Fat as Hell…

Today is my wedding anniversary. At least I think it is. Neither my husband nor I can ever remember the exact date. It’s either today or the 24th… but since today is a Saturday, and we’re both off, we’re going with today. I can’t remember how many years we’ve been married either, but that doesn’t really matter much to me.

My husband and I have been together for a long time. We met when we were both in high school. I can remember the exact day, mostly because I actually have a picture of our meeting to remind me. It was near the end of my junior year and I was goofing around with several friends outside the cafeteria. We wanted to make one of those human pyramids, but we were one person short. Then one of my friends yelled, “oh, there’s David” and she waved him over to help us. So… we met on the bottom row of a human pyramid, and I have the picture to prove it.

Anyway, we dated on and off for the next year of high school, but then he moved 3,000 miles away to go to college. This was back before we all had things like email and cellphones to keep us connected, so we had to make a *real* effort to stay in touch through actual hand written letters, carefully wrapped packages and timed 10 minute phone calls, because neither of us could afford the, then outrageous, long distance rates.

David and I haven’t done anything traditionally. Growing up, we were complete opposites (in many ways we still are). He comes from a wealthy family, whereas my family was very, very poor. He was in the top 5% of our graduating class, whereas I barely graduated… you get the picture. In fact, if it weren’t for him, I’d have never made it to college at all. After high school, I floundered around, moving from one bad roommate situation to another, while working all manner of shit job. I spent most of my time either partying or running from creditors, but I surely wasn’t happy. I was, in essence, on the fast track to nowhere until one day a card came in the mail from David. In it was an acceptance letter to a community college in the town where he was living. He’d filled out all the application materials without me knowing, forged my signature and had the acceptance letter sent to him. Then he sent it to me with a card that simply read: “you have a decision to make.”

Two weeks later, I was on a plane. I’d sold everything I had, which wasn’t much. After I purchased my one way ticket, I was left with one suitcase and $150.00. That was July 22, 1990 and we’ve been together ever since.

But we didn’t get married until much, much later.

My parents have been married a combined total of 13 times. I like to say that they participated in the Divorce Olympics - my Dad bringing home the gold with a whopping 8 marriages (well, 9 if you count the woman he married twice). Nonetheless, marriage never really seemed like a viable option for me, given my genetic predisposition for failure… so David and I just lived together (happily, “in sin”) for years and years. Until one weekend 4 (or maybe 5) years ago when he said, “hey, wanna get married?” A couple of weeks later we went down to the courthouse and “tied the knot.” That in and of itself is a funny story, but I’ll spare you those details for now.

So… today is my wedding anniversary, I think.

But it’s also another important day. It’s my first weigh-in, in quite some time. The last time I weighed myself was *last* Friday. The night before, we’d ordered pizza and I’d eaten too much to recount now. I weighed myself Friday because I knew I was going to get back on track and I needed an accurate starting point. Prior to that, my previous weigh-in had revealed a disappointing 253.4lbs, but I knew I’d gone up even from there. So… last Friday when I stepped on the scale, it said 258.8lbs. I never posted that here for 2 reasons: First, of course, I was ashamed. But secondly, I just didn’t want to focus on it. I wanted to focus on doing the right things this week. I needed that number so that I could accurately measure my success this week, but beyond that, I didn’t want to think about it… so, I didn’t. Instead, I put my energy into getting used to eating properly again and exercising.

Those of you who have been following my food diary posts over at the food confessional already know that I decided to go the very low calorie route this week. My rationale being that, because I’d been “off plan” for so long (about a month) that my body had gotten used to much bigger, higher calorie meals, and as such, I wanted to cut way back and give myself some wiggle room for screw ups. I figured, if I aimed my caloric goal *lower* each day, if I did slip up and eat more than I should, I’d still be under the 1300 calories that I usually shoot for when I’m doing the right things and on track, etc. So… I began the week with a goal of eating 1,000 calories or less for the first three days. But then, when that turned out to be much easier than I thought it would be, I pretty much stuck with it for the remainder of the week. (Now look, before you bombard me with comments/emails about the dangers of very low calorie eating, fear not… I’ve discussed this option with my doctor before, and he gave me some guidelines were I ever to go that route. What’s more, it’s not permanent, it was just a way for me to jump start my “new start” - as it were).

