Giddy-on-up, horsie!

So, I was riding the weight-loss horse really well.

Something unexpected happened - I can't even remember what it was. The horse got spooked, and I got bucked off.

Not only did my tail end get bruised, but once I was down, I stayed down.

Story of my life.

I'm so mad at myself, because I was doing so well! I was on a roll! I was showing stick-to-it-ive-ness! I was making a healthy lifestyle into a *gasp!* habit!

And then in a moment, it was over.

I know, I could have gotten right back on that horse. But, it was like I was trekking through the Swamp of Sadness in The Neverending Story. You don't just fall in that muck and then get back up. Plus, my horse was in danger of getting sucked into the swamp as well.

So now that I've had a few weeks to wander through this swamp, get good and dirty, and pretty much feel crappy about myself, I'm ready to do what needs to be done to get back on the horse. I'm not sure why today is different than the day before, when I wasn't ready. Maybe it's that today I'm making a choice to be proactive. I will happen today, instead of just letting today happen.

So, I am choosing to get on the horse.
I'm choosing to climb out of the muck
I am choosing to happen.
Today.

How about you?


Image Attribution: By Thomas Reich (Auftragsarbeit) [CC-BY-SA-2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5)], via Wikimedia Commons

In It For the Long Haul

Today I had an epiphany of sorts. I was feeling frustrated. I lost weight this week. 1.2 pounds bit the dust, and I'm thankful that they are no longer part of me. I wasn't frustrated that this is the smallest weight loss I've had in the past 10 weeks - though it is. I can be okay with that. After all, I can't keep up the three and four pound weeks forever.

No, my frustration is in how long it takes to get rid of extra weight. I've lost 20 pounds in the past 10 weeks, and I'm happy with that. I've been working hard, and it's coming off nicely. I'm frustrated that I could easily gain 40 pounds or more in 10 weeks. It sucks that it's easier to put on than to take off.

So unfair.

But, even though I'm frustrated with how long it takes to change, my epiphany was this:

Time is going to continue to move on whether I lose weight or not.
Next year is going to come.
October 2015 will be here regardless of my weight loss efforts.
There is nothing I can do to slow down, or speed up time.

The only thing I can control is what I put in my mouth, the decisions I make, the commitments I keep.

And then next year, If I stay on track, losing little by little, I'll reap the rewards of my hard work. Twenty pounds will turn into fifty. Fifty will turn into a hundred. Just keep taking one step at a time. Little by little. And stay on track.

That's my pep talk for today.

Saturday Update

I've been a dedicated little Weight Watcher-er this week, lemme tell ya.

Wednesday evening my walking buddy, Audra, and I decided to brave a break in the rain and tried to get in our walking that night.

We took all of three steps and the skies broke open with a deluge of rain. This was no gentle misting of rain - oh no - it was an absolute downpour.

Undaunted, we headed on, thinking it would surely pass in just a few minutes.

Not so.

We had to shelter underneath a pavilion, however, it soon became evident that the storm was not going to let up, and so we continued walking.

By the time we finished one mile, we were completely soaked. Wet, and cold, we decided to forego mile number 2, and went home.

We came back the next night, though, and walked 2 more miles.

Wow, what dedication!!
Excuse me while I pat my own back for a minute.

But, because of our extreme dedication, and spending another week of tracking my eating faithfully, let to....

Wait for it.....

Wait....

2.7 pounds gone this week!!

Woo hoo! I made it to my 5% goal, and have now gotten rid of 19 pounds in the last 9 weeks.

Check out that graph!!

I just want to make the point that I haven't "lost" those pounds.

I've gotten rid of them.

I know exactly where those 19 pounds went. They're hanging around the track at the park where I walk 3 days a week. They're sitting on the shelves of the grocery store as I walk past unhealthy choices, and make my way to the produce section. They're at the back of the parking lot where I park my car, so that I have to walk a half mile just to get to the front door (well, it feels like it anyway). They're sitting next to my iPad, where I log what I've eaten and how much every day. And they're on the floor of the kitchen, hanging out where I've said "no" to myself over and over again, going to bed early instead of giving in.

I know where those pounds have gone. They're not "lost" at all.

I've gotten rid of every single one of them through hard work and determination.

Non-Scale-Victory!

Today was weigh-in day for me, however, due to....issues....I decided not to weigh in. Women issues. Monthly issues. Let's just leave it at that, shall we.

Nobody wants to weigh in when they're bloated and b*tchy.

Not even me.

So, I took a week off the scale. That doesn't mean I took a week off of staying on track. I'll admit, I struggled with tracking every single day. We lost our internet connection at home for several days, and I usually don't have the foresight to track my food at work, so I got home several days in a row and wasn't able to look up the Weight Watchers points on some foods. But, I still tracked mentally, and stayed within my points.

I just needed a meeting without weighing in today, and that's okay.

So, I didn't get the self-congratulatory confirmation of seeing the numbers go down on the scale, but I did get another affirmation that I'm on the right track.

A non-scale victory, my friends, or an NSV, for short.

Yesterday was jeans day at work, and I wore a pair that I bought just this past July, when I was at my highest weight. Yesterday, I was worried that someone would pull on them, and they'd fall off. This morning, I showed my husband how loose they are on me. I still had on my sweat pants from my morning walk, and I could pull them on over my sweats, without unbuttoning them, and could still pull out several inches of extra material. 

I think they are going to be shelved from now on. 

So, that was my first NSV. I have lost so much weight, that my newest pair of jeans are no longer wearable. 

The second NSV happened when I searched for something to wear today. I bought those pair of jeans because all of my other jeans were too small for me, and I needed something for "Friday Jeans Day" at work. I looked through my closet, and pulled out a pair of jeans I bought almost exactly a year ago, and could only fit in for a few weeks. I pulled them on, and a zip and a snap later, they fit!

I love shopping in my closet!

I'm really looking forward to the weeks to come, as I continue to lose weight. This summer, I inherited a big box of clothes from one of my besties who recently lost a lot of weight, and though the clothes were a couple sizes too small for me at the time, I was hoping to get back down to that size so I could wear them.

Now, I'm doing more than hoping. I'm actually doing something about it. I'm going to give myself a few more pounds to lose, and then I'm going to go through the box and see what fits. I'm excited and looking forward to that time. 

