Today I realized that I may not be as mentally stable within my diet as I thought, and it's not just thinking about cheating...
So I walked by my co-workers desk and immediately recognized a smell that I love-Doritos. Thankfully he did not offer me any, because in that instant I was a slave to the Cool Ranch. This small mental indiscretion, having eaten those lovely chips if only in my mind, opened a whole can of worms.
I began thinking why am I on this diet? My husband and real friends love me, and I am pretty good at avoiding feeling unloved by myself-I am exceptionally gifted at maintaining a loveless, yet peaceful marriage with my body. Everyone at work seems to like me well enough, in spite of my weight, so I thought 'do I really care if they actually like me beyond being civil at work'? In fact, I really don't care what they think, these acquaintances, with the exception of my boss, who I sometimes feel is embarrassed to let me go to conferences and make presentations-this is probably due to my low status on the totem pole, but in my twisted one track mind it is all weight related.
Then, after my mental cheating lead to this like-dislike-who cares train of thought, I remembered last night. See last night, or rather when I got home from work, I drank half a Medifast meal replacement shake. Mostly because that little bit filled me up for the moment, but partly because I wanted to eat dinner in two hours, and also get in a workout. So I thought I'll just drink the rest after dinner at my fifth meal replacement time. Sounds innocuous enough, but in actuality, I thought about doing the same tonight, because I hate drinking a shake at 9:30-10 right before bed-so my reasons where not noble in making this decision and bending my Medifast rules.
These two opposite, yet rule-breaking trends are common to me and my trials with dieting over the years. I either go balls-to-the-wall and starve the sh*t out of myself, or cheat every so slightly until it keeps snowballing to derail me completely off the diet. Equally unhealthy ways to function I realize.
Up until today, I felt strong and secure in my diet, but after seeing these two behaviors rearing their ugly heads, I have to wonder how truly dedicated I am to do things right, and to see things through to skinny fruition this time. Polar's passing stretches further and further behind me, and while I still miss him terribly, I feel the motivation and reasons to do this diet are escaping me, as are my memories of him.
Not quite sure how I am going to find that strength to be a steadfast Medifast trooper again, because I know when I cheat, even a little bit, or start taking over and doing the diet to a desperate degree, I will fail.
Polar Bear
My Boy
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Staring at Women
Lately I have found myself staring at women. Not just staring-but dissecting them in my mind, but not in a negative way.
I often sit and talk to one of my bosses at work, and and truly jealous of parts of her. Her collarbones (you can see them!), her tiny waist (and she eats everything), etc. I stare at another small colleague and lust after her toned and shapely legs. Mind you I am not at all lustful FOR these women, just of different body parts of theirs that I like and wish I had.
My friend Ann, who is probably reading this, has very thin yet not stickly arms, and I wish they replaced my flabby hamhocks at the shoulder-I YEARN for sleeveless shirts! Yet another colleague of mine has no back fat...let me repeat-NO back fat.
Does this make me a lesbian-heck no-but I can certainly admit when some woman is beautiful. Damn that Angelina Jolie, I'd take just about everything she has. I realized today that this activity of piecing women together in my head to make my perfect figure, ala Mrs. Potato-Head, is probably not a good hobby.
See, I find that when I am talking to these people, I stare at these parts. Not a good thing to make people feel at ease-actually I admit it is super creepy and the only thing that keeps me from being really psychotic about this is that I am not a close talker. Imagine that coupled with body analyzing? Yikes, I would definitely lose the nice patient friends that I try so hard to keep.
So overanalyzing this as I often so I also realize this stems from my obsession with bodies, specifically being body conscious-not just of my figure, but of those around me. Most of all I combine these mental snippets secretly wondering what my figure will look like when the weight is gone-'will my legs look like hers, or hers over there?'
The sad part is that lusting after these body parts has become my reality because I can't remember what I used to look like. Sure my high school senior picture is hanging on my parents wall, in addition to almost every other class picture-but what did my body look like? I realize now that I never let people take full body shots of me, even when I was skinny, and mind you at that time I still thought I was fat. Again as stated in an earlier post, I would like to kick the crap out of the sulky skinny teenage me for being such a mental bonehead and not living life wide open-Not letting people take pictures of me, wearing bathing suits to the beach, quitting cheerleading not just because I excelled at other sports but because of the body conscious outfit. I don't think I ever told anyone that until now.
You can be damn sure when all is said and done, when I-as my new friend Debbie did-pack up my fatty fat fat clothes and ship them off to never never land, when my skinniest jeans-from high school-fit again, and when I can look people in the eye when talking to them, I will be in every damn picture taken within a 100 foot radius of me at all times.
I often sit and talk to one of my bosses at work, and and truly jealous of parts of her. Her collarbones (you can see them!), her tiny waist (and she eats everything), etc. I stare at another small colleague and lust after her toned and shapely legs. Mind you I am not at all lustful FOR these women, just of different body parts of theirs that I like and wish I had.
My friend Ann, who is probably reading this, has very thin yet not stickly arms, and I wish they replaced my flabby hamhocks at the shoulder-I YEARN for sleeveless shirts! Yet another colleague of mine has no back fat...let me repeat-NO back fat.