All of that said, I almost didn’t weigh this morning at all because, frankly, I didn’t want to ruin the good thing I’ve built this week. Regardless of what the scale says, I had a great week. I not only stuck to my calorie goals, I hate healthy, good food and felt full *most* of the time. AND I exercised more often than I didn’t. It was a good, good week.

But, I did weigh. And here are the results…

258.8lbs - 249.5lbs = -9.3lbs

Ok. First of all… that’s a crazy amount lost. And I know that most of it is probably water weight resulting from the excess salt that my “off plan” diet included. Furthermore, I know too that the weeks to come will *not* include losses of that magnitude and in fact, next week, I may bump up a pound or two as my body compensates for the huge loss this week. But, nonetheless, I’ll take it.

So… today is a big day. It’s big because it marks my first significant weight loss in a long time, but more than that, and more importantly I think, it marks my first week of being back on track. It marks a week of eating right, of exercising and of feeling like I’m doing the right things for myself and for my body.

Oh yeah… and it’s also my wedding anniversary. I think. :)

Today I learned what people sometimes call a “valuable lesson.”

For months now I’ve been doing my best to lose weight and become more healthy through, what can best be described as, shot in the dark fitness.  I’m a big believer in the idea that what works for one person may not work for another, so I read a lot, experiment more and adjust my thinking all the time, trying to figure out what works for me.  It’s all a guessing game and the one and only thing I know for sure is that I don’t know much of anything.  It’s not all bad news, of course… I mean, on the food front, I feel like I’m getting better all the time.  Even though I am by no means perfect, I’ve discovered some truths about myself and my body over the last several months and I know I’m far closer to understanding myself as an eater than I ever was before.

The exercise component of this equation, however, still remains a bit of a mystery.

Before deciding that it was time to take control of my life last summer, I *never* exercised.  And I do mean never.  Not only did I not “work out” (in any sense), my lifestyle was completely sedentary.  I’d tailored my jobs such that I spent most of the time sitting down, I did no yard work, very little housework and I never even thought about taking a walk in the evenings or during the summers when I was off.  Seriously, I can remember literally sitting in my car for, who knows how long, idling along in the parking lot of a store, waiting for another car to leave one of the front spots just so I wouldn’t have to walk very far.   I was a complete blob.

Nowadays, things are a little different.  Now I walk almost every night.  I have an exercise bike at home that I used all winter (it’s collecting dust now, but that’s just because it’s nice outside).  And I make the effort to move my ass from here to there, rather than spend all my time sitting on it.  But I have to admit, as far as exercise goes, that’s really it.  Every once in awhile I’ll do a 30 minute workout that I see on fitTV or I spend a few minutes lifting my little 5lb hand weights.  But that’s all.

Having said that, for a little while now I’ve been pondering what the next step for me — exercise wise –  should be.  With the amount of vigorous walking that I do, I feel like I’m getting a good amount of cardio in.  But I’m totally lacking in the strength training department.  And that’s a problem, because while I’m losing weight, I’m not losing that much flab.  My stomach is still huge and I’m fairly convinced that if I flapped my arms hard enough, I could probably take off.  I just feel like it’s time for me to start building muscle, but doing that requires equipment and knowledge that I simply don’t have.

And so enters the gym dilemma.

Here’s the thing, I’m NOT a gym person.  I absolutely abhor the notion of going into a room, full of (rock hard fit) people I don’t know, and doing the horrid, embarrassing, sweaty, smelly things that are required to peel off yet another layer of my fat.  Just thinking about it makes me cringe.  And yet, I know that if I’m really serious about all of this being about more than simply losing weight and if I’m honest when I say that I don’t just want to be thin not fat anymore, that I truly want to be healthy, then I’m going to have to do *something* besides walk each night.

So… today, I went to the gym.