It's time for me to plan for the week ahead. What am I going to continue to do to be successful, and what did I do last week that I need to change?

My goal is to be down to the official 15 lb. mark, according to Weight Watchers records, and thus, reach my 5% goal. I was almost there last week, so this week, I'm determined to continue tracking my food, exercising with my walking buddy, and being mindful of what I put in my body. 

I can do this! 

You can too, you know. 

Another Pound Bites the Dust!

Actually, 3.4 pounds bit the dust this week. Woo hoo! Weight Watchers says I've only lost 13.4 pounds since my start weight, but I'm counting from my "get-your-sh*t-together-and-get-this-done" moment after we visited with Lily's nutritionist about her too high BMI.

So, counting from then, when I weighed 295 pounds, I've lost 16.4 pounds. Here, you can see the handy-dandy line plot that Weight Watchers provides on their website for me each week. I love seeing the trend line pointed down at a sharp curve. Makes me feel good about what I've been doing, and encouraged to keep it up.

That bump in the road is from a few weeks ago when I dislocated my shoulder. If you read that post, you'll know why that is also known as when I didn't poop for a week. No wonder I gained a few pounds that week. But, I got right back on track with the weight losing wagon.

Now, I'm down to 278.6. I have less then 2 pounds to go to get to my 15 pound mark (for my official Weight Watchers award...which is a sticker, actually - stickers motivate me for some silly reason) AND to meet my 5% goal. I get a fancy doodad for my keychain when I meet that goal. Woo hoo!

So, here's to another week of planning, being prepared, tracking my food, saying no to trigger foods, being mindful of every bite, tracking my food, exercising with my buddy, drinking my water, tracking my food, believing in myself, and tracking my food. Do you see a pattern here?

Anyone wanna lose a couple pounds with me this week? What are you going to do to be successful this week, too?

Weigh In Saturday

Last week, I was in too much pain to type, so I was sadly unable to post an update on my weight loss journey. I had dislocated my shoulder, and was unable to type very quickly, not to mention that I was in a drug-induced stupor for most of my time.

So, last Saturday, I had a gain. 2.6 lbs. I was a little upset about it. I had been careful all week long. With my injury, I had to stay home, and I was very careful not to let myself get the munchies and go crazy. I don't do well when I'm not in my regular routine. But, I think the pain killers probably had something to do with my gain, as well as something...else.

I'm a lefty, and I was very fortunate that it my right shoulder that was dislocated, so I could still write and eat without a problem. However, I'm fairly ambidextrous, and I use my right hand to do all sorts of things, like cut with scissors, throw a ball, use a computer mouse, bowl, hit a ball with a bat, and oh yes, wipe my butt.

So, perhaps it was all psychological, or maybe it was also a bit of the drugs causing my plumbing to get backed up, but things were not moving as well as they should have. In other words, I didn't poop for nearly a week after my shoulder episode. I imagine that probably had a lot to do with my weight gain as well.

Aren't you so glad you read this blog?

A few days later, my shoulder magically popped itself back into place, and now all seems to be well with the world. Plus, I stayed on track and lost 4 pounds in one week!

Woo hoo!

Since I rejoined Weight Watchers in April, I've now lost 10 pounds. However, I was not terribly motivated all summer long, and my weight kept bouncing up and down over the same 5 pounds. It wasn't until six weeks ago, when we went to see my daughter's nutritionist about her increasing BMI that I really got serious and started trying to stick to the plan. I had gained more than my starting weight in April, and so I count that as my true beginning, because that's when I started caring and trying. So, in the last 6 weeks, I've lost 13 pounds, and have only gained once - the week that I was hurt.

I'm feeling super proud of myself for staying on track, writing down my food nearly every day, and eating within my WW points. Somedays have been a real struggle. A parent brought in plates of donuts the other day - a day full of meetings at school. It was hard to resist, but I kept my WHY in mind the whole time. My kids. My reason for trying so hard.

At the Weight Watchers meeting this morning, my 10 pound loss was celebrated, and the leader asked what I'd changed, and how I was able to have such a great week. I couldn't help tearing up as I told the group that I had finally found my WHY, the reason that I'm not allowed to quit, or get lazy, or not try my hardest. I confessed how guilty I felt when I found out that my daughter's BMI was too high, and how I could see myself in her as an overweight seven-year-old. There's no way I'm going to be as blase as my parents were about it.

Although we're not putting her on a diet, we're just trying to increase veggies, decrease carbs, and eliminate junk, we've been surprised to see that she's lost 5 pounds herself over the last six weeks. She hasn't always liked the changes, especially if half of her plate is covered with veggies that she's not crazy about, but she's done really well.

Here's to continued success. Hopefully the next six weeks will end up with another 10 pound loss to celebrate.

The Words We Say to Ourselves

This morning, at my Weight Watchers meeting, the topic was centered on the words we say to ourselves. The leader asked us to write down the internal dialogue we have with ourselves when we're feeling stuck or discouraged. These were some of the responses that were shared:

I'll never be able to do this.

I'm not good enough.

I'll fail at this too.

I didn't lose enough this week.

Will I ever get this right?

I'm a failure.

I might as well give up.

It's validating to know I'm not the only one who thinks these things. I'm not the only one who has a discouraging inner dialogue going on in my head. We're in this together, and everyone feels discouraged at times.

The thing is, we'd never say these words to someone else. I would never say them to a friend, or even a stranger. And I wouldn't accept it if someone else said those words to me. So why do I allow myself to say them to me?

I think these types of words give me an excuse to not try anymore. When I say these words I want to give myself an out.  All of those phrases are followed by the words, "so why bother trying" when I say them in my head.

After that, we wrote on another piece of paper the words that we would actually say if a friend was stuck and was feeling discouraged.

I wrote these words:

You have strength and resilience that you have not yet begun to tap. Believe in yourself as much as I do. You can do this.

I need to internalize those words and make them part of my daily self-talk, so that when I feel discouraged I can get busy with the work of lifting myself up, instead of putting myself down.

What words are you going to say to yourself today?

Finding My: Quitting Isn't an Option

I've been a Weight Watcher's member for a long time now. Off and on, for the past 10 years, with varying degrees of success. I know from my experience, that my success (and lack thereof) is completely, and absolutely 100% a product of where I am mentally.

People don't lose weight by chance.

Never have I have ever stepped on the scale and said, "Oh my, I lost 10 pounds this month. How did that happen?" I always know what has happened.

