January 18th, 2012
Disclaimer: This was not my breakfast, but it would have been awesome if it was.
I had planned on my next post being something about how I’m frustrated that I can’t seem to get into the same routine as I did last time I lost weight. It was going to end in an awesome epiphany about how I’ve learned that I have to let go of that idea because my life is in a totally different place and that I have to learn to adapt what I know. You can insert a sardonic snort here, thank you. I haven’t learned that lesson yet, and I have absolutely no idea why it’s so hard. I think it’s because I’m terrified that I’m not going to lose weight unless I do things the exact way I did last time. I don’t want to talk about that today though, and I’ve already wasted a paragraph on it. I’ll write some boring post about my previous weight loss routine and my current challenges later.
Right now… Right now…
I want to talk about food! Glorious, wonderful, knee-buckling, breath-stealing, stomach-grumbling food!
To be more exact, I want to talk about my LOVE of food. It’s an undying love, and it’s one that, dieting or not, it’s not going to go away. In fact, I’ll admit this with only one part shame and one part pride: I have a love affair with food. A complete and total romance. I have had beautiful, sweet nights on the couch with a plate of fantastic cooking while a movie played in the background. You may laugh, but it’s true. I’m a girl that can make an event out of food. A warmed up plate of left-over Japanese and something new on the DVR, and really, you’ve got a special moment. A little quiet, happy routine of your own, and isn’t that what a great love is supposed to do? Give us happy, quiet and routines? And then there’s the moony days of a crush, like seeing an amazing recipe for Guiness cupcakes (Cupcakes and Guiness? OMG) on pinterest, waiting for the day at which they can be yours. There’s the feeling of the night out with all the neon lights reflecting off your silverware. The rekindling of old flames, like the old mom and pop’s joint at the end out of town. There’s even, sometimes, the excitement of trying something dangerous and new, like your first bite of Ethiopian food.
I need to tell you-all this, and be completely grandiose in the process, because, you see, I think a love of food is sometimes a dirty little word around some parts of the diet world. If I hear one more time that I need to think of food as fuel, or that I need to disconnect the schemas in my mind of food, company and happiness, or that only dogs need food as a reward, then I just might blow a diet gasket. You see, I’m just not ready for a break-up! In fact, I never want to, and I don’t think I ever will. I just can’t look at food that way. I’m sorry. I know that this love-affair with food probably helped me reach my current weight, but I know there must be plenty of people out there with the same love-affair that don’t weigh 240 pounds. It’s just that, like in any relationship, food and I just need to set some boundaries. And I need to see another side of food to love. The healthier, happier side of food.
Not to be totally boring, and I promise it very much relates, but my boss has this “Daily Devotional” she keeps on her desk, but it’s an intellectual rather than religious daily devotional book. It has a lot of jeopardy information, and I read something just yesterday about Epicurus. He’s a pretty famous deist, but I didn’t realize that he and his followers developed such an extensive idea about food. At the height of the hellenists, Epicurus was right there in the bunch, but he believed that to truly get pleasure out of life, people had to live simpler lives. This way, when something truly great came along, they would appreciate it for its true value. He had the same idea about food, suggesting that food is more about the company you eat it in, and that, to truly enjoy, say, a complex dessert, you have to first learn how to truly appreciate the simplicity of say, a piece of fruit. You also can’t continually eat a complex dessert, even after you learn this lesson, because your desire will no longer be able to be sated. Sounds like just the relationship advice I need.
Oh! And thanks susana and sgregg for the nice comments. Next time, link your blogs so I can sneak in and have a look-see.
January 17th, 2012
Disclaimer: These are not my legs.
It’s a weird title for a blog; I understand. The thing is, when I think about all of those little times where I have been irritated due to being over weight, this is a pretty consistent irritation. I hate not fitting into a bathtub correctly. Like, really. You decide one night that you’re going to feel all sexy. You’re going to turn on some Van Morrison, or whatever flavor of Pandora cheese that you like. You’re going to go buy a set of bath bombs, and bath salts, and bath oils, and a bath mask, and you’re going to drink a glass of wine, or whatever flavor of beverage that you like, and take it easy. If you have a boyfriend/husband/girlfriend/wife or variety thereof, you might even plan it to where they get home right at the zenith of soak so you can be lying there in all your sudsy glory with your best interpretation of a smoldering eye. You build up all of this anticipation. You fill up the tub, add your over-dose of perfumes, and when you get in… Half of your body is sticking out of your sud mixture like a beached whale. You get hot and give up about midway through your glass of wine, shower off, and lick the wounds of your dispelled fantasy.
I understand that a lot of this has to do with the shortness of the tub. I mean, really, who can take one of those baths in a regular, old-fashioned tub. You’ve got to have a clawfoot, or a big jacuzzi. Over the years, I’ve just been fairly patient on my bathtub dream. Really, I have, and after all of this time, it seemed my dream would come true. My boyfriend just bought a new house, and inside of it was a pristine white, absolutely beautiful jacuzzi tub. While going through the horrors of the loan process, I held fast to the image of that glorious tub until the day we moved in. I actually didn’t get to try the thing for a few days, being so busy, but soon, it was time. I went through all of the process named above (though the boyfriend was home, so that ruined my whole “Surpise! I’m sexy!” idea), and I have to say, I was totally pumped; however, while the tub was a considerably better fit than my previous experiences, I was still left disappointed. I was still yet to be completely covered in sudsy wonderfulness. To commonly misquote Shakespeare, and be rather dramatic in the process, “Expectation is the root of all heartache.”
While I wish I could say, “That’s when I decided I didn’t want to be fat anymore,” I can’t. I decided that back in March of 2010, and I lost a lot of weight using 3FC. It’s a story for another blog day, but I’ve managed to gain it all back, plus a little bit more. I can’t say I’m not a little bit discouraged after doing this to myself, and I worry every day that I’ll lose this weight only to gain it back again. I’ve been dieting the past two weeks, but it has been difficult to get back on the good schedule I was last time. That’s also another post for another day. Maybe tomorrow actually. This blog is another step towards keeping myself accountable, plus another awesome outlet that 3FC offers.
So here we go. I’m 240 pounds and heading 80 pounds down. Sudsy dream, I’m coming for you, and you better be ready for my awesome hotness.
Happy food of the day:
Breakfast Banana Peanut Butter Oatmeal Smoothie:
1 1/2 Tbs of peanut butter
1/4 - 1/2 cup of dry oatmeal
1 cup of skim milk