New Year Reboot

I did the one thing I told myself I wouldn’t this holiday season:  I gorged myself silly.  From Christmas Eve to New Year’s Eve, I’ve dined on whole pizzas, whole pies, sweets, meats, and a few frenzied carb episodes.  I worked out half assedly maybe twice the whole time and pretty much parked my rear on my couch.  I haven’t dared step on my scale, but am guessing I’m back up to around 215 based on the way my clothes are currently fitting.

I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions.  I don’t make them because whenever I do, they become the very things I fail by the beginning of February.  So making a resolution to lose weight is pretty much guaranteeing that I’ll gain.  Instead, I’ll just reboot.  I’m pretty certain that I’ve had my fill of pizzas, pies, and cakes.  I think I’ve carbed myself out.  Being back to work on a regular schedule will hopefully get me back to my old eating and exercising schedule.  It’s always easier for me to do on weekdays, and because of the holidays, I was home more than usual.  I’d work half days and get long weekends, which is a recipe for disaster for me.  Idle time causes me to eat.  Not having to be anywhere causes me to be lazy.  Now that I’m back to full hours and full work weeks, I’m hopeful that I can get back on schedule with everything else.

I’m trying to pack lighter and leaner meals into my lunch bag as well.  The past couple of months I’ve been sneaking more and more carbs in there.  My soups and chowders were becoming creamier and I was starting to stuff more potatoes in there as well as pack them into bigger containers.  For the next few weeks I’ll go back to using the smaller containers which forces me to pack less and therefore eat less.  I’ll also cut out the potatoes and use more greens instead.  Since I’ve eaten every piece of chocolate in the house, all I have to do is not get anymore.  And most importantly, I’ll have to get back into the habit of immediately changing into my workout clothes as soon as I get home after work instead of making a beeline for the couch like I’ve been doing the past few weeks.

Falling off the wagon is so easy.  Reboots are so hard.  All I can hope for is that I stay on the wagon longer.  I’m hopeful to have a better 2013 healthwise.  I didn’t start off 2012 with this conviction which led to months and months of sedentary overeating and the worst health I’ve ever had in my life.  I’m hopeful I can reach my goals this year.

Post-Christmas Battle Damage Assessment

I did some SERIOUS damage this weekend.  Serious.  Damage. During my four day holiday weekend, I not only did not work out a single time, but I also consumed three (count ‘em, THREE) pizzas, a German chocolate cake, TWO PIES, some homemade eggnog (that tasted disgusting, btw), chocolates, and McDonald’s.  I pretty much undid two month’s worth of work in four days.

Going into the weekend, I told myself I’d allow a little of a splurge food-wise, but I’d also work out at least two of the four days.  I was planning on getting some exercise in on Christmas Eve and Christmas evening.  I ended up completely giving in to whatever food temptation I had and the only time I ever got off my couch was to shower and sleep.  I had planned to take my dog to the dog park on Christmas, and I did, but it was cold and muddy outside and my dog completely loss any sense of sanity once we were out in public and constantly jumped on me and ruined my brand new parka, so we didn’t stay long.  That was the closest to any physical activity I got.

After suffering from horrible sleep apnea symptoms on a regular basis earlier this year, I cleaned up my diet and began exercising regularly and stopped having episodes.  I haven’t had an episode in months, but last night I woke up several times in coughing and vomiting fits.  I went to work and started chugging caffeine like it was going out of style and couldn’t figure out why I was so sluggish despite taking enough caffeine to kill a horse.  I was complaining about my sluggishness to my coworker and realized it was probably because I didn’t get any sleep last night.  I only remember waking up twice, but I’m sure it was more because I am absolutely haggard right now.

As tired as I am, I am determined to exercise tonight.  What’s done is done.  This weekend I went on an extremely horrible food bender and the only thing I can do about it now is to just start exercising again, starting tonight.  I have absolutely no idea how I’m gonna muster the motivation or energy to do it, but I know I need to.  I haven’t, and won’t, hop on a scale for at least a week.  I already know I’ve gained several pounds and I know if I look at a scale right now I’ll just depress myself.  I think I’ll be ready to weigh in again next week.