Weight loss is a mental game.

It's not about the food.

It's not about the exercise.

It's not about the grocery list that I ignore, or the trips to Quick Trip for a drink, or stopping by Sonic for an ice cream. It's about the mental state that I'm in when I do those things.

For a long time, I've felt that food has some sort of power over me. It has the power to make me happy, feel loved, soothe my hurt feelings, intoxicate me, placate me, entertain me, and so much more. I've really felt that it was the food doing that. But, I know it's not. It can't be. Food is just food. It just is. It doesn't love me like I love it. It doesn't sit around dreaming of me, like I do of it. It doesn't eagerly anticipate our next meeting, or hope that our time together will be a beautiful moment that we'll treasure forever. All of that, is me. Me and my mind, making something more out of food than it is.

It's just food.

I have to realize that it's just food. All the other stuff, the touchy-feely roller coaster of emotions that go along with eating - that's all me. Me, and my brain, making more out of food than it really is. It's just food.

Now, I realize that I can write this, as if I'm being very pragmatically impartial about the whole thing. As if I've gotten over it. Like food no longer has any sway over me.

Ha! That's not me at all.

The fact of the matter is, I still feel loved, soothed, placated, satiated, and entertained by food. I'm just starting to accept responsibility. It's ME that's causing these feelings. The food is just a conduit by which they arrive.

So, if food is still capable of being so much more to me than merely fuel, what do I do about that? That's been a question that I haven't been able to answer for a long time.

During Weight Watcher's meetings I'd sometimes hear people say something like, "You can try loosing weight for other people, but in the end, it needs to be about you. You have to do it for yourself."

I've tried losing weight for myself. Know what I found out? I'm a very forgiving person. Want to take a couple weeks off? No problem! Want to forget tracking all together? Sure, you go right on ahead and do that.

Trying to lose weight for me didn't work. I don't think it's because I don't love myself enough. I do love myself. It's just that losing weight for me isn't a big motivator.

And I think that's okay.

Other times I'd hear people say a phrase that completely baffled me at the time. These people would always be in the middle of losing weight. They weren't plateaued, they weren't playing around, they were committed, and the program was working for them. They'd say, "Quitting isn't an option."

Why? I'd think. Why wasn't quitting an option for them? It was for me. I quit often. Sometimes daily. What was it that had happened to them, or for them, that made it no longer an option?

I can't answer that. I think that's something they'd have to answer for themselves. I know that when I try to do the program, track my food, and follow the WW plan, that whenever I do it just for myself, that quitting is ALWAYS an option. It's not a good option, but it's still an option.

However, with our recent trip to the pediatrician, and finding out what I'd allowed to happen to my children, I found a reason to finally say, "Quitting isn't an option." I can't quit, because I have to help my kids. I have model a healthy lifestyle for them. I have to ensure they live in a healthy environment. I have to be around long enough to see them become healthy adults. It's not an option to quit this time. It's not an option to fail, either.

I don't mean that to say that I can't have bumps in the road. I know there will be plenty of bumps. I had one just yesterday at my niece's birthday party. There was a vast array of different flavored cupcakes available, and a whole lot of leftovers. Had there been only one choice, I probably would have had only one cupcake. Maybe two.

I had four.
Peanut butter.
Pineapple upside down cake.
Apple pie.
And Oreo.

You would have eaten four also. You know you would have.
After I'd eaten them, I suddenly realized that I was trying REALLY HARD to stay in control. How was eating four cupcakes going to help me stay in control? That was a bump in the road. And later that day, tracking those four cupcakes was really hard. I didn't want to be honest about them. I didn't want to count all those points. But, I did. Because quitting isn't an option. They used up a good portion of my daily points, and I had to be very conscious about what I ate for dinner that night. So, I had a moment of momentary forgetfulness, where I forgot my reason for trying so hard. But the moment I remembered, I reigned myself back in and got right back on track.

Go, me.

I've tracked consistently, nearly every single day for the past 3 weeks. I don't think I've EVER been so faithful to tracking. I've heard over-and-over how tracking what you eat is the #1 success indicator of people  who lose weight and keep it off. I don't know why I've bucked against it so much in the past. I'm hoping it becomes more and more second nature to me.

It seems to have helped, though. I lost another 2.2 lbs this week. That makes 8.6 pounds gone over the past three weeks, since our visit with the nutritionist and the kids' doctor. I am starting to see a few changes. I think I don't look quite as pregnant as before. Although my youngest was born more than two years ago, I've looked like I'm pregnant ever since. A few weeks ago, I'd say that I looked about 7 months pregnant. Now, I'd say I'm closer to 5 or 6 months. Hopefully, the fat baby will continue to shrink away. I'm ready to not look pregnant anymore.

If you're struggling, like I struggle. I hope you, too, can find your reason for why quitting isn't an option. It helps to have something to hold onto when your brain is telling you how good something will taste, or how marvelous it will make you feel. My kids are my anchor. What's yours?

The Power of Guilt

Ever since we found out that my kiddos' BMI is too high, we've been making some big changes in our house.

The kids' plates are filled 1/2 full with veggies. 1/4 with brown rice, or other starch. 1/4 with a lean meat. My plate looks exactly like theirs. That wasn't too big of a change. We just increased the amount of veggies, and decreased the amount of rice. So far, so good.

We've brought the kids' lunches/dinners/snacks when being babysat by family members, and have limited all artificially-flavored drinks and juices. Family members don't always get that, but so far, they've been respectful of our "water only" policy for the kids.

We have a few birthday events coming up, and even though they're not potlucks, we're still bringing our kids some veggies and fruit so they don't just eat pizza and junk. It may not be kosher to bring your own kids' food to a birthday party, but people are just going to have to be okay with it. I'm sure I'm more worried about hurting other people's feelings than they're concerned with us bringing in food.

I've been changing what I eat myself, too. It's so much a change in the WHAT, as it is in the HOW MUCH. Writing it all down, and logging it on my Weight Watchers tracker has really helped. I've lost 6.4 lbs. over the past 2 weeks.

I keep telling myself that I don't have the option anymore of not doing this the right way. I've given myself the option of quitting and giving up in the past, but now, it's just not even there as a choice. I HAVE to do this for my kids. I HAVE to do this for my girls' health. I HAVE to do this for our future. It's no longer an option to not try, or to be forgetful, or willfully inaccurate in my tracking. This is a MUST DO, and I don't get the option of allowing myself to fail anymore.

