I wish!

I watched a lot of TV over the week between Christmas and New Year's Eve. A lot. Yesterday I even went so far as to watch about 10 hours of the Deadliest Catch marathon on Discovery. One thing about watching just one channel for so long is that you tend to see a lot of the same commercials throughout the day. Yesterday there was an ad for Publishers Clearing House where they claimed the sweepstakes were paying the winner $5,000 a week for life. Man, could I use that money. So of course I entered. Duh. I didn't buy anything, though. I'll tell you what I would buy, though: a house, a car for my husband, lipposuction (yes, I would), a treadmill, a massage and a facial. And last but not least, I'd put my stepson through college. No financial aid bullshit or loans. Straight up paid for so the kid wouldn't have to worry about anything. The rest of it would just rot away in a bank (FDIC insured, of course), gaining interest. At some point I would probably feel comfortable enough to donate regularly to a charity.

I'm a pretty pessimistic person, but every once in a while I allow myself a few "what if" wishes and dreams like this. I sometimes wish that Oprah would somehow discover me and help me lose weight, donating a trainer and personal chef. Or that Richard Simmons was giving away free spaces on his fattie cruise. Or that some producer from Extreme Makeover would somehow bump into me on the streets of New York. Or that I got on The Biggest Loser and lost a hundred pounds in 3 months.

There's always a slim chance, right?

"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one." Though, unlike John Lennon, I use those words for purely selfish reasons.

Hating on the Skinny Chicks

I can't remember when it happened, but somewhere along the way I became a fat woman and began hating the skinny, pretty hipsters that all of a sudden seemed to surround me in abundance. I find the phenomenon both interesting and scary at the same time.

When did everyone in the room start getting younger, skinnier and prettier than me? Once I noticed that I got angry at all of them. Or so I thought. I guess what really happened is that I got angry with myself for not being them. Then I got even angrier and depressed because I didn't value myself enough to take care of my body. And we all know that kind of thinking is dangereuse, as the French say. It certainly lead me down a path of delightful goodies not unlike those in the first room in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory.

I can hardly stand to go out anymore. I inevitably feel uncomfortable, like I stand out (which I do a lot of times -- these women in Connecticut are really in shape and it seems like they're all wealthy enough to buy clothes from Ann Taylor or Nordstrom). In being uncomfortable I begin resenting the other women in the room, and sometimes the men, too. I begin feeling very defensive and am only inches away from an argument. I then take all of this out on my husband whom I somehow expect to know exactly how I'm feeling, and how DARE he leave me sitting alone at the table to go off and take pictures of a band, literally exposing me to the potential judgment that surrounds me???

So I hate on the skinny chicks. I latch onto any flaw I can find in them. If I can't find one, I'm almost sure to make one up. "Look how much she flips her hair -- she's pathetic!" "Supermodels have no tits." The men who salivate over them are also fair game. And truth be told, even when I was skinny I couldn't stand pathetic, transparent guys who made picking up women at bars their sport of choice. But now I've reached a new point in disdaining them. Even though I've never wanted that kind of guy to look at me, I'm mad because I'm not the type they want to look at. Jeez, could it get any more convoluted than that???

There are people who think (and say out loud) that fat people just need to stop eating. They don't realize that the dopamine release, the numbing our brains give us is what we seek from the food because we feel pretty shitty virtually all the time. I mean, what's the alternative to that? Pot? Cocaine? Alcohol? Painkillers? A lot of us turn to getting prescription antidepressants from our doctors, but ironically enough those pills make people gain weight. None of those are attractive options for me.

I wish I could wave a magic wand and make all of this shit go away, but I can't. I pray that someday I find my lost confidence.** I pray that someday I will not project my hatred of myself onto others, and that includes skinny chicks.



**Even if I find that confidence I reserve the right to hate troll guys at bars.

Back in the Swing of Things

Slowly, but surely I'm turning things around. I had an honest conversation with my husband (who does the grocery shopping) about my need for him to buy healthy food for me, and he seems to have accepted it. I'm hoping it leads to him buying better food for himself and his son, too. Supposedly it costs more to eat healthy, but I'm sure I can put together some meals for all of us that are good for our hearts and our wallets. If only I could get them to try whole wheat pasta!

On January 2nd I'll return to Curves and go every weekday until February 6th when I have a sort of high school reunion. After my trip in February I'll use my summer vacation at the beach as a goal. I'm sure I'll trip up before then, but what matters most is my ability to accept my faults as a fat girl foodie and get over it.