A girlfriend of mine belongs to a local gym and for a couple of months now she’s been singing its praises and telling me that I should go along with her.  She really wants me to join (she says she’s desperate for a workout buddy) and so she offered to let me use a few of the free guest passes that she is given each month.   I told her that I would go once school was out, so she called me yesterday and we made a date to meet at the gym this morning.

The truth is, despite all my hesitation, I went into it with a pretty open mind.  I even told my husband this morning while he was brushing his teeth that I was kind of excited about it.  But by the time I got into the car and was heading there, my excitement was bubbling over.  I had the top down in my car, my shades and my work out clothes on and my “gym bag” and two big bottles of water in the passenger seat.  I was going to “the gym” so I could “work out.”  I felt sooooo cool, man.

And then I got there.

My friend was waiting in the lobby.  She’d already told the receptionist, a size -2 teenager, about me.  They had me fill out some paperwork and then, because I was a guest, and not a member, I was on my own.  The place was HUGE.  There was a cardio room, a weight room, a pilates room, a yoga room, a full gymnasium, racquetball courts, a swimming pool, a locker room, and a smoothie bar.  All of which, were jam packed with people whose combined body fat didn’t equal even a 10th of mine.

But still, I trudged on.

I started in the locker room where I was greeted by lots of half naked to completely naked skinny girls.  A dream come true for others, perhaps, but no so much for me.  Luckily, I was able to find my way to a locker with my eyes closed, where I stored my stuff and then fumbled my way out and upstairs to the cardio room.  There I found an open spinning machine.  The moment I sat down, the size 0 girl to my left groaned.  She literally groaned.  I tried to smile and make eye contact, but she wasn’t having any of it. She rolled her eyes and groaned as if to say “oh great.” Apparently, sitting next to a fat girl at the gym was not her idea of a quality work out.  But, not to be deterred, I spent the next 10 minutes trying to figure how to a) adjust the seat so that I could actually reach the pedals, b) get both of my feet into the plastic strappy things and c) turn the damned thing on.  Of course, I was in the front row.  Lots of people saw me struggling.  No one offered to help.  Eventually, however, I worked it all out and then, at last…  I was ready to spin!

And spin I did.  For 20 whole minutes.  I set the machine to a program that went from lower to higher intensity in small graduated spurts.  I pushed the resistance up to what seemed like a low to medium range and then I spun my little legs off.  The entire time,  the same phrase kept running through my mind:  “Don’t look at anyone… Don’t look at anyone… Don’t look at anyone… Fuck! You looked at someone!” <Repeat.>  I tried to watch one of the 10 televisions that were mounted to the wall, but I kid you not, they were ALL set to the food network.

*sigh*

After my 20 minutes of spinning, I took my jello legs back downstairs where I watched (but did not join) the pilates class (which my friend was a part of).   At this point I was very tempted to give up.  I cannot tell you how out of place and uncomfortable I felt, but instead I decided to head back upstairs to the weight room to see what strength training, which was why I was there in the first place, was all about.  Two things I noticed right away:  a) everyone in the weight room looked *very* serious about pumping iron and b) every single one of them had a trainer/friend either telling them how to do it or cheering them on while they were doing it.  And it was then that I realized that there was no way I was ever going to be able to do that.  I watched for a few more minutes but then headed back downstairs where I dodged more naked girls, grabbed my stuff and then left.   And I don’t think I’ve ever felt so relieved as I did the moment I walked out that door.

On the way home, I called my friend to apologize for leaving early.  She didn’t answer, of course, but I left her a voice mail and explained that the gym simply wasn’t for me.

At this point, the old me would have headed to the nearest Burger King to drown my sorrows/embarrassment in an elephant sized order of french fries, but instead I went home, threw about a dozen blueberries into a cup of yogurt and sat down to write this post.

And here’s the really surprising part: I’m not upset at all about it.  Truly.  In fact, the more I think about it, the more thankful I am that I had the chance to go and to confirm what I already suspected.  Sure, it was all very embarrassing and uncomfortable, but it’s over now and I’ve learned something:  I am not a gym person.  The gym is not for me.  Great.  Now I can cross that option off my list.