Guilty As Charged

Today's post is less with the funny, and more with the cold, hard truth. Fair warning.

It's not too hard to ignore what I've done to myself with my weight. If I work hard at it, I can ignore my thighs rubbing together, or how difficult it is to push myself up off the couch, and how uncomfortable my feet are after swelling up to twice their normal size after sitting for a few hours. I can push that stuff aside for the most part, and ignore what I've done to myself, and what future lies ahead for me if I continue living a life of gluttony.

One thing I can not ignore, though, is what I've done to my children, and the guilt that it invokes.

Last week, I took the munchkins to the doctor, and was told that my oldest's BMI was too high. The doctor recommended having her talk to the nutritionist. We made an appointment for today and my husband took the day off so that he could attend the meeting as well.

I've been dreading this meeting all week long.
See, I know who is to blame for my daughter's weight gain.
It's me.
I can't place the blame on the shoulders of a seven-year-old, nor can I place it on anyone else. I'm the one responsible for what she eats, even when she's not with me and is spending the day with family or at the babysitter's. It's ultimately up to me what goes into her mouth 95% of the time.

I've been wrestling with that guilt all week long.

I know what it's like to be a fat kid.
I don't want that for my own daughters.
I don't want to start them out battling their weight.
I want to give them healthy starts, at a normal weight.

And so, I feel the guilt. But, I'm happy to shoulder it. If it will help me to change my habits, so that I can change the habits that have gotten us to this point, then I say Pile on the guilt!

We've already made some changes around out house. We eat very clean inside our house: lots of fruit and veggies, whole grains, lean meats, very little sweets - but it's when we're not home that has been hard for us to control. Eating out, trips to the gas station to get a drink for mom and a slushie for her, family events where the only vegetable is potato salad - these are the things we're going to be more careful of and change.

Fast food is being cut to as little as possible.
Taking a sack lunch when being babysat at someone else's house.
No more than 1/2 cup of 100% juice in a day.
No more side trips to get a drink, even if Mommy is really thirsty.
Bringing veggies, fruit, or a healthy dessert to family get-togethers...even if it wasn't requested.

These are some changes we're going to make in our house. Or rather, when we're not in our house.

Even my parents are on board. I talked with them about checking the nutritional label with her, when she's reaching for a snack and being careful to dole out only one serving. They're all for it, and for not stopping by and picking up a Happy Meal. They're even willing to stop bringing chips to family get-togethers, so she won't have to face that temptation.

I was so proud of them, and how incredibly supportive they're being.

So, I think the guilt is good. I'm not wallowing in it, but I'm going to allow it be the catalyst for some changes. Beginning with me.

Marks of Accomplishment

It's Saturday.

I could have slept in.

I wanted to sleep in. Really, really wanted to sleep in.

But, I didn't.

My good friend, Audra, was waiting for me to get out of bed, get dressed, and head out to the park to walk at 6:30 this morning.

I hate her.

Alright, that's not really true at all. I love her dearly. Really, who else is willing to get up early on a Saturday and walk three miles with me. I don't see a lot of other volunteers raising their hands. She's a peach, and I love her. Just not at 6:30 in the morning.

Three miles. Did you catch that? We walked three miles this morning, quite possibly before you had even rolled yourself out of bed. And though I hate exercising (really, really, really hate it - I think I've been over that enough by now, so I'll move on), it was a good feeling when we were done. Let me clarify. My body wasn't feeling good. My body was feeling sore and achy, quite possibly very angry at me. But, knowing that I had accomplished something to help me be a healthier person, that was a good feeling.

So, when I got home this morning after my three mile walk (I think I may rub that in for awhile longer), I jumped out of my walking clothes and into the shower, but not before...

THE EXAMINATION.

Yep, the examination. It happens every time after I walk. As I peel the layers of clothes off of me, I inspect each piece for marks of accomplishment.

I turn every individual piece of clothing around and around, under the light, and look for the tell-tale badge of honor: sweat marks.

First my t-shirt. Ah, moist sweat marks on the back. Good. Good. Even a little on the front. I must have been really sweaty this morning, then. Signs that I have worked hard and accomplished much.

Next, my pants. Navy blue sweats can be difficult on initial inspection, but after a few moments, I notice a darker shade of blue, and there it is: crotch sweat. Ooh, and some butt sweat, too. I must have been walking up a storm.

Then, my bra. Yes, there it is. Undeniable proof of boob sweatage. Work has been done here, people!

Finally, my panties. These are the most difficult of all to inspect critically, especially if they're granny panties in white. Sometimes they're too loose to collect any evidence. I'm lucky today, because I wore my gray panties. Evidence of my hard work is easy to see. In fact, they're nearly so sweaty that I could wring them out in the sink. Gross? Yes. Impressive? Absolutely!

Surely it can't just be me that goes through this ritual after exercising. Let me know I'm not alone here. Let me know if you collect marks of accomplishment, too.

Pros and Cons

Today was weigh-in day at Weight Watchers.

It wasn't pretty.

I worked my butt off this week, but all of the eating out that I did on vacation could not be easily undone. I gained 3.5 pounds.

Yuck.

I was not too happy, but I wasn't too surprised, either. I ate crap all week long. That's what vacation is, - don't you know - a chance to eat every unhealthy, deep fried, covered in butter, with a side of au jus, food item that you can possibly eat. Because, I'll probably never be at this restaurant again. I should really try their yummiest (calorie-rich) thing on the menu, or I'll forever regret it. That's how my whole week was like on vacation. And now, I get to deal with the consequences of that. Three point five pounds of consequences.

Looking back on this last week, the week of post-vacation redemption, I didn't do too bad. Other than the weekend, I tracked what I ate everyday, and I stayed within my points. Here's to trying to do it again this week, as well.

I've added up my Weight Watcher points for the day, and tracked them online. I feel like a rock star! An overweight rockstar with a food addiction, but a rock star nonetheless.

Today I've been pondering heavily on whether or not I want to go forward with gastric bypass. I think I do. There's a lot of fear there, though, so I thought I'd do a comparison of going through with gastric bypass vs. continuing trying to lose with with Weight Watchers, or some other type of non-surigical lifestyle change.