Does this make me a lesbian-heck no-but I can certainly admit when some woman is beautiful. Damn that Angelina Jolie, I'd take just about everything she has. I realized today that this activity of piecing women together in my head to make my perfect figure, ala Mrs. Potato-Head, is probably not a good hobby.
See, I find that when I am talking to these people, I stare at these parts. Not a good thing to make people feel at ease-actually I admit it is super creepy and the only thing that keeps me from being really psychotic about this is that I am not a close talker. Imagine that coupled with body analyzing? Yikes, I would definitely lose the nice patient friends that I try so hard to keep.
So overanalyzing this as I often so I also realize this stems from my obsession with bodies, specifically being body conscious-not just of my figure, but of those around me. Most of all I combine these mental snippets secretly wondering what my figure will look like when the weight is gone-'will my legs look like hers, or hers over there?'
The sad part is that lusting after these body parts has become my reality because I can't remember what I used to look like. Sure my high school senior picture is hanging on my parents wall, in addition to almost every other class picture-but what did my body look like? I realize now that I never let people take full body shots of me, even when I was skinny, and mind you at that time I still thought I was fat. Again as stated in an earlier post, I would like to kick the crap out of the sulky skinny teenage me for being such a mental bonehead and not living life wide open-Not letting people take pictures of me, wearing bathing suits to the beach, quitting cheerleading not just because I excelled at other sports but because of the body conscious outfit. I don't think I ever told anyone that until now.
You can be damn sure when all is said and done, when I-as my new friend Debbie did-pack up my fatty fat fat clothes and ship them off to never never land, when my skinniest jeans-from high school-fit again, and when I can look people in the eye when talking to them, I will be in every damn picture taken within a 100 foot radius of me at all times.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Home Alone
So I was home alone today, as my husband had to work. And the Demons crept out-I capitalize Demons because I think they deserve respect, and a little bit of fear. If I don't take them seriously, then I don't think I will ever defeat them.
Back to the Demons-screaming at me to eat just one of this or a bit of that. And whaddaya know, the fat me was agreeing with them. Lyn from Escape from Obesity recently posted about a conversation in a restaurant with her inner food nazi. And she had it right. Essentially I agree that giving in quiets the screaming baby, until it screams louder next time to be held, coddled, nurtured-all the way up to being bed-ridden and having me nurse it for the rest of my shortened life.
In a desperate attempt to distract myself, I did laundary, and washed dishes...and yes, you called it-surfed eBay. But something happened on that lovely site, instead of checking out the shoes-which will fit a girl at any size, I decided to look at size 6 dresses. Dresses I could potentially be wearing next February, and that I could wear to my in-laws wedding next June. Dresses so shockingly short, they leave nothing to the imagination. And I thought about my cousin, the black sheep. Showing up to family funerals and weddings alike in tight bandage dresses-fake boobs spilling out the top. And I thought, OMG. I could be her! As early as next February! Slutting about!! Yipee!
Mind you I won't, because I fear I will always see the fat girl in the mirror. But after my eBay stint today, I look forward to dresses-cut short and cut low. And not fearing any cellulite showing should the wind blow. The Demons made a hasty retreat in the face of thigh-high minis and clingy wraps. Ah...February can't come soon enough.
Back to the Demons-screaming at me to eat just one of this or a bit of that. And whaddaya know, the fat me was agreeing with them. Lyn from Escape from Obesity recently posted about a conversation in a restaurant with her inner food nazi. And she had it right. Essentially I agree that giving in quiets the screaming baby, until it screams louder next time to be held, coddled, nurtured-all the way up to being bed-ridden and having me nurse it for the rest of my shortened life.
In a desperate attempt to distract myself, I did laundary, and washed dishes...and yes, you called it-surfed eBay. But something happened on that lovely site, instead of checking out the shoes-which will fit a girl at any size, I decided to look at size 6 dresses. Dresses I could potentially be wearing next February, and that I could wear to my in-laws wedding next June. Dresses so shockingly short, they leave nothing to the imagination. And I thought about my cousin, the black sheep. Showing up to family funerals and weddings alike in tight bandage dresses-fake boobs spilling out the top. And I thought, OMG. I could be her! As early as next February! Slutting about!! Yipee!
Mind you I won't, because I fear I will always see the fat girl in the mirror. But after my eBay stint today, I look forward to dresses-cut short and cut low. And not fearing any cellulite showing should the wind blow. The Demons made a hasty retreat in the face of thigh-high minis and clingy wraps. Ah...February can't come soon enough.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
When losing 3.5 pounds sucks
So today was weigh-in day, and after another week sticking 100% to the Medifast plan, I only lost 3.5 pounds. I say 'only' because I eat the leanest meats/fish for my L&G meal AND I exercise 6 days a week. Not obsessive exercise mind you, because Medifast made me cut my exercising in half when I joined.
I know you are sitting there thinking 3.5 pounds is great. Well not when you have 80 some-odd pounds to lose and are at the beginning stage of the weight loss-when pounds usually drip off like sweat.
That is why I am pissed. And I know my body doesn't react to the whole 'too much exercise' thing and hold onto fat that way, I lose weight differently than that.