Collarbone, Where Are You???

I haven’t seen my collarbones in YEARS.  I know a lot of women use them as a gauge regarding their weight, and I do too.  My mother has been obese my entire life and I remember one year when I was a teen seeing her look at her reflection in the bathroom mirror searching for her collarbone.  I remember her telling me that’s how to tell if you’re thin enough.  I never thought about my collarbone before then.  I stood next to her and looked at my reflection and she explained how mine was easy to see compared to hers.  Ever since then, I’ve used the sight of my collarbone as my gauge.  The thing is, I’ve got very shallow collarbones.  Even at my thinnest they’re not as prominent or sink in as deep as they do on most people.  The shallowness of my collarbone makes it even more of an early warning system for me.  As soon as they become faint, I know I’m in trouble.  The last time I remember seeing them was in 2007.  They were almost indistinguishable then, but I didn’t take action.  There were a few times in the past several years that I lost enough weight to almost see them.  In 2011, I started running every night after work and dropped a good amount of weight in two months.  I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and pressed around the base of my neck to see if I could see any hint of collarbone.  I could feel it, I could almost see it, but it wasn’t quite yet showing.  I gave up running just a few weeks later and started sliding back up the scale to where I’m at now.

I know weight wise I’m no where close to seeing my collarbone.  I know from past experience I have to be at least 165 to see it.  I got down to 171 in 2011 when I could almost see it.  I’m still currently well above 200.  I’ve got at least 43 more pounds to lose before I see my collarbone again.  Still, I find myself touching the base of my neck, feeling around for it, looking for it in my reflection.  I swear sometimes after my workout that I can almost see it.  I get hopeful when I touch it and can feel it under the skin.  Seeing my collarbone again has been a goal of mine for years.  I hope one day, next year, I’ll get to achieve this goal.

Mini Goal Achieved: Officially Overweight

**Weighed in at 208 this morning.  Officially no longer obese.

I never thought I’d be happy about saying I’m overweight, but after spending 2012 as clinically obese, I’m pretty proud to no longer be in that bracket.  This was my third mini goal achieved.  I said I’d buy myself a Pandora bracelet once I hit 208.5, so today after work I’m gonna get me that charm bracelet.  I’ve been charting my weight loss on a few different platforms; an app on my phone, an online tracker, as well as jotting it down in my weekly planner.  I haven’t been weighing myself nearly as much as I used to because I honestly haven’t been as stringent as I was when I first started.  I’ve been slacking since November and my weightloss has really slowed down.  I can make all the excuses for that in the world—-money problems, work stress, illness, the holidays, a death in the family—-and they’d all be true, but I still know I  could do better despite all of it.  Hitting these milestones are really picking me up and motivating me to keep chugging along.  I’m now less than 10lbs. away from being under 200.  In 9lbs., I’ll be in Onederland.  My birthday is late next month and I want to be in the sub 200 range by then.  As far as a body change, I haven’t really noticed anything significant.  I’ve lost a total of 24.4lbs. so far and can barely tell the difference.  I think I’ve noticed my belly a little flatter and maybe my face isn’t as puffy, and I can tell that my clothes are fitting a little looser, but I’m still wearing the same clothes.  I haven’t gone down in size yet and no one else has noticed a change.  The old me would’ve quit by now; not seeing a significant change and still wearing the same fat girl clothes would’ve been enough to make the old me completely stop and grow roots on the couch again, but new me knows to keep plugging along and sooner or later I’ll eventually get there.  It’s slow going, but it has to be done.  The more I quit, the more I gain, and the harder and longer it’ll be to get back on track.  I’m gonna soak myself in this little mini goal and pat myself on the back.  My next mini goal is Onederland.