If I Continue with Weight Watchers (and don't have the surgery)

• I can eat whatever I want, I just have to count the points.
• I'm familiar with the program; I don't have to learn anything new
• I don't have to suffer the difficulties of preparing for surgery, or the unpleasant side effects that can accompany gastric bypass (i.e. dumping)
• I know I can lose weight on the program, because I've done it before; I know it works
• I can quit at any time
• No scary surgery
• BUT, it's all up to my level of motivation and sticktoitness to be successful
• It's easy to cheat
• It costs $40/month, and I feel like it's such a waste when I'm not losing weight
• In the 10+ years of me being on WW, then off, then on again, I've never lost enough weight to make it to goal, nor have I ever kept the weight off. 
• I'm still morbidly obese, even though I'm a WW member. 

If I Go Through with Gastric Bypass Surgery

• I run the risk of complications, and all the scary stuff that could happen during any type of surgery (i.e. death!)
• It could end up being expensive - if something goes wrong
• It's not something I can just stop if I don't want to do it anymore. 
• I may not be able to eat some kinds of foods, perhaps ever, if my body doesn't adjust to them after the sugery
• I'd have to learn a completely different way of eating, and eat very particular kinds of food to ensure I get enough protein every day
• I'd have to take vitamins every day for the rest of my life
• I'd have to be super careful about what types of medications I take
• BUT...there's a 65% success rate for gastric bypass patients keeping their weight off for good. I don't think Weight Watchers can boast that. And most patients lose about 70% of their extra fat from the surgery alone
• It would force me to change my lifestyle for a long time - resulting in drastic weight loss
• It's not something that I can cheat on as easily (though I'm sure it can be done eventually), again, the dumping *shudder*

There's pros and cons to both, of course.
But, I think if I'm left to my own devices, my own motivation, then in 10 years I'll probably be the same situation. Only 5% of obese people are able to lose enough weight to be at a healthy range, and then keep it off, through diet and exercise alone. I'd love to think that I'm part of that 5%, but experience shows that I'm more likely on the other side of that statistic.

The bottom line is, what will make me more healthy?
What will keep me around for my kids the longest?
What is the best choice for my future and my family?

Lots to think about.

It's Not Easy Being Fat

It's easy to get fat, but it sure isn't easy living a fat person's life.

I was reminded of this again today when I took my two kiddos out to a beautiful children's farm and playground.

There were slides and tractors and fun playground equipment for the kids to play on, and inevitably, get stuck on. Then it was up to me to climb up, if I could, and save them from the impending peril of actually going down the slide, or climbing off the tractor.

I was terrified I was going to break something. I'm not afraid to get dirty, or be silly with my kids. I am, however, afraid of breaking a wooden playground set into tiny, splintery pieces and making children cry by accidentally landing on them. None of that happened; it's just a fear of mine, and it hampers what I allow myself to do with my kids.

Thank goodness I don't have to tie these. I
don't think I'd survive. I'd probably pass
out first. Can you imagine the 911 call?
"This lady isn't breathing. She was
trying to tie a pair of hightops, and
it was too much for her."

The other day my oldest daughter bought a beautiful butterfly decoration for her bedroom. She used her own money to purchase it after we visited a butterfly house in St. Louis. It took 3 days for me to get my courage up enough to climb on top of her three-foot tall dresser to put it up, because I was sure I was going to break it. Thankfully, the dresser held. The butterflies are beautifully hung, and all is right with the world.

Bending over isn't easy for a fat person, either.
When my youngest daughter's sandal comes unbuckled I invariably hear, "Mama! Shoe!" and I know I'm going to need to find a place to sit her up, or sit me down. Today I could find neither, and I had to suck in a huge breath, and try to get her shoe buckled before I needed to breathe again. Fat cuts off the respiratory system when you bend over. It took me three tries to get her little sandal velcroed back so she could go play.

And right now as I type this, my ankles are so swollen that I can barely flex my feet. It's painful, and frustrating, and I'm ready to be done with this.

It's Gettin' All Serious Up in Here

I pledge to tell the truth - the whole, ugly, embarrassing truth, so help me, God.

...

Maybe.

...

Mostly.

...

Let's just see how this honesty thing goes.

At the end of June, I had my yearly physical and blood test. I have to check in with my doctor every month, for six months, for my insurance to pay for bariatric surgery. One of the fun hoops I get to jump through as a possible bariatric surgery candidate. I'm not 100% sure about having the surgery, but I figure I can at least get the doctor visits out of the way, in case I do go with the surgery.

So, after my blood results came back, I learned that my bad cholesterol was too high, the good cholesterol was too low, and my blood sugar was a little elevated. And for the second visit in a row, my blood pressure was high, a problem I've never had before. Doc was concerned. He's giving me three months to make changes and see if I can get my blood pressure back to normal without medication.

I think my body is telling me something.

I think it's telling me, "Hey, lady. We've been holding on now for a long time, but we just can't fight the forces of nature, chemistry, and gravity. The knees are about to give up, permanently. Ankles and hips are also about to rebel into all out war. You gotta do something here. Heart and liver are thinking of joining rebel forces. It's just a matter of time before someone fires the first shot. Call a truce already!"

I think my wardrobe is telling me something.

I have no pants or shorts that fit. I had to make a run to the fat girl section of Wal-Mart to find a pair of capris that I could wear on vacation. Size 26. I've only been a size 26 while pregnant. I've had to revert to wearing my granny panties that have been stuffed into the back of my drawer since the last time I had a baby - 2 years ago. When I tried on the capris in the dressing room, I tried to cry quietly so the Wal-Mart associates wouldn't hear. I think they figured it out anyway.

I think my scale is telling me something.

It's hit an all-time, non-pregnancy high. Yesterday, I stepped on it to see what the damage was now that we're back from vacation. I've gained at least ten pounds. The scale read 294. Only six pounds away from 300. Three hundred pounds. I nearly weigh three hundred pounds. How can I weigh almost three hundred pounds? When did that become okay with me?

I'm at that point where I need to make a choice.

If I keep it up, I'll be well on my way towards looking
like this guy. Daniel Lambert weighed over 700
pounds when he died at 39 years old. If I keep it up,
I'll be lucky to live as long as he did. Time to
make some changes around here.