So if it sounds like I am spoiled to want more than that, please don't think that way, but understand how difficult is has been for me not eating what I want and sticking to this rigid diet for two weeks now. I know it is like this for everyone starting out, but others usually lose more weight in the first few weeks, too.
Anyway, I'm in a crap ass mood now, but have no though of going off the diet, for now. I wish you all better weeks than I am having.
I know you are sitting there thinking 3.5 pounds is great. Well not when you have 80 some-odd pounds to lose and are at the beginning stage of the weight loss-when pounds usually drip off like sweat.
That is why I am pissed. And I know my body doesn't react to the whole 'too much exercise' thing and hold onto fat that way, I lose weight differently than that.
So if it sounds like I am spoiled to want more than that, please don't think that way, but understand how difficult is has been for me not eating what I want and sticking to this rigid diet for two weeks now. I know it is like this for everyone starting out, but others usually lose more weight in the first few weeks, too.
Anyway, I'm in a crap ass mood now, but have no though of going off the diet, for now. I wish you all better weeks than I am having.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Living the fantasy, or creating a nightmare
So I found my mind drifting at work today, not an infrequent occurrence I might add, thinking about going to a class reunion. In a Ferrari. In a Gucci dress. Size 6. Botoxed and facial peeled to perfection. Everyone gawking, in addition to looking old and haggard as sh*t while I shine like the top of the Chrysler building.
This is a common destination for my imagination.
As is shopping, ala Pretty Woman, at Saks/Neimans/Barneys etc and having normally fat-phobic salespeople fawn over my beautiful figure in very expensive clothing. BTW this particular fantastic thread may also involve winning the lottery to support this expensive prostitute-meets-Prada shopping spree.
Then there is the 'running into old boyfriends/fiances/snooty a-holes in the mall or airport' fantasy. Them looking horrible or disheveled, me spotless and glossy as usual, being aloof, coy, without time for chitchat with the likes of them.
Then there is the 'running into the guy that got away' (not that I do not ADORE my husband), and him falling all over me trying to date me and get my number. Of course I say no, but that's not the important part of this fantasy anyway.
The list goes on and on. When I was most obese, I would retreat into these little neural nuggets, usually as I lay in bed, and this would accelerate me into a peaceful sleep. At work, I would retreat into a fancier world, where I am skinny and perfect in every way, and the BOSS, of course.
However, what I noticed today is that my fantasies often involve me looking down or being better than others. I realize now that even if those people were horrible pieces of crap to me and treated me as such, that is not a behavior I should be propagating when I am skinny-fied. In addition, I do not want to fuel the 'skinny bitch' stereotype, and honestly my mom would probably slap my face if I tried to pull that attitude.
Maybe this realization means I am reaching a plain of enlightenment, where only my own betterment and getting thin is good enough? Where I don't have to teach them all a lesson in respect? That is what I like to think, as opposed to just thinking about my cravings too much to focus on anything else.
I need to clarify this relationship in my fantasies, and separate my quest for the skinny with getting revenge on all those wrong-doers (and yes it is all their fault LOL). So while I will still think these fantasies from time to time, I now plan to make this skinny, put-together hip chick materialize, instead of floating in the fantasy yet eating my life into the dumpster in reality.
This is a common destination for my imagination.
As is shopping, ala Pretty Woman, at Saks/Neimans/Barneys etc and having normally fat-phobic salespeople fawn over my beautiful figure in very expensive clothing. BTW this particular fantastic thread may also involve winning the lottery to support this expensive prostitute-meets-Prada shopping spree.
Then there is the 'running into old boyfriends/fiances/snooty a-holes in the mall or airport' fantasy. Them looking horrible or disheveled, me spotless and glossy as usual, being aloof, coy, without time for chitchat with the likes of them.
Then there is the 'running into the guy that got away' (not that I do not ADORE my husband), and him falling all over me trying to date me and get my number. Of course I say no, but that's not the important part of this fantasy anyway.
The list goes on and on. When I was most obese, I would retreat into these little neural nuggets, usually as I lay in bed, and this would accelerate me into a peaceful sleep. At work, I would retreat into a fancier world, where I am skinny and perfect in every way, and the BOSS, of course.
However, what I noticed today is that my fantasies often involve me looking down or being better than others. I realize now that even if those people were horrible pieces of crap to me and treated me as such, that is not a behavior I should be propagating when I am skinny-fied. In addition, I do not want to fuel the 'skinny bitch' stereotype, and honestly my mom would probably slap my face if I tried to pull that attitude.
Maybe this realization means I am reaching a plain of enlightenment, where only my own betterment and getting thin is good enough? Where I don't have to teach them all a lesson in respect? That is what I like to think, as opposed to just thinking about my cravings too much to focus on anything else.
I need to clarify this relationship in my fantasies, and separate my quest for the skinny with getting revenge on all those wrong-doers (and yes it is all their fault LOL). So while I will still think these fantasies from time to time, I now plan to make this skinny, put-together hip chick materialize, instead of floating in the fantasy yet eating my life into the dumpster in reality.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Joey Chestnut-the best dieting boost out there
Ok, I love eating as much as the next chunky monkey, but seriously-Joey Chestnut is ridiculously talented. I say talented because I have no idea how he hollowed out his leg to get all those hotdogs to stay down. And I wonder if he really likes anything that he competitively eats...Hmm...