The thing to do now, of course, is to figure out what *is* for me.  Clearly, this is easier said than done and the truth is, I haven’t a clue where to begin.  If the gym isn’t for me, then I don’t have that many options left, beyond buying more exercise equipment to keep here — but that doesn’t really solve the problem of not knowing how to use it.  *shrugs*  For now, I’m not going to worry.  I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing *and* do my best to have a little faith in myself.  I may not have all the answers, but I’ve done alright so far.  I’m sure, given a little time, I’ll figure this out too.

*fingers crossed*

Listen to this…

Perfectionism may seem like a desirable trait, but to boost your health, aim for “just enough.” “Trying to do everything right promotes an all-or-nothing attitude,” says Martin Binks, PhD, a psychologist at the Duke Diet and Fitness Center in Durham, NC. So if you can’t do something perfectly (i.e., work out an hour a day), you don’t do anything at all (i.e., watch TV instead).

And this…

A better mindset: Believe that every little bit counts. “It’s small changes that are most effective,” Binks says. So forget perfect!

Gosh. This really hits home for me. Though I would never label myself as a perfectionist, I can definitely remember numerous instances wherein my attitude has fallen into the “all-or-nothing” category. Although it seems silly, I frequently find myself thinking things like, “well, it’s too late to exercise for a full hour, so what’s the point?” or “If I’m not going to walk my full 3 mile route, then why bother walking at all?”

I’m telling you, this kind of stuff is hard to admit, because frankly, it sounds like the rantings of a complete lunatic, but if I’m going to be completely honest then I have to tell you that I also play these kinds of games with food. Let’s say, for example, that on my way to work I inexplicably find myself at Starbucks sucking down an iced venti no whip white mocha (which happens more frequently than I care to admit)… often, later in the day, I will use that slip up as an excuse to NOT make the right choices AGAIN: “Well, I already drank about 500 calories this morning, so I might as well eat this brownie, right?” I fall into the “all-or-nothing” mentality, adopting a “what’s the point?” attitude as though one (albeit big) slip-up has ruined the entire day.

And here’s the thing, that kind of defeatism is not only unhealthy, but it’s also really, really stupid.

And what’s more, I realize it’s just an excuse, an easy way for me to bargain my way out of having to exercise or eat right at all, but man, I don’t think I really realized how much I did that until I read this article in which the authors outline what they call the Good Enough Guide to Healthy Living. In each category they identify the “gold standard,” or the things that we would all do every day in a perfect world… but then they go onto to discuss what they term “good enough” goals *and* the significant health benefits that can result from even making small changes in your life.

The exercise one was a biggie for me, but there’s something to be learned, I feel, from their suggestions in all of the categories.

That said, I think part of my problem lately has been that I started expecting way too much of myself. I had a few kick-ass months, ate right, exercised frequently and took off more weight than I ever thought possible, but it was wrong to expect that kind of performance, and thus those kinds of results, from myself all of the time. Even though I didn’t see it at the time, it’s clear to me now that I set my goals a little too high and when I found myself in a position where I couldn’t achieve them, I just threw my hands up in the air and said “why bother?”

*sigh*

You know, so many of my favorite weight-loss bloggers have been quiet lately, and I have to tell you that I’m worried that they too are adrift in a high calorie, low self-esteem sea. To that end, a long time ago, Krissie wrote a post that I’ve actually quoted several times now. In it she said…

I am a new person most of the time. And that’s good enough. I’m never going to be perfect. But I can be healthy repeatedly, and let that crowd out my mistakes.

I know she gets tired of me quoting her all of the time, but I think there’s a lot of wisdom in those words. Furthermore, I think that if we all cut ourselves a little slack now and then, we’d probably all be far better off.

So… however I go about getting back in the swing of things *this* time, I know one thing for sure. I’m going to really, really try to not allow myself to fall into the trap of “all-or-nothing.” Like Krissie, I too am a new person *most* of the time. And, I bet if you think about it, you are too. None of us are going to be perfect all of the time. But we *can* do the right thing repeatedly. And the thing I’m starting to realize is… that really *is* good enough.