Either I say "screw it" to trying to lose weight, and just give in. I get fatter and fatter, buy a new wardrobe, and start my morning out with a glass of water and a variety of multi-colored pills to keep my blood pressure and blood sugar down. I live the rest of my life with bloated, swollen feet and knees that constantly ache. I stop getting down on the floor to play with my kids because it hurts too much to try to climb back up. I stop buying shoes with laces because I can't tie them. I start balancing my plate on my belly, because it's too far away if I leave it on the table. I eat, and eat, and eat whatever I want until it kills me.

Or...

I do what I know I need to do.

I follow the WW plan. I track my food. All of it. Every bite. I exercise daily. I don't settle for what tastes good now, but think of how I will FEEL good later. I take pounds of pressure off my knees and joints. I get back into the clothes hanging in my closet. I play with my kids. Really play with them, until I'm breathless, and then play some more. I buy a new wardrobe because all my other clothes are too big. I enjoy my life. I enjoy being thin. I enjoy my health. And I live.

I like that second option so much better.
I think I'm going to go with that.

So, for today, I have chosen option #2.
I walked 2 miles in the pre-dawn hours.
I tracked everything that went into my mouth today, even when I wasn't proud of it.
I stayed within my WW points.
I played with my kids.
I got down on the floor, and back up again, even though it hurt a little bit.
I did what I needed to do to be successful today.

Now just to rinse and repeat until it's a habit.

Fear-Based Buying

Something I've been noticing lately is how much fear-based negativity I see out on social media. I don't watch TV, so I'm not getting it on the news, though I know it's there, too.

I'm not sure how many more "worst things for you!" I can take.

Salmon is bad for you.

Vegetables are bad for you.

Diet Soda burns the enamel of your teeth and actually makes you fatter.

GMO's are going to lead to our eventual self-extinction.

Touching plastic leaches into your bloodstream, and lowers your immune system, IQ, and ability to finish sentences properl....See?

I'm not saying these things aren't true. It's just that I'm not sure what I can do about them, other than finding a plot of land hundreds of miles out in the country, living off the grid, and raising my own food on a self-sustaining farm. I don't even know how to start a compost pile, for goodness sake!

I'm not sure what I want to say here, other than I'm tired of feeling like people are trying to scare me, in order to control the choices I'll make. That's not a good feeling.

I try my best to buy farm-fresh, organic, free-range, eco-friendly, free trade when I can. I just don't like the feeling of being bullied into buying anything, or at the least, judged if I don't. I guess that's what I want to say. I want to tell the wolrd to stop judging me when I buy mac & cheese full of yellow dye every once in a while, and drink a Coke Zero with it.

I'll get off my soap box now.

(Just where did that expression come from? Did people really have boxes full of soap on which to stand? That just seems weird.)

Last Saturday was weigh in day at Weight Watchers. I was hoping to see a loss on the scale, especially after going through the agony of waking up early and working out every day. I wasn't disappointed. I lost 1.4 lbs last week, and since I started back at Weight Watchers a few weeks ago, I've lost my first 5 pounds. Yea, me!

5:30

At 5:30 in the morning, I seem to have a mixture of emotions and states of being going on.

First, I'm angry that it's 5:30 in the morning and I'm awake.

I'm also angry that I have to get up because mini munchkin has peed through her diaper and sheets, and I have to change them.

And I'm angry that she is now wide awake, and so is munchkin number 1, now, too. I'm the only bleary-eyed person in the room angry at having lost out on 30 precious minutes of sleep before my alarm was set to go off.

Notice how early it is? No one should be up
at this hour. Especially me.

Not only am I angry at 5:30 in the morning, but I'm also highly suggestive at that time. My psyche can think things up that sound incredibly rational to my over-tired self, things that at other times would not make much sense.

Such as: You're missing out on a whole 30 minutes of sleep. There is NO WAY you're going to survive the day. Forget the exercise, get Mr. Man to watch the kids for the next hour or two, and go back to bed.

I caught on to that suggestion though. Oh, you sneaky psyche, you can't fool me! This week I've learned that my aching joints actually feel a lot better throughout the day if I make the effort to exercise. So, I can't just skip it, but nice try!

My psyche counters back, of course with a very sound argument: Okay, okay, fine. But you can at least sleep in a little bit, and cut back on the exercise today. Just do one mile instead of two, and that will give you an extra hour of shut eye time. You know you want to.

Of course I want to! Wow, that sounds great!! Let's do that. I'm sure I'll magically just wake up in time for that to happen. Let's go back to bed!

Nobody told my alarm about this great idea, though, and so it still went off at 6:00, a mere 10 minutes after I had gotten back into bed after changing the 20 pound diaper of pee, the stinking sheets, and the soaking wet pajamas. Not to mention, getting her older sister back into bed with threats that sounded something like, "So help me, I swear if I hear even a peep out of you, I'll..." (insert emtpy threat here), and then running to the kitchen to fill up the mini munchkin's sippy cup with milk, because maybe that would keep her quiet and send her back to dream land.

Alas...when the alarm when off, I hadn't even nodded off. I tried. I kept telling myself to relax, go back to sleep. Think peaceful thoughts. But it was not meant to be. I pushed the snooze button on the alarm, hoping that maybe, just maybe, I'd get a few minutes of extra shut eye, but no. No.

So, I pulled myself up out of bed. Tired. Angry. Still highly suggestive, and easy to manipulate, but I powered through.

I hate 5:30.

Random Thoughts for the Day!

Just some random thoughts this evening...

Why am I okay spending $10 on a meal, but when I go to the craft store (or pretty much any store, really), I hem and haw over anything costing that same amount? I'm such a tight wad with money, except when it comes to food. That's just weird. Or neurotic. Or both.

Swimming in the community at pool at night is fun. Until your imagination gets carried away. Floating on your back and looking at the stars is so peacful until your swim suit rubs against your leg, and you are now certain that there is a snake in the water with you. That was a short swim.

Even my late night quick dip gave me ability to swim more than an hour in the pool with the 7-year-old and 2-year-old. It shouldn't be called "swimming" so much as "holding-on-to-the-toddler-in-a-WWF-hold-so-she-can't-jump-out-of-my-arms-and-into-a-watery-grave-blast-o-rama!"

It's easy to get up before seven a.m. every morning. All you need are 2 kids jumping on your bed at the crack of dawn. Easy, yes! Fun, no.