But as for Mr. Chestnut, he is quite a sight to see when he competes. And I hate hot dogs.
So as I sit and watch the latest episode of Shaq vs., when he challenges Joey Chestnut, I think this is one night when I will not be hungry in an hour. No offense to Joey, but his method of hacking back dogs (sorry that is what it looks like), gives a slight impression that the food has every chance of being hacked back up. Which subsequently makes me want to toss my flavorless low sugar cookies.
So after starving my ass off last night while watching MasterChef (not my brightest moment), I deeply thank Mr. Chestnut from the bottom of my semi-enlarged heart for helping me stick to my diet tonight.
But as for Mr. Chestnut, he is quite a sight to see when he competes. And I hate hot dogs.
So as I sit and watch the latest episode of Shaq vs., when he challenges Joey Chestnut, I think this is one night when I will not be hungry in an hour. No offense to Joey, but his method of hacking back dogs (sorry that is what it looks like), gives a slight impression that the food has every chance of being hacked back up. Which subsequently makes me want to toss my flavorless low sugar cookies.
So after starving my ass off last night while watching MasterChef (not my brightest moment), I deeply thank Mr. Chestnut from the bottom of my semi-enlarged heart for helping me stick to my diet tonight.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Google, Facebook, and other handywork of the devil
Ok, so I really don't hate Google. In fact I rely on it everyday, however...
Last night I watched a movie in which the lead character, a self-proclaimed loser, Googles himself only to find there are no hits for his name. And I wonder, "Oh holy Mary what the hell are my Google hits?!?!?"
So I Google myself, and several hits come up, most from my latter professional years, a few from my sports career if you look really close. Yes, of course I looked close! And I literally cringed...and threw up a bit in my mouth.
So I was in the upper part of the pack popular in high school, a jock, not a bouncy bubbly airhead that filled the upper spots of popularity. I refused to bend and conform, yet I was popular, especially among jocks, and considered myself pretty social.
In college I was very social and outgoing. Popular, and less bee-atchy than high school so I had more true friends. Sports helped alot to help me find like-minded individuals, and I had a blast in those years.
Then I got fat. And at the time of Googling, following my full body cringe, I realized why I had that visceral response. I wanted to be invisible. I WANT to be invisible. To disappear. I don't want anyone to find me, seek me out, ask to do lunch.
I wear hugely baggy clothes, mostly my husband's big T-shirts, but also my own. Monstrous items-I'm not kidding. I will not wear a T-shirt unless it hits, and preferably falls a touch below, my outer upper thighs. I am a size 14, but wear XXL and 3x clothes-because I want to cloak my own misery-somehow I think if I hide my flab, people will forget it is there and see me for the happy, super cool chick I am inside. Deep inside. But let's face it, most people judge at face value, and will never get past my weight. I talk to guys at work and the cool chick inside thinks, "He is flirting with me". Then my outside insulating shell reminds that cool chick inside to catch a glimpse of herself when passing a window and get a damn reality check.
So now I dream about when I am skinny and I will litter the internet with semi-naked photos of myself looking all sexy-fied. I dream about all the exes and people who treated me horribly stumbling across those pics and kicking themselves in their own asses for letting me go and discounting my potential. Most of all, I dream about wearing clothes my own size, answering emails from old friends to meet up, looking people in the eye. Coming out of hiding.
And let's face it, when I do get skinny, people will be drawn to me, will flock to get my attention, because I am a badass, deep inside-and I will be vibrant, like I used to be. But mark my words, I know my friends, I know my enemies, I know my judges and critics, and I will not be swayed by their changes in affection. Being fat has opened up my eyes to the stuff of real loyalty.
But until then, the demon-spawn Facebook will have to wait for my awesomeness (and semi-pornographic pictures) to be unleashed on its site.
Last night I watched a movie in which the lead character, a self-proclaimed loser, Googles himself only to find there are no hits for his name. And I wonder, "Oh holy Mary what the hell are my Google hits?!?!?"
So I Google myself, and several hits come up, most from my latter professional years, a few from my sports career if you look really close. Yes, of course I looked close! And I literally cringed...and threw up a bit in my mouth.
So I was in the upper part of the pack popular in high school, a jock, not a bouncy bubbly airhead that filled the upper spots of popularity. I refused to bend and conform, yet I was popular, especially among jocks, and considered myself pretty social.
In college I was very social and outgoing. Popular, and less bee-atchy than high school so I had more true friends. Sports helped alot to help me find like-minded individuals, and I had a blast in those years.
Then I got fat. And at the time of Googling, following my full body cringe, I realized why I had that visceral response. I wanted to be invisible. I WANT to be invisible. To disappear. I don't want anyone to find me, seek me out, ask to do lunch.
I wear hugely baggy clothes, mostly my husband's big T-shirts, but also my own. Monstrous items-I'm not kidding. I will not wear a T-shirt unless it hits, and preferably falls a touch below, my outer upper thighs. I am a size 14, but wear XXL and 3x clothes-because I want to cloak my own misery-somehow I think if I hide my flab, people will forget it is there and see me for the happy, super cool chick I am inside. Deep inside. But let's face it, most people judge at face value, and will never get past my weight. I talk to guys at work and the cool chick inside thinks, "He is flirting with me". Then my outside insulating shell reminds that cool chick inside to catch a glimpse of herself when passing a window and get a damn reality check.