I sort of lost my head about food and exercise between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Let's hope I've regained it until at least Thanksgiving 2008! :)

Today, to start with...

Since I've been so far off track recently, I'm going to have a mini goal of making today a good day. I will hydrate, drinking at least 66 oz of water (I have a 33 oz bottle). I will not partake of the chocolate chip cookies that some lovely person brought into work and placed approximately 3 feet from my desk. As much as it kills me, I will limit myself to one small sliver of the boy's birthday cake tonight (and will not have any at all after that).

Now that I've read what I just wrote, it doesn't seem too hard. Here's hoping I don't let myself be swayed!

So where's my control???

Before Thanksgiving I swore to myself that I'd be fine during the holidays and would stick to my healthful eating guns. Well, I haven't. In fact, I've been so damn bad that I'm almost ashamed. I've decided to write it all down here so I can be faced with what I've eaten and take ownership of it. Here goes...

Cookies - all kinds of them
Cupcakes - only 2 (but they were really, really good)
Pudding - banana with nilla wafers and whipped cream in it, about 2 cups so far (maybe more)
Pot stickers - only 2
Pumpkin cake - was assured it was lowfat, but I have my doubts
Pepperoni bread
Cheese puff appetizers

I'm out of control. I've got to buy some celery and carrots pronto. I'm also not drinking my liquids or working out (gear's in the car, but I pinched something in my neck and can't go just yet).

Help!

One step away from tweaking?

Yesterday I was at a Christmas Chorus rehearsal at work. I do this every year with a group of other employees and it's always a blast. Something that I noticed after last year is that while I'm in the process of rehearsing or performing I seldom look as if I'm enjoying it. And that's because my self-esteem is basement level low and has been for years. Anyway, one of the directors said to me last night, "I'd like to say you're a diamond in the rough, but really what you are is a brightly polished diamond that's afraid to shine." My response, "I know!!!!" His comment struck me in two ways: 1) he recognized that I have talent; 2) other people notice that my self-esteem is lacking and that it's holding me back from doing things I love.

I've been faced with this before. The self-esteem thing has kept me from feeling good enough to do things like finishing school, having a career, going out with my husband, etc. These are pretty major things, and they're all because I judge myself so harshly. I also have a tendency to judge others harshly, most likely because of an inferiority complex.

These issues seem to be deep rooted, and I'm trying to do some soul searching to unearth their origins. When did I start feeling like I wasn't worth anything? When did I start holding myself back because I was riddled with doubt? When did I become afraid? I can tell you that after just writing those three questions I was able to answer "When I was just a little kid" to all of them. Apparently as an adult I found solace in eating, something I didn't find when I was younger because other people controlled what I ate. When I was on my own with food choices I walked right into the loving arms of a chocolate cake. And the chocolate cake hugged me so hard that it still hasn't let go.

I want to walk into a room and have no fears about being noticed. I wonder if all these amazing people out there who have lost 100+ lbs. reached a point when they no longer felt like a freak when they walked into a room. Or do they still feel that way because of underlying self-esteem issues?

I've always been concerned that saying "I feel like everyone is looking at me and judging me when I walk into a room" is one step away from paranoid schizophrenia. And now that I think about it, fat people with no self-esteem have a lot in common with paranoid schizophrenics. We think everyone's looking at us and talking about us. In fact, a lot of us have inner voices, too, only ours aren't giving us commands. Our voices just tell us we're worthless. And instead of rocking our bodies back and forth we stuff food in our mouths for a moment's peace. Pretty freaking scary, isn't it?

Dude, I am soooooo going to write a paper on this for college. (I'm going back to college in January, voices be damned.) Who knows, maybe it will lead to a rewarding career in psychology!

PMS, MS and Dieting

OK. This is a cruel joke from above as far as I'm concerned. You're dieting, exercising, basically doing well and the next thing you know you're eating everything in sight for a week and flogging yourself mercilessly for it. When PMS is over it just becomes MS (Menstrual Syndrome). You start to forgo movement for laying on the couch pumped chock full of ibuprofen to watch something that will make you cry and hope like hell that your husband or child doesn't deign to start an argument over something because you know it will turn into a full blown rage. Your pants are tight because your stomach now looks like you are with child. If you're anything like me you retain so much water that your ankles and fingers swell. You may even have to call out of/late to work because it seems someone somewhere has got a voodoo doll of you and they are stabbing said you-doll in the stomach with a mini machete, leaving you no option other than to curl up in the fetal position and beg for mercy.

