Balancing The Scales

The Journey Of Losing 30 Pounds Starts With...Meh, What The Hell Do I Know?

So.

I've started [yet aFUCKINGgain] to keep track of my weight, eating and physical exercise.  I weighed myself about 2 weeks ago.

Um.

165.

That's about 30 pounds to lose.

*sigh*

I've lost around that amount of weight probably twice before.  Maybe three times.  And here I am again.  I gain weight for lots of *reasons.*  I am aware that other people use the word *excuses* but I'm not partial to it, feeling that it's sort of...punitive?  Making Weight and Eating and Not Working Out, like, Moral Issues.  I am also aware, that for lots of people, making Weight and Eating and Not Working Out a kind of Moral Issue is Motivating. 

For me, it is the opposite of motivating.

And thus: To me, they are reasons.

I began gym-going and exercising near the end of high school.  I was toned and fit and in great condition, physically.  The first time I gained a lot of weight was my sophomore year in college.  (The BK-Three-Times-A-Day and the 'Bar None Runs' to the vending machine caught up with me.) 

I lost that weight between senior year and the following year.  By working out and having a Paid-Attention-To diet.

The next time I gained a lot of weight was in grad school.  Or, rather, the year after grad school, when I was working full time and doing my thesis.  (Chicken Cheese Steak dinners [pre-veggie days!] and too little sleep and absolutely NO exercise.)

I lost that weight after a couple years, I think.  Maybe not all of it.

Then, I went on a vacation to Italy, France and England.  In the way that often happens to me, I had an epiphany there, thing upon thing, converged to bring me some kind of new awareness.  Seeing the women of Europe, even those in the country of my people, was sobering and eye-opening. 

I lost the rest of the weight and then some, maybe 6 years ago.

And then, my mom died.  And I had two kids. 

And here I am.

Each time that I've gained weight, it has been due--in total, really--to a stressful situation which seems to [pulverize] knock out my Paying Attention to what I'm eating and my Consistent, if not moderate exercise.  I eat with abandon and I literally don't exercise. Like, at all.  Or, if I do, it is negligible.  Negligible! 

So, I don't really know what to make of that. (Are you all, 'Maybe next time figure it out BEFORE you hit publish?)

I have spent a lot of time thinking about how inconsistent I am.  I have berated myself, I think, for continually stopping and starting.  At the very least, I have wished that my range had a top and a bottom that were, you know, maybe TEN pounds apart, instead of THIRTY.

And yet.

In my cycles that wax and wane, I easily overlook the times that I've 'Waxed on Exercise and Paying Attention to Eating' and 'Waned on Not Exercising and Shoving My Face,' in favor of feeling and living in the frustration of having to 'do it all over again.'

Does that make sense?

I've been in great shape in my lifetime.  I mean, great shape.  More than once. (I'm not just talking about weight.) And for me (and I'm ONLY speaking for me, trust,) it doesn't take a whole lot of painful sacrifice to get where I want to be.  I remember the last time that I was Waxing on Exercise and Paying Attention to Eating, a coworker asked me 'what I was doing.'  I told her that I was just exercising regularly and watching what I ate.  'Oh, I don't want to hear about that,' she said.

I clearly remember thinking that there is no terrible sacrifice for me when I'm doing the things that will get me to my goal.  It just (for me! ONLY ME!) takes a consistent, day-in-day-out performance. 

That's where I get hung up.  In case you're new here or are the Biggest Skimmer Ever.

But why don't I look at it through a new viewfinder?  Like, why don't I think that I've done this before and so...I know how to do it?  I know what to do.  My body is strong and it remembers.  It wants to remember.  Why don't I think, in the morning, that each day is like a bead on an abacus, that could move me toward or away from my goal?  So, each day, all day, I've only got to deal with, you know, that day? 

I think I'll try it.

I want to lose the weight.

I don't like the way I look right now but I don't disgust myself.  I have no self-loathing for the way I look, even if I don't accept or embrace it.  If you know what I'm saying.  I don't feel like a bad person or a failure for getting myself here.  I'm not proselytizing the new religion of *fitness.*  I'm not making excuses for why I've gained the weight.  I'm not lying to myself about the effort that will be necessary to take it off and keep it off.

I'm not wanting to be perfect.  I don't think I'm going to be super happy or that all my problems will go away.  I don't think it's all about looks. Although, I prefer my body a smaller size and I want to fit into my old clothes.

I'm not judging, though, if you want to lose weight, or lost weight, in order to feel more attractive.  Or, if you think it's more attractive to be slim.  Or, even, if you think it's the *only* attractive and that *everyone* should be slim.  I'm not judging if self-reproach or making physical activity/food intake a kind of moral issue is motivating to you.  I'm really and truly not. 