So now I dream about when I am skinny and I will litter the internet with semi-naked photos of myself looking all sexy-fied. I dream about all the exes and people who treated me horribly stumbling across those pics and kicking themselves in their own asses for letting me go and discounting my potential. Most of all, I dream about wearing clothes my own size, answering emails from old friends to meet up, looking people in the eye. Coming out of hiding.
And let's face it, when I do get skinny, people will be drawn to me, will flock to get my attention, because I am a badass, deep inside-and I will be vibrant, like I used to be. But mark my words, I know my friends, I know my enemies, I know my judges and critics, and I will not be swayed by their changes in affection. Being fat has opened up my eyes to the stuff of real loyalty.
But until then, the demon-spawn Facebook will have to wait for my awesomeness (and semi-pornographic pictures) to be unleashed on its site.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
I knew I had a sixpack!
Ok, so it is a bit buried right now...BUT-after standing on the weird time machine/body composition machine in the Medifast office, they tell me I have excellent lean mass meaning more muscle than average.
So I laid in bed last night and sucked in my stomach as much as I could and pushed on my innards, and I swear I felt a few six pack lumps-either that or last nights fece-fied dinner. Or a kidney. After all I was pushing pretty hard...
So what does this mean to me? Well, during college and shortly thereafter when I was very fit, my body changed, and I'm not talking boobs and booty. My muscles rounded, became more pronounced, were easier to build. Ever since, I had been built like a brick sh*thouse, and always weighed more than I looked. So I knew the muscles were still there under my 'insulating layer'-as I affectionately like to call it.
I swear I will find them, and when I do you will be the first to know-I'm so positive I promise to post a pic.
So here I am-lots of muscle, still too much fat, but feeling positive now that the me I thought I lost is still buried in there somewhere...
So I laid in bed last night and sucked in my stomach as much as I could and pushed on my innards, and I swear I felt a few six pack lumps-either that or last nights fece-fied dinner. Or a kidney. After all I was pushing pretty hard...
So what does this mean to me? Well, during college and shortly thereafter when I was very fit, my body changed, and I'm not talking boobs and booty. My muscles rounded, became more pronounced, were easier to build. Ever since, I had been built like a brick sh*thouse, and always weighed more than I looked. So I knew the muscles were still there under my 'insulating layer'-as I affectionately like to call it.
I swear I will find them, and when I do you will be the first to know-I'm so positive I promise to post a pic.
So here I am-lots of muscle, still too much fat, but feeling positive now that the me I thought I lost is still buried in there somewhere...
The pea under the mattress
So, a little about Polar... He was a Great Dane. I rescued him and his sister from a backyard breeder when they were tiny puppies. What never stood out to me, but was just part of my boy, was that Polar was completely deaf, and was partially blind. Never aggressive or unkind, he was the mushiest, biggest softy I have ever known-and that includes people. To me-he was perfect.
Me, however, I have never viewed as even close to perfect, and I wondered to myself today why I have such an obsession with my self image. I know why I literally gained weight-food rewards me or comforts me and I do truly love the taste. But knowing why I started dieting and obsessing and picking myself apart was a mystery to me...so I went digging around a bit in my big fat head...
When I was young, I was beautiful and perfect, and I never thought about fat content or total carbs. When I was in 7th and 8th grade, I had a HUGE crush on a boy named Chris. At summer camp I tried to get his attention by being good at everything I could. How was I to know that some guys view competitive women as a threat? So he called me fat. Was I fat? Not in the slightest. I was average and healthy, as all young kids should be. I remember crying at night wondering why he hated me so much and how I could not be fat and he would like me. Never did it dawn on me that I wasn't fat-in my mind he spoke the truth. Now I know what a jack@ss I was, but moreso what a little Napolean sh*t he was. I wish I could shake that girl.
In high school, again a boy dictated my self worth. Neil, a pompass little sh*t, rebuked my attention, and called me fat. Was I fat you say? A size 12, which is now a size 8. Again, I was a super athlete, and he was a sports flunky, riding the bench for fun. Throughout my first few years of high school, I had numerous boyfriends and many other guys fall at my feet...but what stood out to me? Neil calling me fat, and me failing to gain his attention as a freshman.
But I think the biggest setback came when I was a junior. I played sports hard all summer to improve my standing on the teams on which I played. I dropped about 10 pounds, to 132 pounds. I remember this number because I was really proud, and it remains the lowest weight I have been since I hit puberty. So I had even more guys chasing me, and I heard my best friend, Jamie, was going to ask me to the prom, which sounded perfect to me. So I was sitting in the gym after practice one day, and his Dad, our head athletic director came up to me and again alluded to Jamie possibly asking me to prom. Then he said, and I quote, "You know you would be perfect if you lost 15 pounds."
So there it is. Not just some stupid crush telling me I was fat, a trusted coach and mentor, and the father of my best friend telling me I wasn't good enough. I also remember but not in as crisp detail the numerous times he joked to his son in front of me about my and other girl's growing assets-always a perpetual perv.