Top Heavy

I stopped wearing lots of things once I realized I was obese.  I stopped wearing heels because it hurt my feet.  I stopped wearing jeans because they dug into my waistline.  I stopped wearing women shirts because they accentuated my backfat.  I stopped wearing bras because they hurt my entire chest region.  I started outgrowing my bras last summer and my boob job only exacerbated that.  I wasn’t sure what bra size I was after the surgery and so I eyeballed bras in the store and bought whatever I thought might fit.  When my weight started to pile on, even the biggest bras Victoria’s Secret sold was making my shoulders, back, and boobs hurt.  The fabric dug into my skin, the hooks became almost impossible to snap on and off….  It was embarrassing for me because once my bras stopped fitting, I knew everything else in my closet was done for.  Knowing I couldn’t fit the drawerful of new bras I just bought really hurt.  I loved cute underwear.  I loved my Victoria’s Secrets.  I loved wearing cute lacy things.  But I couldn’t fit them anymore.  I had these massive solid boulders hanging off my chest and inches of backfat that just made wearing anything even remotely binding unbearable.

I started buying and wearing nothing but wireless and sports bras.  I gave up trying to find a cup size that wouldn’t make it look like I had four boobs under my shirt.  Everything I bought just had a simple L printed on the tag instead of cup or band sizes.  I became accustomed to strapping my breasts down as tightly as possible and hiding them as much as I could.    I stopped looking at bras in stores or catalogs.  I just avoided them completely.

A few days ago, I decided it was time I figured out my bra size and buy myself an actual bra.  Wearing bralettes everyday is something the old me would’ve never done.  Wearing it gives me a very unflattering silhouette, and if I want to take pride in my appearance again, I’m going to need to start wearing an actual bra that will make me look good.  I took out my old tape measure and measured myself, then used some tables on the internet to figure out my current bra size.

Holy cow.

Now, when I was my young lithe self, I used to wear 34C.  I was actually content with that size; I had an ample bosom without being too busty.  I would feel pangs of inadequacy when looking at my sisters who were busty DDs, but I never got complaints.  Still, I was a cleavage enhancing bra aficionado and pretty much owned nothing but.  At the start of my weight gain, when I began spilling out of my bras, I went up a size to 34D.  Then I got up to 36D before I seemingly piled on 50lbs. overnight and topped off the weight gain with a breast enlargement.  This whole time I was assuming I was maybe a 36DD, but after buying bras in that size, it became clear I was not.  The tape measure and internet told me I was in fact a 38F.  I’m not sure how I feel about that, but I know I feel some kind of bad.  I don’t know how much of that is fat and how much of that is implant.  I am noticing that while I’m slowly slimming down, my breasts seem to be becoming more pronounced and my silhouette from the side is starting to look a little cartoonish.  I don’t have much of an ass and so my boobs sticking out as far as they do really amplifies my rather flat ass and I’m starting to look more than a little top heavy from the side view.  I’m hoping that in time my breasts will start to shrink a little as well.  To this day I’m still not sure how big of an implant I was given.  When I first had this work done, it looked like my doctor had stuffed two volleyballs under my skin but he assured me after the swelling went down and gravity caught up, it would reduce in size a little and fall into a more natural position.  It wasn’t too long after that that I started piling the weight on.  So I don’t think I ever really got to see what my body looked like after the swelling because I instantly replaced that with fat.  Hopefully in a few months I’ll get a better image of what my new body is supposed to look like.  I do not want to have freakishly large breasts.  I’m hoping they’ll shrink down to a DD or a DDD at most.  Preferably a DD.