Ladies, it's really hard to remain positive after having gone through the self-sabotage mentioned above, but it's important to remember that this is a temporary thing. If you blew your diet during PMS/MS, know that it's not the end of the world. Know that you can hop right back on the food wagon and nobody should fault you for your relapse, not even you. I'd even urge you to try exercising once during your monthly visitor's visit, because, truthfully, exercise actually lessens the symptoms. I've always just lain in bed and not moved for hours, but now I've found that both my cramps and frame of mind benefit significantly from exercising.

Be careful not to weigh yourself while in the throes of "the syndrome" because it could lead to even worse eating behavior when you've noticed 4 or 5 more pounds on the scale. Water weight's a bitch.

Well, I'm off to read a few articles online about women who commit heinous crimes during their periods so I can feel better about eating a piece or five of chocolate cake last week. Be strong.

Curves

As you may already have read I am a member at Curves (thanks, Mom). I'd like to take this opportunity to discuss my experiences there. A bit of background information for those who may not know much about it: Curves is an all-women workout facility which offers strength / resistance training. Machines are set up in a circle and there are recovery stations in between each machine. You're on the machines/recovery stations for 30 seconds each, and you make approximately 2 - 3 rounds.

I always dread going to Curves, but I end up thanking myself that I made the significant effort it took to not continue driving in the direction of home. It only takes 30 minutes of your day. A drop in the bucket, right?

There are women of all sizes and ages at this place, which makes it a very comfortable environment for those of us who would rather not stand next to thong-clad chippies at Bally's. Sometimes, though, the last thing I want is to be around a bunch of Chatty Kathys and I have to really focus my eyes on the wall to send out the "back off -- I don't want to talk" vibe. Plus, when I talk I end up gasping for air. Best to focus on the task at hand.

I belonged to one Curves in my town and got used to it, liked the staff, the location, etc. Then their lease ended and they closed their branch. A lot of us transferred our memberships to another location...and I didn't go for six months (I don't like change, at least not this kind). Meanwhile, my new Curves moved to another brand new building. When I finally went I was really upset with myself that I had procrastinated for so long. I saw all the same people and even some of the same staff. This location is 100% better. They have their own bathrooms and have temperature control over said bathrooms. They have cubbies for your belongings. They put powders and body sprays on the counters for us to de-stinkify ourselves. And there are hula hoops in the center of the machines so you can work on your hip swiveling in public!

It really is a great thing, Curves, because even just going 3x a week for two weeks one can notice a difference in the way their clothes fit. You lose a lot of inches first, then the weight starts coming off (not quickly enough for my liking, though). More people are commenting on my weight loss, which leads me into this danger zone where I stop exercising and start eating absolute crap, which is what has happened over the last few weeks, so I've got to somehow train my brain that any time it hears something positive about the weight loss it should automatically say that I need another workout. Not the easiest thing to do, is it?

Water

I don't know about you folks, but I have a hard time keeping up with drinking water on a daily basis. I hate drinking water. I know it doesn't taste like anything, but perhaps that's why I hate it -- no gratification. I also have a "thing" about public restrooms, to which the old agua has a habit of sending me about 15 times a day.

Crystal Light has those little packets to flavor a 20 ounce bottle of water and they're terrific. However, I don't count that toward my water intake for the day because of the artificial sweetener. Alright, sometimes I do, but not often.

I'm doing my part for the environment by using one plastic bottle over and over again. I'm not going to buy a case a week. I just fill up with the company Crystal Rock all day and get my daily intake there. You have to be careful with those plastic bottles though because I sniffed one that I had been using for a while and almost gagged. Something went rotten in that bad boy. I don't touch my mouth to any cans or bottles when I drink from them (and I've got the stains on many a shirt-neck to prove it), so I'm not sure what happened. Apparently there's a to-do lately about supposed toxins being emitted when plastic bottles start to break down, but I'm not sure that a breakdown was possible in the short amount of time I was using that particular bottle. Anyway...

I forgot my big water bottle today, so I had to rely on walking to the cooler several times and drinking eight paper cups of water. For some reason, the eight cups are really hard to get down compared to two bottles. Honestly, the things your mind can psych you out of!

At home I drink seltzer. I don't have a problem drinking that 33 oz. of seltzer after already having my RDA of regular water during the day. Polar makes some great seltzer: I like pomegranate and vanilla the best. Vanilla smells exactly, and I mean exactly, like cream soda, but once you get it in your mouth it tastes like cream soda with no sugar in it. And it's good. Surprisingly so.

Does anyone else have a problem choking down their daily water?