No matter how many times I have gained and lost weight, and tried to reach deep down to get at the root of why I rollercoaster and have never felt peace when looking in the mirror, I always come back to the pervy athletic director, and that day in the gym.
I heard years later about him harassing and commenting on young students' bodies-still. Still inflicting his mental torture on young girl's-creating a generation of obsessed mental cases, even after some girls speaking out. He still works there.
So what is the lesson here? How do I reconcile this with myself? I need to get over this viagra-sucking mf-er.
Me, however, I have never viewed as even close to perfect, and I wondered to myself today why I have such an obsession with my self image. I know why I literally gained weight-food rewards me or comforts me and I do truly love the taste. But knowing why I started dieting and obsessing and picking myself apart was a mystery to me...so I went digging around a bit in my big fat head...
When I was young, I was beautiful and perfect, and I never thought about fat content or total carbs. When I was in 7th and 8th grade, I had a HUGE crush on a boy named Chris. At summer camp I tried to get his attention by being good at everything I could. How was I to know that some guys view competitive women as a threat? So he called me fat. Was I fat? Not in the slightest. I was average and healthy, as all young kids should be. I remember crying at night wondering why he hated me so much and how I could not be fat and he would like me. Never did it dawn on me that I wasn't fat-in my mind he spoke the truth. Now I know what a jack@ss I was, but moreso what a little Napolean sh*t he was. I wish I could shake that girl.
In high school, again a boy dictated my self worth. Neil, a pompass little sh*t, rebuked my attention, and called me fat. Was I fat you say? A size 12, which is now a size 8. Again, I was a super athlete, and he was a sports flunky, riding the bench for fun. Throughout my first few years of high school, I had numerous boyfriends and many other guys fall at my feet...but what stood out to me? Neil calling me fat, and me failing to gain his attention as a freshman.
But I think the biggest setback came when I was a junior. I played sports hard all summer to improve my standing on the teams on which I played. I dropped about 10 pounds, to 132 pounds. I remember this number because I was really proud, and it remains the lowest weight I have been since I hit puberty. So I had even more guys chasing me, and I heard my best friend, Jamie, was going to ask me to the prom, which sounded perfect to me. So I was sitting in the gym after practice one day, and his Dad, our head athletic director came up to me and again alluded to Jamie possibly asking me to prom. Then he said, and I quote, "You know you would be perfect if you lost 15 pounds."
So there it is. Not just some stupid crush telling me I was fat, a trusted coach and mentor, and the father of my best friend telling me I wasn't good enough. I also remember but not in as crisp detail the numerous times he joked to his son in front of me about my and other girl's growing assets-always a perpetual perv.
No matter how many times I have gained and lost weight, and tried to reach deep down to get at the root of why I rollercoaster and have never felt peace when looking in the mirror, I always come back to the pervy athletic director, and that day in the gym.
I heard years later about him harassing and commenting on young students' bodies-still. Still inflicting his mental torture on young girl's-creating a generation of obsessed mental cases, even after some girls speaking out. He still works there.
So what is the lesson here? How do I reconcile this with myself? I need to get over this viagra-sucking mf-er.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Euthanasia and Medifast (not in that order)
So I had to decide to put Polar to sleep four months ago, but did anyone know that the best vets administer a sedative prior to euthanizing animals in order to reduce their anxiety and any unforeseen 'incidents'? BELIEVE it and spread the word-ask for the sedative-it is a 'best practice'.
Consider this your lesson for the day...be good to your pets!
As for Medifast, I started this program after much research on August 15th. And you better believe I ate like a hog on August 14th. So I go in and my nice counselor tells me I'm going to drink shakes for a week other than my one 'lean and green' meal. No problem, I did the liquids thing for the band and at this point was not lacking in motivation at all. But I tell her I don't want to see my actual weight. Ever. EVER. I just want to know what I lose so I don't get obsessed with the numbers, which I could easily do. Then spend the week in bed sobbing into my pillow, while drinking milkshakes...
So I bought a crapload of fresh food-fish, chicken, turkey, lean pork, and the F word-vegetables. Eeeck. I'm like a five-year old-God forbid something green is on my plate. I don't even like them touching my other food in restaurants. Seriously. Yes, I am crazy. It all began when my Dad sauteed some asparagus when I was younger and claimed 'they taste just like french fries'. No sh*t. I kid you not. Sure, Dad, these taste like french fries-that were made from ASPARAGUS.
So back to Medifast-btw I can't cook. Bless my poor DH's heart, he said he would eat what I eat, and he hates fish. He practically pinched his nose as he shoveled in my lettuce-cloaked rubbery scallops, without breathing in their direction. Seriously, I got lucky with this man after my long, LONG string of losers.
But one week later, I lost five pounds. I was worried about this, since I have been doing heavy cardio for months now and had reached a weight loss plateau. Of course that was consuming about 3000 calories a day on a high fat diet, so...