***Crosses fingers.***

NSV: Complimented by a Stranger

Up until a few years ago, I was complimented by random people on the street enough to be completely ambivalent of it.  Not to sound conceited, but it did happen pretty often.  Growing up, I was always on the shy side and self conscious.  I was a tall gawky looking kid and used to get teased a lot about my appearance.  It wasn’t until I moved away from home and grew into my own that the compliments started coming in.  At first, it was embarrassing.  I’d be walking in the mall or at a fair or in a park or whereever, and a stranger would smile at me and compliment my smile or height or hair or whatever.  That embarrassment would be amplified if I was with friends or a significant other.  Some of my girlfriends would bristle when they saw me getting attention and a few ex-boyfriends would become snide.  I got into the habit of not making eye contact with strangers for years because of it.  After a while, though, I started to appreciate the compliments.  To hell with what my friends and boyfriends thought.  Who am I to turn down a compliment?? It made me feel good to have strangers think highly of my appearance enough that they’d go out of their way to tell me.  And just to be clear, it wasn’t just men who complimented me.  I’d get them from women, and I appreciated those more, because most women wouldn’t go out of their way to compliment another woman they don’t know off the street.

Anyway, all that stopped when I started packing on the weight.  I didn’t even realize they had stopped.  I became so ambivalent, that when it stopped altogether, I didn’t even take notice.  About a year ago, I was out one night with a few girlfriends at a comedy club.  While standing outside waiting to get in, I noticed the men turning their heads to get a good look at my friends.  It hit me that none of them were looking at me. Even when I looked right back at them, they didn’t look.  That night I realized I was ‘the fat friend.’  I was the one who wore the frumpy clothes and provided comic relief.  I wasn’t the pretty one.  Everything hit me that night; the years without compliments, my slowly putting up my make up until I was used to leaving the house without wearing it anymore, the utter lack of any nice clothes or shoes I had in my size.  I was dowdy, frumpy, and plain.  I went from dolling myself up just for a shopping trip to wearing the most body-hiding clothes I owned for a night out on the town.  It was depressing.

I’ve been trying to wear make up to work again.  I’ve been trying to get back into the habit of doing my hair, make up, and other girly things I used to do.  It’s still hard because I still hate what I see in the mirror.  I stopped making myself pretty because a few years ago, I stopped being pretty.  I know that must sound really shallow of me, but it’s true.  I used to take pride in my appearance, and I just don’t anymore.  But I’m trying.  I’m trying to care because it’s when I care about my outside appearance, I’ll take care of the inside as well.  I used to take great pride of both my health and appearance, but somewhere down the line, I just stopped.

One of the things I used to get complimented about the most, believe it or not, was my walk.  And, believe it or not, I used to be TOTALLY self conscious about the way I walked.  I was self conscious about it because I was always told I had the same gait as my father.  We’re both tall and I have the female equivalent of his build, and when we’d walk side by side, everyone used to tell us how much we looked alike.  And although I love my father fiercely, no teenage girl wants to be told she walks like a man.  When I joined the military, I spent the first two months literally marching.  Marching in drills, marching in parades….  Marching from sun up to sun down.  We were taught how to walk tall, straight, and in cadence.  I took to pounding my feet into the ground, or as they said, moving with a purpose.  In my mind, everytime we were marching, I was walking to RuPaul’s Supermodel.  By the time I graduated basic training, my nickname was Supermodel.  I loved it.  After a while, though, I couldn’t stop walking that way; long strides, switching hips, feet pounding.  I tried to rein it back, but it became my regular gait, especially in heels.  And I ALWAYS wore heels.  Anyway, one of the things I lost with this weight gain was that confident walk.  My heels could not support my weight anymore, so I stopped wearing them—and if you knew me, you’d know that really hurt because one of my great loves is a good pair of stilletos.

In my slow journey to return to my old self, I’ve been trying to apply make up and wear heels again.  It’s getting a little easier as time goes by because I’m starting to see the old me again, under all this fat.  The more fat I lose, the better I feel about dolling myself up.  On Friday after work, I stopped by the supermarket on the way home to get some dinner.  The sun was setting and it was pretty chilly out, so I tried to walk briskly through the parking lot and into the store.  As I was crossing the street, a couple of cars slowed down to let me pass.  I hurried across and made it to the entrance.  There were two men walking out of the store as I was going in.  I looked up and for a moment made eye contact with them.  One of them immediately stopped in his tracks and waited for me to get close enough to him when he looked at me and said he had to let me know how stunning I was and how I “owned” my walk.  I sheepishly thanked him and hurried pass into the store.  It wasn’t until several minutes later that it hit me—this stranger complimented me!  He stopped, waited for me to approach him, and gave me a compliment.  And he doesn’t think I walk like a man!!  I don’t think he really thought twice about me or anything; I’m sure as soon as he hit the parking lot he forgot I even exist, but his compliment really picked me up.  I haven’t been approached like that in years.  I don’t even remember the last time it happened before Friday night.