Staples

I think I'll make this an ongoing part of my blog. Since I stopped buying chips, birthday cake, doughnuts and extra large coffees with extra cream and extra sugar I had to find other things to put in my body that were more acceptable. I'm not following any diet plan(s). I'm just going with my gut and my smarts. I've done plans before only to be lost when I stopped them, so I figure that the best way for me to make changes would be to make them on my own. So my "Staples" posts will be lists of foods I find to be incredibly satisfying and palatable yet go hand in hand with the way I envision my future eating, which is, for the most part, healthy.

I'm fortunate in that I love healthy foods and vegetables just as much as I love the unhealthy crap. It's really all about the chemical reaction in my brain when my taste buds fall in love with something. Here are some things my taste buds are currently in love with:

Hummus

I lived in the Middle East for four years in the early '80's where I was exposed to hummus. I loved it then and I love it now. Where we lived in Yemen there was a small restaurant up the road from our apartment complex and they served hummus on a plate with paprika sprinkled over it, a small depression in the middle for hot sauce and a side of shami bread (sort of like naan). I was thrilled when I found hummus hitting the shelves in the supermarkets here in the States. I've tasted almost every brand available to me in the Northeast and I've settled on Joseph's original hummus tahini as the most similar to the hummus I ate in Yemen. All their flavors rock, with the exception of spinach and artichoke (some things are better left to a hot appetizer loaded with Parmesan cheese). Today I eat hummus with celery or baby carrots and I'm always surpised by it's nutritional values when I enter it into my FitDay food journal. It's also pretty good on a decent whole grain cracker.

Tzatziki

When my parents were stationed in Yemen I went to boarding school in Cyprus (in Nicosia on the Greek side of the island). The chefs in our kitchen were all Cypriot, so it was surprising that one of the favorite dishes that they served was schnitzel. Schnitzel is delicious in itself, but the clever, clever Cypriot chefs paired it with tzatziki, a garlicky cucumber and yogurt sauce. I've got two Mediterranean restaurants within five miles of my house and they both have excellent tzatziki, but who wants to spend a zillion dollars just for a sauce? Earlier this week while I was perusing the hummus section at the supermarket I spied a container of tzatziki made by none other than the aforementioned Joseph's! Needless to say I snatched up the container and when I opened it and tried it...Heaven. Nirvana. As an afterthought I looked at the nutritional values and was suprised to find that it was more than fairly decent for me. Their version is made with sour cream, but I couldn't detect a difference.

Cheese

I love cheese. Can't give it up for anything. Chocolate I can give up. Cheese -- no freakin' way. Stop & Shop offers a block of white cheddar at 50% and 75% less fat. The 50% is wonderful. 75% not so much. I don't know how far away Cabot cheese can be found, but if you "hanker for a hunk of cheese" I highly recommend their 50% white cheddar. Since I linked to that video I now realize that I have 70's era ABC Saturday morning cartoons to blame for my cheese fetish. I also blame them for forcing me to buy the "Schoolhouse Rock! Rocks" CD. OK, so I admit it...the CD is freakin' awesome! /lameness

The Elusive Endorphins

I just don't get these exercise nuts. All this talk about how running gives them a high. High Schmigh. I've been convinced that any high I ever felt from running came from being lightheaded when I started pre-hyperventilation after numerous unsuccesful attempts to, well, breathe.

Maybe there will come a day when the endorphin rush washes over me and I will understand. I want that day to happen. I want to like exercising. I want to put on my sneakers and tell everyone I'm going to get high and won't be back for an hour or so. I want to engage in the psychosis that propels me to exercise when it's 97 degrees and 97% humidity or 10 degrees and snowing outside.

Despite the fact that my mouth labels these people as nuts ("N-V-T-S nuts!" --Mel Brooks) my mind is really extremely envious. Did these people join a track team in high school? Did their parents run? Did they have influences in their lives that I might not have had? Perhaps. Now here they are influencing me without even knowing it. I now run in place on all the recovery stations at Curves. And a few weeks ago during my walk I made myself run in short bursts on four separate occasions. I felt a bit of a rush, even though I was gasping mightily, my knees kind of hurt, my quads burned for three days and my feet were absolutely trashed. Was that endorphins or was it just pride and disbelief? I might run again someday, if I remember to go out and get some actual running shoes, just to test the feeling I had. Or perhaps I have uncovered a new theory: Endorphins are just the by-products of pride bubbles rising to the surface and bursting.

I'd love to hear from anyone out there who started running when they were big gals. What made you start? What were you feeling at the time? How did you have the guts to continue? Endorphins...true?

