I missed a couple workouts last week.

Life. Holidays. Stuff.

But I got in more than I missed. I really only missed two.

Everything combined in a bad way.

I feel gross.

BUT

(And that's a big but, to go along with my big butt. See what I did there?)

I still went to the gym this morning.

I will make the best choices I possibly can today.

I will not let this stop me.

Because it's only weight.

I'm still strong -- I know -- I lifted the hell out of heavy things this morning. I pushed like I was pissed. (Mostly because I was. That helped.)

It's a backslide.

They happen.

They're possibly worse, even, than plateaus.

But I can beat it.

I can beat the hell out of it.

Head down, power through.

Spectacularly Normal

An interesting phenomenon has been occurring this week. I have been in several social situations and in each one, I was keenly aware of not feeling like the biggest person in the room. Now let me be clear: in at least a couple of those situations, if not all, I still WAS the biggest person in the room. But I didn't feel so -- unwieldy. In the past, in social situations, I was keenly aware of my size and did everything I could to apologize for it without actually apologizing for it. (because, as I learned, people get really uncomfortable when you do that). I would head for a corner, I would sit down if it was an option so that I didn't take up as much of the space that the regular people needed to mingle, I would make myself as unobtrusive as possible. If there were throw pillows handy, I'd reach for one and cover as much of myself as I could with it in a further attempt to hide.

This week -- in several different situations with several different groups of people -- I did not feel like that. I felt -- normal. And normal felt spectacular.

I am still big. I am definitely still on the bigger side of normal. I am not at anyone's goal weight or goal size, including my own.

But.

I no longer feel like I need to be relegated to the sidelines of -- anything.

It must be the straight size clothes.

I'm still a big girl -- but I'm in the game.

I'm hoping to be at a new goal next year (next month, next week, tomorrow...) -- more muscle, less fat.

THAT has been my goal all along. BOTH parts of it. I don't want to be thin. I want massive muscles. I want to be wicked strong.

For now, though, I'm on the big end of normal.

And coming from where I've been, that feels better than, to paraphrase the old dieting motto, any holiday treat tastes.

Happy Holidays indeed.

Or perhaps I should say, Spectacularly Normal Holidays.

During: Before the After, But After the Before

We all love a good "before" and "after" photo.  I don't have one of those (yet). But I have this: A before and during.

Summer 2011/Winter 2012

The first photo was taken on a girls' weekend at Kelley's Island, when the motto Eat, Drink and Be Merry still included eating and drinking. The second photo was taken this morning when I chanced upon the same outfit and decided to try it on and see how it looked with 50 less pounds in it. I cannot wait to take another picture 50 pounds from now.  I have put this outfit on a hanger in the back of my closet with that purpose in mind.

It would be very easy to pick apart the second picture. It would be easy, but it wouldn't be nice -- and I am making a concerted effort to be nicer to myself. So I shall take the high road and look at the two comparatively, rather than looking at either critically. It was what it was, it is what it is, it shall be what it shall be.

The second picture shows progress. It does not show a mission accomplished. I know this. But it shows progress -- steps in the right direction.

I like it.

And I like that I am happy in both.

I expect to be happy when the after is added, too.

But it's easy to look happy in the after.

Everyone always looks happy in the after.

I love that I was happy in the before and that I am happy in the during.

Yo-Yo-NO!

This is not the first time in my life that I have adopted healthy eating habits.

Like many fat people, I was always relatively well informed about calories and fat and "good" foods and "bad" foods. (I hated even typing that, so insane is the concept of applying these terms to food. Food is not good or bad. It is food. Now what our bodies do with it....) I knew the whole calories in/calories out mantra (completely false and wildly uninformed). I read. I tried. I worked. I tried harder. I would - like so many others like me - achieve a little weight loss success and then gain it all back and then some. But oh, how I tried.

When my doctor (a former competitive bodybuilder, for what it's worth) told me to eliminate carbs the first time, I thought he was whack. I had read enough to know that you can't eliminate an entire food group and be healthy. I continued to eat what I considered to be a healthy, well-balanced diet. I also continued to gain weight. It was very distressing. Eventually I gave up on trying and just ate whatever I wanted. I didn't gain like crazy. I maintained. I reasoned - if I can torture myself to try to eat healthy and still be this weight, or eat everything that gives me pleasure and still be this weight -- well -- I think I'm gonna have to go with pleasure.

And I did.

I sort of epitomized fat and happy.

When I was distressed, it was because of societal expectations, not because of any self-hatred.

Spin, baby, spin.

One day I decided that fat and happy was cool, but I'd also like to be strong.

I started lifting which is a brilliant thing for heavy people to do. Our muscles condition quickly and nicely, generally speaking -- of course there are exceptions to every rule -- because we are accustomed to carrying around a lot of weight. It's not easy being fat. I'll tell you -- I've just lost 50 pounds and -- while I can certainly lift 50 pounds, I sure wouldn't want to do it all day.

When the doc approached me again about cutting out carbs, I was much more primed to listen. I did not cut out fruits or high carb vegetables, but I did cut out pasta, sugar, flour (not just white!) -- even oatmeal and other grains and (gulp) booze. He explained that while many of those things could be handled by most people my body did just terrible things with them. I made an appointment to see him in 6 weeks and I stuck to the plan. I ate no carbs and worked with my trainer twice a week and worked out on my own the other five days. When I returned to the doctor in six weeks time I had cheated exactly 5 times. I had eaten tortilla chips one night (no ill effect) had 2 dry martinis (no ill effect) had a bag of Chex Mix (no ill effect) and had a sugary cocktail (sick as a dog). 

In six weeks I lost over 20 pounds. I knew there was something to this. It was working. And I felt good -- better than I'd ever felt in my life. I left the doctor's office that day with instructions to set aside one meal every 7-10 days to eat whatever I wanted. There were only 2 rules: Never breakfast and never booze. The reasoning behind breakfast was this: eating carbs makes me sluggish and tired. Feeling that way in the evening is no big deal -- go to bed and sleep it off -- but feeling that way all day is a major bitch. I know. I cheated once for breakfast and had pancakes. It was most regrettable.

I have learned that incorporating that "cheat" meal is as important as not eating carbs the rest of the week. It's not only good for my psyche, it's good for my body too. I am absolutely certain that that weekly no-holds-barred meal will be the difference between this and every other time I've tried to modify my eating. It probably slows the weight loss process down, but I think it also provides an assurance that the weight that comes off will stay off. For what it's worth -- I do generally slip into a food coma following my "cheat" meal.

I'm not losing as quickly as I was in the beginning, but I'm still losing. I work with my trainer 3 times a week now. I cannot recall ever feeling better.

I cannot possibly emphasize enough that this is working for me because I have an extreme sensitivity to carbs. I have a pretty severe thyroid disorder, too, which plays into all of this. I will be cutting back on fruit and legumes soon. But this is because of my metabolism and my genetic make-up. Most people can include whole grains in a healthy diet very successfully. There is no such thing as a one size fits all plan. There are no universal truths.

People who claim that they have fallen upon the one and only way to be healthy and lose weight are dangerously irresponsible. It's important to find out what works for you. This seems to work for me.