So what they say really is true, I don't miss fatty foods that much on Medifast. I'm not going to lie, I wait for the day when size 6 jeans swaddle my juicy booty and then I will eat crap from sun-up to sun-down that day. Just one day, then I can puke my guts out and sh*t liquid for a week and never want to touch the stuff again. Honestly, who ever knew eating good could be this easy-I actually like it. I don't think I ever gave it the old college try and put forth even 50% effort. Now that Medifast has taken a lot of my money, not only are the size 6s motivating me, but my rising AMEX bill is, too. But eating good is also very motivating-when I even add an extra dash of lime juice or pepper, I feel like I am cheating myself. So in this case, guilt is good for me. But the biggest advantage? NO MORE BRAIN FOG.
Before, I had smart days, and what I call brainfart days, when even forming good sentences failed. This is not a very good quality to have when I meet with and present to brilliant scientists on a weekly basis who will call me on my B.S. Now I feel sharp, mentally agile, to match my increasingly flexible and healthy body. Wish I had eaten this good through undergrad-maybe now I wouldn't be haunted by my horrible undergrad GPA!
So in closing...someone, I think it was Coco Chanel but correct me if I'm wrong, once said "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels". My thoughts in this order:
A. This waif clearly never had my nachos or angry pasta (the two things I can actually cook really well)
B. This waif is a snobby bee-atch who needs a cookie/good rogering
C. This waif might be on to something
D. Both B and C
I'll let you know if this bee-atch was onto something in 5 more sizes or so...
Consider this your lesson for the day...be good to your pets!
As for Medifast, I started this program after much research on August 15th. And you better believe I ate like a hog on August 14th. So I go in and my nice counselor tells me I'm going to drink shakes for a week other than my one 'lean and green' meal. No problem, I did the liquids thing for the band and at this point was not lacking in motivation at all. But I tell her I don't want to see my actual weight. Ever. EVER. I just want to know what I lose so I don't get obsessed with the numbers, which I could easily do. Then spend the week in bed sobbing into my pillow, while drinking milkshakes...
So I bought a crapload of fresh food-fish, chicken, turkey, lean pork, and the F word-vegetables. Eeeck. I'm like a five-year old-God forbid something green is on my plate. I don't even like them touching my other food in restaurants. Seriously. Yes, I am crazy. It all began when my Dad sauteed some asparagus when I was younger and claimed 'they taste just like french fries'. No sh*t. I kid you not. Sure, Dad, these taste like french fries-that were made from ASPARAGUS.
So back to Medifast-btw I can't cook. Bless my poor DH's heart, he said he would eat what I eat, and he hates fish. He practically pinched his nose as he shoveled in my lettuce-cloaked rubbery scallops, without breathing in their direction. Seriously, I got lucky with this man after my long, LONG string of losers.
But one week later, I lost five pounds. I was worried about this, since I have been doing heavy cardio for months now and had reached a weight loss plateau. Of course that was consuming about 3000 calories a day on a high fat diet, so...
So what they say really is true, I don't miss fatty foods that much on Medifast. I'm not going to lie, I wait for the day when size 6 jeans swaddle my juicy booty and then I will eat crap from sun-up to sun-down that day. Just one day, then I can puke my guts out and sh*t liquid for a week and never want to touch the stuff again. Honestly, who ever knew eating good could be this easy-I actually like it. I don't think I ever gave it the old college try and put forth even 50% effort. Now that Medifast has taken a lot of my money, not only are the size 6s motivating me, but my rising AMEX bill is, too. But eating good is also very motivating-when I even add an extra dash of lime juice or pepper, I feel like I am cheating myself. So in this case, guilt is good for me. But the biggest advantage? NO MORE BRAIN FOG.
Before, I had smart days, and what I call brainfart days, when even forming good sentences failed. This is not a very good quality to have when I meet with and present to brilliant scientists on a weekly basis who will call me on my B.S. Now I feel sharp, mentally agile, to match my increasingly flexible and healthy body. Wish I had eaten this good through undergrad-maybe now I wouldn't be haunted by my horrible undergrad GPA!
So in closing...someone, I think it was Coco Chanel but correct me if I'm wrong, once said "Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels". My thoughts in this order:
A. This waif clearly never had my nachos or angry pasta (the two things I can actually cook really well)
B. This waif is a snobby bee-atch who needs a cookie/good rogering
C. This waif might be on to something
D. Both B and C
I'll let you know if this bee-atch was onto something in 5 more sizes or so...
When my dog died, it all started...
So here I am, better late than never I guess. Polar, my big Scoby-Doo, died on April 18th, 2010. It crushed my soul and left me wondering what the hell am I doing with my life, where am I, who gave me this body. But most of all, losing my boy gave me an awareness that:
A. I sure as heck didn't want (this made me cry almost all the time and want to sleep when I wasn't)
B. Opened my sleeping eyes to the world around me, but most of all to the fat-ass in the mirror
Being a mega-athlete all my life until I was 25 made keeping my weight down super easy. I was always very active, and didn't even think twice to the fact that I ate what I wanted and really liked food. No, seriously, I REALLY liked food. I called myself a 'Foodie', but in hindsight I think I was just an 'Eatie'. If it sounded good, I ate it. Rarely was I ever full, or what I called full-as in barfing-in-the-toilet full. Like Thanksgiving-sized full. My ex-fiance dumped me, probably because I had become a paranoid chunky monkey and he liked his tasty 'little' hoochie morsel better...but I digress.