My Stats

Forgive me for not posting my stats right away. I'm a bit shy at the moment. The other ladies who inspired me to start this blog have posted everything -- pictures, BMI, weight charts. I'm just not at all ready to share that stuff with the world. It comes from shame, and I know that once I feel less of it I'll post stuff willy-nilly. However, I will endeavor to let anyone who's out there reading know if I go down a dress size or a few pounds. Plus, my husband may read this and Jeebus knows that I don't want him to know how much I weigh!!!!

Gotta Love Moms

I went to boarding school overseas for my formidable high school years which prepared me well for independence. As a result I purposefully live far away from all family members to ensure as little interference as possible. But now there's that pesky telephone and the internets.

Anyway, several years ago (more like ten) my mother drove up to visit me. When I say visit me I mean visit me. She stayed over, people. In my apartment. I cleaned that place for two months in preparation, and the first thing out of her mouth was something to the effect of "You certainly didn't go out of your way to clean." Oh yeah, it was rough. I have a hard time in general with space invaders, so I was ready to jump out of my skin (or perhaps a window) the whole time she was there.

My mother and I had always engendered prickly-ness in one another. It was our way. We still feel its effects today, but we're awfully good friends now. I think the friendship was only able to develop when during the aforementioned visit I was finally honest with her about how much some of the things she said broke me down and beat me up. The two statements that got to me most were the ever-insulting "You have such a pretty face," and "You ate the entire meal??? OooooKay." This woman raised me by herself and worked hard to do it, so I looked up to her as my only role model in life, put her on a pedestal. When someone that important to you says things that would ordinarily feel like a bit of a slap, it becomes a full on punch in the stomach that takes the wind right out of you. And I finally told her that. And it stopped. She had no idea, really.

At least I thought it had stopped. In reality it's just manifested itself in a different way. But I've gained more perspective on my predicament as I've gotten older and I'm able to handle perceived criticisms better. For instance, since my mom now declares that "You don't have anything if you don't have your health," I've translated it into a paid (by her) membership to Curves "for my health". And when we go out to eat somewhere and she wraps up half of her meal I do the same, because I've begun to realize that I can also use her arsenal of weaponry to my advantage, turning it into inspiration. Mom's hot. She works out at Curves 3x a week, plays golf a couple of times, and plays tennis when she's not doing the other two. Even if she were doing it all just to make me feel inferior (which is what my sick mind twists it into), why shouldn't I look to her for motivation? So what if I'm not retired and I only have a two hour window in my day, mostly after dark.

Mom loves me. She wants the best for me. She's not out to get me...I think. And it pisses me off that I really do have a pretty face and that she was right all along. So I'm putting that Curves membership to good use. I'm watching what I eat and trying to pick up some of her habits because I love her. And mostly because I want to render her speechless.

Goals, etc. as influenced by Mom:

• Go to Curves at least 3x a week;
• Get out of the house and move;
• Eat half that sandwich and leave the chips for the boy and his dad;
• You don't have anything if you don't have your health. (damn it)

The Big Fat Truth

Welcome to The Big Fat Truth, a weight loss blog that I hope will force me to be brutally honest about the "journey" to a lesser degree of imperfection.

At this point I'm just starting out. Like a lot of other folks out there I had that OMIGOD moment when I spied a picture of myself earlier this year. The thing is that I was feeling rather hawt that day, visiting the submarine museum, wearing my USA t-shirt and just knowing that all the sailors were looking at me because I was the shit. Then came the picture. It turns out that in actuality I really looked like one of those dumpy broads on Jerry Springer who were always being kicked to the curb by their toothless boyfriends who had been sleeping with their best friend who is also dumpy.

Why didn't my husband tell me I was so fat?!? Why couldn't anyone else be honest with me? Why did I not see that picture person in the mirror? OMIGOD, I SUCK!!!! I guess what I should've been asking is: Why couldn't I be honest with myself? I mean, since when is a size 22 just considered "curvaceous"? Since when is cellulite wicked sexy? How many stretch marks does it take to get to the self deluded center of a 38 year-old fat girl? How many times do the boards under my side of the IKEA bed have to fall out before I admit it?

So here I am admitting it.

I like really bad food. I hate exercise. I hate my bat wings. I hate that my chin/neck has taken on turkey-like qualities. I want to put a pox on people who can buy clothes in regular stores. (Why does their hair always seem perfect, too? How is that fair???) These truths and others will be ridiculously overanalyzed in The Big Fat Truth. Stay tuned.