I'm not judging you, even if you're judging me. 

I'm a firm believer in the Whatever Works for You school of thought.  There's room enough for all of us on this great big ball of dirt on which we all reside.  Even if some of us are chubby.

I want to lose the 30 pounds. 

Maybe, possibly, hopefully, for the last time.

OMFGPICTURESOMGHOLYHELL

Okay. So, holy hell, I took pictures. I figured that it would help me to SEE what's what. And boy, HOWDY, did it. It was a little bit of a shock to me to see what's been going on under the skin, if you will.  It is good motivation for me to press a little in the exercise/eating better department.

There's a funny joke to be had about the horrible kid smudges on the mirror.

.

 

And the kid clothes in the hallway behind me.

.

But I'm just MESMERIZED over here.

Ahem.

Surreal.

It is surreal to me, looking back at the previous posts here and the entries in my food/exercise log from before.  The latest one I had was from before I was pregnant with my daughter. And then the entries just stop.  I had lost a significant amount of weight and was maintaining when I got pregnant.  I was super sick and didn't gain much and so, didn't have much to lose that first time. 

But she was a tough infant and I slowly gained after the year + of deprivation and when I got pregnant with my son, I was maybe 10lbs above where I wanted to be.  I gained an average/typical amount of weight with him (25 lbs, I think) but I didn't lose that much and so now, here I am, trying to rid myself of baby weight plus just regular weight.

Also surreal to me, though, is my SHAPE.  It is not at all what it was when I gained weight before.  My middle is still, DISTENDED almost.  I still look pregnant four months later.  I don't know when that goes away...I'm assuming it does, more or less, with diet and exercise, yes?  I mean, of all the women I know, the only ones who look pregnant are the ones who are, you know PREGNANT (or just post-partum.)

Sigh.

Here are my measurements.  I am up so much from the entries of 2/06 that it is a little weird.

Bi: 11in
Chest 40.25
Waist: 39.5
Gut: 41.5
Hips: 40.5
Butt: 42.5
Thighs: 24.75
Knees: 18.25
Calves: 14.5

Whoa.

I'll post pictures if I can get around to taking them. OMG.

2/5/10

The last time I posted was a little over a year ago. It's simultaneously impossible and so easy to believe.  I had the baby. I have lots of baby weight. I also have lots of eating-too-much-and-too-much-garbage-and-not-working-out-enough weight. So, you know, there's THAT.

164

That's the number. That's where I'm starting. I can't find my effing tape measure (Thanks, Kid!) so, I may need a new one.

I am working to keep my head right.  That's usually my key. I'm trying to focus on paying attention and knowing the number is the first step for me.

Goals for now:

1) Pay attention to what I'm eating.

2) Calm down/eat relaxed (amazing how I find myself SHOVELING in, as fast as possible. Chewing another bite WHILE STILL SWALLOWING the first bite. GAH.)

3) Do what I can, as much as I can, whenever I can for exercise. (So, if I CAN, I really MUST and if I CAN'T b/c of kids, schedule, then I can try but don't fret.)

4) Trying for one treat a day. (I'd like to cut down more than that but I need to WEAN, I think. Maybe that's part of my problem.)

5) Don't eat after 8pm. (Trying it.)

6) Weigh and measure regularly.

OMG.

I was ker-AZY this holiday season, folks.

KER. AZY.

But I'm over it now.  The cookies are all [in mah belly] gone, the candy is [in mah belly] done and I got a couple new books for the recumbent bike cardio-fest.

I'm good to go. 

Weights and measures going up later this week.

How are you guys?

Well, There's One Way To Get The Heart Rate Up.

Here's my New Plan: I'm going to go to the gym every morning from Monday-Thursday (I babysit The Nephew on Friday Mornings.)  I'm going to do Cardio on Mondays/Wednesdays for 45 minutes and on Tuesday/Thursday, I'm going to do shorter Carido workouts and an all-body-combination-type free-weight and/or machine workout.  Anyone have any good ones that they like?  I'm still shooting to add a day (or afternoon workout, perhaps a yoga class or some other flexibility type workout in per week.)

We'll talk about the eating later in the week *hem hem.*

Anyway.

I took The Littlest New Girl to The Kids' Club today.  As you may remember, she's a little touch and go in there.  Although, I have to say that since the summer?  She's been pretty steady-amazing.  She stays in there, playing with the 'Bay-bies' for a full 40-45 minutes before whining commences.  WhoooYAY!

I still don't dawdle in the dropping-off portion, mind.  I [dump and run, yo] escort her in, supply her with the requisite [germ-trap] bay-bies and I'm off to self-improve.  Most of the employees of the kids' club are fine.  A-okay with me.  TLNG needs not so much in the way of care, really, as what benefits her most is, er, a little [backing the fuck up off her] space and a place to roam.  As she's fully bipedal now, the world is her [place to trash] oyster.