So...I went on a diet. With major help from the drug that is half of the (in)famous weight-loss story of the 1990s. And I lost pounds. ALOT. While running 5 miles a day and eating under 400 calories a day. In four months. It's a wonder I didn't drop dead back then considering my body was probablhy eating my heart muscle. The fact that I didn't...well...I attribute it to my needing to get more done first, or God/whomever is up there just not wanting me ruining his party just yet.
So I started graduate school. Supposedly I wanted to get off 'the drug' and crazy dieting. Suddenly I was above that-and apparently I was above censoring my hand to mouth routine as well and naturally I gained it back.
So I decide "I'm just going to get a Lap-Band now", that will give me what I need to get the job done and become the size 6-8 that I was in high school. But I was not fat enough by US standards to get insurance to pay, so I self-payed and made the trip to Me-Hi-Co.
So I got the surgery, and lost 40 pounds. Then I gained it back plus 20. Awesome. Seems the band didn't quite keep my hands from opening the fridge and spooning the ice cream. Damn doctor should have just given me $10,000 worth of zip-ties to handcuff myself. I have often read the band "is only a tool", well that is the damn truth. But I think I am the bigger tool here...and of course I do not blame the doctor (I'm just an angry hungry person at the moment).
Then I get married, to a wonderful supportive man, who strangely still finds me sexy in spite of the jiggle when I can even stand to look at myself in the mirror. We have no full-length mirrors in the house. This was not by chance.
Back to my boy...my 170lb gentle giant, who I lost to Wobbler's Disease on April 18th. I cried my eyes out, petted his head, then proceeded to wrench my back. "Lifting him?" you might ask? That is the worst insult of all, simply bending over his limp body, I wrenched my back, because I am fat. So I cried alot over the next few days-missing him, but moreso so angry with myself for not being able to lift him at the end, such that a stranger had to help my husband.
So to you I ask you to please sit back, send your comments/thoughts, and follow my journey as I seek to better myself inside and out (isn't that the crap dieters always say), fit into a size 6 without a shoehorn (what we all really want), and stick around to honor my boy's sweet heart and the little piece of blue sky that he added to this world. So I give you Polar's Page...enjoy.
A. I sure as heck didn't want (this made me cry almost all the time and want to sleep when I wasn't)
B. Opened my sleeping eyes to the world around me, but most of all to the fat-ass in the mirror
Being a mega-athlete all my life until I was 25 made keeping my weight down super easy. I was always very active, and didn't even think twice to the fact that I ate what I wanted and really liked food. No, seriously, I REALLY liked food. I called myself a 'Foodie', but in hindsight I think I was just an 'Eatie'. If it sounded good, I ate it. Rarely was I ever full, or what I called full-as in barfing-in-the-toilet full. Like Thanksgiving-sized full. My ex-fiance dumped me, probably because I had become a paranoid chunky monkey and he liked his tasty 'little' hoochie morsel better...but I digress.
So...I went on a diet. With major help from the drug that is half of the (in)famous weight-loss story of the 1990s. And I lost pounds. ALOT. While running 5 miles a day and eating under 400 calories a day. In four months. It's a wonder I didn't drop dead back then considering my body was probablhy eating my heart muscle. The fact that I didn't...well...I attribute it to my needing to get more done first, or God/whomever is up there just not wanting me ruining his party just yet.
So I started graduate school. Supposedly I wanted to get off 'the drug' and crazy dieting. Suddenly I was above that-and apparently I was above censoring my hand to mouth routine as well and naturally I gained it back.
So I decide "I'm just going to get a Lap-Band now", that will give me what I need to get the job done and become the size 6-8 that I was in high school. But I was not fat enough by US standards to get insurance to pay, so I self-payed and made the trip to Me-Hi-Co.
So I got the surgery, and lost 40 pounds. Then I gained it back plus 20. Awesome. Seems the band didn't quite keep my hands from opening the fridge and spooning the ice cream. Damn doctor should have just given me $10,000 worth of zip-ties to handcuff myself. I have often read the band "is only a tool", well that is the damn truth. But I think I am the bigger tool here...and of course I do not blame the doctor (I'm just an angry hungry person at the moment).
Then I get married, to a wonderful supportive man, who strangely still finds me sexy in spite of the jiggle when I can even stand to look at myself in the mirror. We have no full-length mirrors in the house. This was not by chance.
Back to my boy...my 170lb gentle giant, who I lost to Wobbler's Disease on April 18th. I cried my eyes out, petted his head, then proceeded to wrench my back. "Lifting him?" you might ask? That is the worst insult of all, simply bending over his limp body, I wrenched my back, because I am fat. So I cried alot over the next few days-missing him, but moreso so angry with myself for not being able to lift him at the end, such that a stranger had to help my husband.
So to you I ask you to please sit back, send your comments/thoughts, and follow my journey as I seek to better myself inside and out (isn't that the crap dieters always say), fit into a size 6 without a shoehorn (what we all really want), and stick around to honor my boy's sweet heart and the little piece of blue sky that he added to this world. So I give you Polar's Page...enjoy.
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