No matter how early it is, and how tired I am, I will find the time to get my teeth de-fuzzified. Eww.



Don't they look like they're having fun? They're actually smiling!
I simply don't have the ability to smile at 6:30 in the morning,
while I'm doing something I hate. No way, no how.

After four days of waking up early and getting to my favorite park to walk in the quiet stillness of the morning, enjoying the peaceful solitude of my thoughts and getting my body invigorated for another day of summer fun...I still hate exercise. I hate it. I hate it. I hate, hate, hate, hate, hate it. Every terrible, aching moment of it. I hate it.



Why is it that I love Indian food so much, but it fills me up so fast? Oh Indian buffet, you taunt me with your promises of seconds, but then you turn on me, and make me regret that second trip for more chicken tika masala. I shake my fist at you, Indian buffet! And yet, I love you so much.  (We have a complicated relationship.)

Thank you for visiting today's blog of randomness. You may now continue on your way.

Drinks and Tweeks

My diet may just be in trouble. I found an awesome recipe for homemade iced coffee, and it's so good, I may not drink anything else ever again. I can't drink my iced coffee black though, it has to have some flavored syrup and creamer in it as well. After all, that's what makes it taste so good.

I'm going to try to keep my indulgence down to one glass a day. I told myself I could only have a serving if I wrote on my blog and/or worked on my novel. It's going to be my special treat for staying consistent with my writing. Go, me!

Here's the recipe I found if you're interested...

http://thehousewifeintrainingfiles.com/iced-coffee/

I may never go to Starbucks again.

Oh, who am I kidding? Yes, I will. But I will never again order iced coffee when I can make it so much cheaper at home. I wonder if I can use it to make my own Frappuccino...then I truly may never step into a Starbucks again...at least until winter and my favorite hot drink, Salted Caramel Mocha, comes back. Oh, yum!

Today, I made some tweaks to my amazing summer schedule. I'm sure you're sick of hearing about my awesome ability to plan, but it's my blog, so suck it up.

For the past 2 days, I took the two-year-old mini munchkin with me on my morning walk. At first, all went well. Then the Cheerios were consumed and all hell broke loose. She was no longer happy to be strolled around in circles without the companionship of her Cheerios. It was not fun for either of us.

So, today I decided to try something new. Instead of getting up early to write, I got up early to exercise. I'm going to just let that sink in for a minute, because I still can't believe it myself.

First of all, I don't get up early. I am not an early-to-bed-early-to-rise-sing-with-the-birdies-and-get-my-day-started-with-flowers-and-sunshine kind of person. I'm a hit-the-alarm-clock-snooze-button-as-many-times-as-possible- before-it-is-absoutely-necessary-to-get-out-of-bed-because-if-I-sleep-one-second-more-I-will-be-very-late type of person.

Second of all, I sure as heck don't get up to exercise. Uggh! The thought is nearly naseating. And yet, if I'm going to get some exercise in, and keep the mini munchkin from going ballistic on me, then I have to make the effort, or just give up entirely.

Oooh, give up....that's tempting.

But no, no, not yet. I gave it a try this morning. And...it worked.

I got my 2 miles in, and was home ready to take the world's fastest shower by 7:30. I amaze myself sometimes.

So now, the alarm is set. My walking clothes are laid out. I even flossed this evening, because I'm usually a morning flosser, and even those few precious minutes are needed to make a quick start in the morning.

Now, if only I can turn this new-found motivation into a habit that continues throughout the summer and into the school year. I may be on to something here.

A Rip Van Winkle Sort of Day

I love nap time. I mean I really, really love nap time.

I love it when my toddler naps.

I love it when I get to nap.

I love it when I get to nap because my toddler is taking a nap.

I also hate it when I nap.

It feels good, luxurious even, to have enough time that I can waste a couple of hours sleeping in the middle of the day.

I have to make a confession here: I have no ability to power nap. No 20 minutes of down time, and then wake up refreshed and ready for the rest of the day. Oh, no. Once I'm out, I am down for the count. Two hours, minimum, usually three.

On the rare occassion that I get to take a nap, I appreciate it. However, it also means that I have no other "me time" to work on projects that I can't pull out with litte, curious hands about.

I told myself last week, as I was planning how I was going to spend my days this summer, that I would not give in to the siren call of the afternoon nap. Alas, I fell victim to its call today. Damn sirens.

Part of the problem was that I was exhausted. I'm not sure what is going on, but I'm feeling exhausted a lot. I'm moving around like a 90-year-old most of the time. My joints hurt, my musles are sore, and I'm generally achy and cranky all day long. It's not fun. I'm not sure if it's just the weight - the obscene amount of weight - that I have piled onto my body,forcing my bones and muscles to do an extra intense workout against gravity everday, that is causing me to feel this way...or if perhaps it's something medical related, like arthritus.

I'll have another doctor appointment here in a few weeks, due to the procedures laid out in my insurance for weight-loss surgery, so I'll bring it up then. Hopefully, I'll get enough weight off to help out my aching body, and the mystery will be solved. If not, well...gulp.

So, tomorrow, I'm going to do my best to stay away from mt bed when the mini munchkin goes down for her nap. Even if I'm sore, I'm going to try to make a break for my craft room instead of my bedroom. I have absolutely no problem wasting a couple of hours in there everyday. I just don't want to Rip Van Winkle my summer away and have nothing to show for it at the end.

Summer Plans...down to a T

Today went better than I expected.

I had everything planned out, and most of it went went pretty much as planned. That never happens. That must mean that tomorrow will be filled with sorrow, ruin, weeping and gnashing of teeth, or some such thing. Or perhaps not. Perhaps having a day meet expectations is all because of my meticulous planning.

I've never planned out my summer quite like I have this week. I kid you not, I have planned down to the hour what I want to happen. And for the most part, it did. That's pretty exciting. I am not a Type A-must-be-in-control-of-my-destiny-at-all-times kind of person. I'm more of a Type B let's-just-see-what-happens kind of person. Unfortunately, in my case, just hanging around waiting to see what happens, has meant that not a lot has happened. So, this summer I'm being a little over-prepared, and I'm okay with it.