So, today I go in and the woman behind the counter (read: not supervising the kids, but looking at the computer screen) is an older woman, whom I've seen once.  That time I saw her, she was surrounded by kids but had another person working with her.  She left a hand-made sign up sheet out, in which I was supposed to transcribe all my own information in for her to put into the computer later.  WTF? I'd never seen it before and so I asked her if the computer was broken (which is how every other employee enters your info.)  'No,' she told me, 'I just keep that there so I can do it when I get around to it.'

Um.

Kay.

Today I went in and I'm saying, she's standing at the computer while my kid is in there, finding her own babies with the other kids, and I leave my keys there and try to [skate because, woman, the clock is ticking] get my stuff and leave. I put my name on the sheet but I figure, fuck, you're standing right there and so I skip the rest.  But I'm aggravated.  Because she's got, like, some fucking show on the tv that is obviously for her and not the kids.  It wasn't anything super inapropriate but someone talking about [how to contact your dead next of kin] 'mediums' or whatever.  Not that I need my kid getting hooked on yet ANOTHER kid-show blah blah, but for whatever reason?  It pissed me off.

Then she turned around and told me that I had to write my barcode and my name on the sheet.

And I snapped at her. 

I told her that I left my keys for her and all the information was right on there and no one else has a sign in and then?  I left.

I have no idea why she pissed me off so or why I [acted like a three-year-old] reacted that way.  TLNG was fine and didn't fuss, despite the few minutes extra I stood around to bite a head off.  And when I came back, my girl was walking around in the midst of a gazillion kids, playing and having fun.

I gave the woman a half-assed smile but I didn't apologize.

I didn't have an appetite for crow today.

In Fits And Starts

I found this post in my drafts and yet I have a strong recollection of having posted it.  I can't find it in my archives, though.  WTF?  Maybe I published it on The New Girl?  I don't remember.  I wrote it when I was struggling to start LAST TIME and then I was in an okay groove and then I lost my mind and gained 10 pounds and here I am AGAIN.  *Sigh*

In Fits and Starts.

That is how I've lived my life in lots of aspects.  Namely, aspects that generally require a level of sustained discipline, energy or focus to achieve in.  I suppose that makes sense, if you think about it.  I mean, if an aspect didn't require a sustained effort, there wouldn't BE any fitting or starting in the first place.

For me, the biggest areas for The Fitsnstarts are things like, doing housework, keeping organized (like the incoming mail, bank statements, etc.), finishing creative projects and of course, self-care (working out, eating healthy.)  And here's the thing: when I'm 'in the groove' and on top of things, getting things done, working out, eating healthy, caring for myself and others, I feel GOOD.  I am energized and I have a general feeling of calm and satisfaction.  When I'm 'out of the groove,' it's just the opposite (no surprise there.) I don't feel good in or about myself. I know I'm avoiding things, which increases my general sense of anxiety and malaise. Twice in my life, I've let myself get about 30-40lbs overweight and twice in my life, I've eventually taken it off through focusing on what I'm eating and how much I'm exercising.

So then, WHY THE STOPPING?  Why is there any FITTING at all?  Why is there not just STARTING and STAYING?

Usually for me, it's a big thing that knocks me out of orbit and then it takes me FOREVER to get back to a good pattern.  The first time it was going away to college (natch), then it was grad school (both times, incidentally, I held to my good pattern through the first year, it was in the second year that I succumbed to the illusion of convenience, etc.)  Then it was writing my thesis.  After that, I think there was a longer period of a series of stressful things.  Then my mom died and then I got pregnant and then I had a crazy-demanding infant. 

And now, here I am.  Trying to start again.

Most times, when I've come out of being out of it, (if that makes ANY sense whatsoever), there has been some kind of catalyst, some kind of realization about myself and my situation.  In retrospect, these moments have usually been the culmination of more unconscious awarenesses that have been 'percolating' in the background.  They finally gel and coalesce and then they rush forward, puncturing my denial and avoidance with the quickness.

This time around, despite having recently had a baby, I'm not overweight.  The pregnancy was so difficult that I weigh now what I did before I got pregnant.  I could still lose 5-10 pounds, but the bigger issue this time is the absolute depletion and lack of strength that I feel in my body.  The changes in my body, mind, spirit and emotions after becoming a mother are still unfolding and have/are impact(ing) me daily.  The catalyst this time is my impending 40th birthday, I think.  As an older mom, I feel like it's my responsibility to care for myself as well as I can, to be around as long as possible for my girl.  (p.s. I know that I could get hit by a bus tomorrow, don't nit-pick.  I'm talking about controlling what I can, obv.)