I got in my walk today because of it. Two miles down!
I ate healthy, healthy, healthy today, too.
I even made healthy, Greek-yogurt popsicles for my kids.
And took them swimming.
And to the library.
And I put away ALL the clean laundry (not just mine like I usually do).
And I sorted and put away the mystery box sitting in my bedroom.
And wrote on my novel.
And grilled teriyaki chicken on the new Weber. (I love that new toy!)
And read to my kids.
And bathed them.
And sent them off to bed so I could read my book and write on my blog. Hello, blog!

It was a busy day! I woke up earlier than I do during the school year, just so I could get started. I hope my enthusiam continues to hold strong, and I get more accomplished this summer than I ever have before.

Can't wait for what tomorrow will bring!

Ahhhh....summer.

I'm sure you've heard the joke.  What's a teacher's three, most favorite things in the world?  June, July and August.

It's true.

I love summer vacation. I really, really LOVE my summer vacation.

When I was newly married, and pre-kids, my summers used to be unplanned months of reading books, watching TV, and staying in my jammies until noon.

No longer.

Now that I have two kiddos begging for time and attention, I know that my summer vacation is precious and I will do all I can to eek out every last moment of fun that I can.

Jammies come off in the morning. Breakfast is eaten at 7, and we are out the door at 8 for a day of fun and frivolity. Then back home for lunch at 11, so nap time (the two-year old's...not mine - no time for naps this summer!) can begin as soon as possible, so I have some me time to be creative and make things I've been wanting to make, but have been too tired and too busy to make for the past 10 months.

One of my goals this summer is to walk every morning with the toddler. Strap her in the stroller, shove a cup of Cheerios in her hand, and head off on the walking trail as soon as daughter #1 gets on the bus for summer school. Tomorrow starts day 1 of summer vacation. I'm looking so forward to it.

I visited my doctor a couple of weeks ago, and spoke with him about gastric bypass surgery. I've been thinking about it for a long while, and until a few months ago, I didn't think it would ever be possible.  I didn't think our insurance covered it. I was wrong. By chance, I happened to come across it in our policy, and found out that our insurance does cover weight-loss surgery. However, it's at least a six-month long process of starting a diet and exercise program monitored by my doctor.

It seems strange to have to do that. Hello, candidate for weight-loss surgery. Now, before we actually go through with the surgery, we want you to try one last diet and exercise program. However, if you lose too much weight, then you won't need the surgery. But, if you don't lose weight, then we've given you one more failure to beat yourself up about. Doesn't that seem strange to you?

You also have to have been morbidly obese for at least 5 years. So, it's not like you can have the surgery if you just went on a bender and gained a bunch of weight over the course of a year. I dunno. It just seems strange to me. Oh well.

So, I'm continuing on with Weight Watchers, and I'm going to start walking daily as well. I feel a little torn though. Part of me wants to do everything I can to lose weight through regular old diet and exercise, and see if I can get my weight down to where I would no longer be a candidate for weight loss surgery. The other part of me thinks I'm going to fail anyway, so why bother trying that hard, and let the surgery happen and all will be well with the world.

I hate that feeling of indecision. I think I'm still going to give it all I've got this summer, and try to lose as much weight as I can on my own. This past school year has been killer, and I gained about 30 pounds over the school year. Very, very few of my summer wardrobe fits me at the moment. The biggest motivator for me right now is to get my shorts and capris to fit. I will die a hot, sweaty death if I have to wear the few pairs of wearable jeans that I have left, all summer long. Nothing motivates me quite like the thought of sweaty thighs. Uggh.

In the past, I have tried to be honest about my weight, and I'm going to continue to do that here. It's hard though, to put those numbers up there for the whole world to see. It's just a number though, and I have to remember that number does not define who I am. So, here it is. I'm starting the summer at 288.4, the heaviest I've been (non-pregnant), ever. Ever. Let me say that again. Ever.

Long way to go. But, you know that saying by Confucius, "The longest journey always begins with a single step" or something like that. Tomorrow, my journey starts with a pair of walking shoes, a stroller, and a cup of Cheerios.

The Genetics of Fatitude

I keep wondering if I was born without the specific gene that allows a person to curb their sense of self indulgence. My husband has this gene. He's very capable of denying himself. Being disciplined. Doing what it takes to reach his goals.

I am so not like that.

I'm going to go ahead and blame it on genetics.

That way, I can tell myself, "Well, why even bother trying, because you can't help but fail. You're genetically predisposed to give in to your desires."

Sigh...Now that I write that all out, it sounds a little pathetic, doesn't it.
I'm giving myself permission to fail, and to place the blame squarely on the shoulders of my genes. If my genes have shoulders, that is.

Okay, so maybe discipline isn't inherited, maybe it's something that is earned, cultivated, and practiced.

I'm guessing it's something that has to be worked on, daily, consistently, truthfully, perhaps painfully.

That just sucks, because I don't really like to work at stuff that I'm not naturally good at. And I'm not necessarily a consistent type of person. I'm an all or nothing type of person. A jack-of-all-trades-and-master-of-none type of person. A fly by the seat of my pants type of person.

A fat person, who doesn't like to say no to herself, and who would rather place blame on anyone but herself for why she is so overweight.

I know I need to change. I want to change. I just don't seem to want it bad enough to actually do anything much about it.

My health is starting to be affected by my weight, I think.
Last week I was talking to my parents about the aches and pains of getting older. Whenever I sit still for awhile, and then get up, my joints are all stiff and achy. Sometimes it's difficult to walk if I've been sitting in the same position for an hour or more. Turns out, neither of my parents have this problem. Perhaps it's arthritis?  Whatever it is, I'm sure my weight is not helping matters.

This week my sciatic nerve started to flare up as well. If you've never experienced pain in your sciatic nerve, consider yourself lucky. It is literally a pain in the butt. A searing pain that goes down one side of my butt and all the way down my leg to my thigh. It makes walking down a flight of stairs oh so much fun.

I just wish I could say NO to myself, and mean it.
It's hard to do that when I feel contantly hungry. I tried so hard today to stay on plan.
I felt hungry all day long.
I ate all day long, too.
I was starving after work, so I ate my veggies.
Ate my fruit.
Ate a string cheese.
Ate some more fruit.
Ate a bit of peanut butter.
And then gave in and ate two breakfast sandwiches.

So, I'm considering the pros and cons of bariatric surgery. I know it's not a cure-all, but I think it would help to force me to change my habits somewhat...and make it so I don't feel constantly hungry all the time. Thinking...thinking...thinking.