So, I'm starting again.  Instead of being super angry at myself for 'letting go' of a healthy lifestyle, I'm just going to do what I can.  I'm going to go back and brush up on the structure that I made for myself the last time I was in a groove (which, incidentally, I thought would be the LAST TIME.)  I'm going to try to eat healthier and exercise more.  I'm going to try to take better care of myself than I have been.  I think the rigors of my mother-schedule may preclude a linear start to my start but I'm going to do my best. 

I'm going to try to be at peace with The Fitsnstarts.  I think that's the only real way to figure it all out.

Eventually.

Maybe.

What's Up, Yo (-Yo)?

I'm coming to terms with the fact that within a somewhat limited range, I'm up and down like a you-know-what.  I'm no yo-yo dieter.  I don't really diet, per se.  I just go through periods where I drop the working out to an insufficient level and up the eating to an overly-sufficient level and VIOLA! 

Size 12 pants.*

So, I'm *renewing* my commitment to myself re: working out, eating better and being conscious and mindful.  I've yet to weigh myself.  It's going to be a wee bit painful, I think.  But honesty is the best policy (for me, anyway), so I'm going to do it tomorrow morning and post it here, for fuck's sake.

I'm putting off the Thinking About WHY I'm up and down and up and down, at least for a little while.

One thing at a time.



*I'm not like, totally freaking and/or obsessing about the pants size, I'm just being honest about the latest weight gain.  I mean, it's not like *fabulous* to be buying bigger pants but you know, I'm keeping it all in perspective.  I think.

Don't Say That I Didn't Warn You

Oh, hey HAI!  How are yooooou doing?

Heh heh.

Me?  I decided to go on a CRUISE.  Yes, yes.  A CRUISE TO NOWHERE on the beautiful ship, The Princess Whatthefuck? 

It was a LONG TRIP filled with many, endless buffets and DESSERTS.  They don't have any scales on board and no gym, either, so no real working out.  But guess what they DO have?  SIZE 12 PANTS!

Whoooop  Whoop!

*Sigh*

I thought about you, though.  All five of you who have this [sorry excuse for a fitness] blog in your readers. I was going to send you a post card but I was too busy eating and not thinking about the consequences, yo.

I told you that I'm a Fits-n-Starts kind of girl.  I'm not sure what really knocked me out of orbit this time.  I got sick (a couple times) and The Littlest New Girl got sick (a couple of times) and it just seemed that time slipped away and ice cream slipped down my throat.  I kept some momentum with working out, but not too much until a week or so before Thanksgiving.

So, here I am.  Starting again.  I haven't weighed myself since the last time I published it here, I don't think.  But according to the size 12 pants, I'd guess that I'm up.  I marvel at people who can just...stay stable and keep to a routine, year in and year out.  It's a Mental Glitch that I have, for SURE.  I know that much.  More to figure out after we dock.

I have to go...we're disembarking.

See you soon.

Days Three and Four and Are You Fucking KIDDING Me?

Yesterday was Day Three of my plan.  And?  Perfect.  AGAIN. 

Friends, words cannot adequately express the enormity of my surprise (along with the surprise of every single person who has known my child for longer than a week.)  And while I am absolutely DELIGHTED at this flip-of-the-switch turnabout, I am leery and cynical and mistrusting by nature.  I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop (read: waiting for this kid to finally get hep to the jive and let me have it.)

Let me refresh your memory regarding the details of my plan (don't roll your eyes, it's impolite).  I was taking my morning fast-walks and THEN going to the gym, a mere half-hour before nap-time.  Just to lift one body part [with the speed of a road-runner, beep beep zip BANG] with the quickness before going in to rescue her from her torture.

But there's been NOTHING.  Not one day of crying.  Even after she's spent upwards of 20 minutes there.

SO.

Today (day 4) I decided to [put her little ass to the test] see if we were in some kind of alternate day-care universe or if she really was making progress.  We didn't go on our usual morning walk.  I decided since [I'm sore as hell from the jogging and the lifting] it was a 'rest day' for the weights, I'd just skip the outside walk and try to do a whole cardio session (40 min + 5 min cool down on a recumbent bike).

And it turns out?

She really seems to be making progress.

She was in that Kid's Club for almost FIFTY MINUTES.  The woman said that she started to 'fret' a little after about 35 minutes or so.

When I got there she smiled and hugged me, crawled into the little baby room, took a box of toys off the shelf and continued playing for 10 more minutes.  And trust me, when you're used to your eardrums bleeding with the volume of the screaming that never ends?  A little fret is a walk in the fucking park. 

Or, er, a bike ride in the gym.