I know this whole post must sound so vapid.  I honestly don’t mean it to.  It’s not that I care what strangers think of me.  But to go from the girl who used to get confused for a model to someone so frumpy and self conscious that she feels she’s not worth the make up in her case or the clothes the pretty girls wear….  It’s hard on the ego.  It took me many years to build up my confidence, and only a few short years to completely lose it.  I’m trying to find my beauty, inside and outside, again.  At my best, I cared enough to eat right and take care of my body.  I think that’s what was showing through the entire time.  I was happy more, I smiled more, I got out of the house more.  I took pride in everything I did.  As the weight started piling on, I stopped caring.  I stopped caring about the food I consumed, I stopped caring about the gym, I stopped caring about my appearance.  Now that I’m starting to care again, I’m finally able to see and feel a difference.

Start-Stop-Start

**Weighed in at 210.6 this morning—-lowest weight of the year yet.

This is the longest I’ve stuck to a plan yet, but I’m hiccuping my way through it more and more.  This month, November, has been particularly rough.  I’m crossing my fingers that December will be a lot smoother for me.  I started this month off on a roll.  I was doing an hour of my Tread Climber a night and burning more than 800 calories each time.  Every morning I’d weigh myself and I was losing an average of 0.4lbs. a day.  I was soo amped.  But then I hiccuped. I don’t even know exactly why.  I just did.  I skipped a night, then two, then three…..  I got a craving for something with buffalo sauce on it, saw the delivery menus still hanging on my fridge, then called one.  I called the delivery place I used to frequent, even though I’ve been able to avoid them this whole time.  When I first started this journey, I was calling this particular pizza joint on literally a nightly basis.  Even though I started this weight loss journey and was committing myself to it, I never tossed those menus.  So when I glanced at them from my couch the other week, my body instinctively picked itself up, grabbed it off the fridge, and started dialing.  And even though I knew I’d probably regret it, I could also feel myself starting to salivate in anticipation.

That hiccup lasted five days.  Five days of eating whatever I wanted and avoiding my exercise room.  I felt bad.  I felt defeated.  I was once again scared of my scale.  I was doing so good!!!  How could I lapse like that??  After throwing myself a little pity party, I decided to just get back up and start again.  I had to build my stamina back up to that hour, but once I did that, I knew I was back.  Once again I’m pumping my legs every night, sweating that good sweat, feeling like I conquered the world by the time I step off the Tread Climber.

Then I had another hiccup.

Thanksgiving week I had planned to stay the course.  I don’t even eat turkey, so how was this holiday supposed to affect me, right??  Instead of a turkey dinner, I had takeout.  Which wasn’t that bad.  I didn’t regret it.  I worked out before that meal and felt I deserved it.  I even hopped on the scale the next morning and saw that I still dropped 0.2lbs.  Then I completely lost it for the rest of that long weekend.  I stopped by the store and bought (and ate) an ENTIRE large pizza in one sitting.  I bought two cans of cinnamon buns and ate them by the pan.  I went back out for take out AGAIN and even polished off a whole mixed berry pie for dessert.  And I didn’t exercise once.  That was bad hiccup.

I just got back on the horse again.  I’m trying to finish this month strong.  This is my lowest month, loss-wise.  In September, I lost 7.9lbs.  In October, I lost 7lbs.  This month the I only lost 5.2lbs.  I know I could’ve lost more had I not had those two huge hiccups.  I’m obviously not in control of my binging yet.  I’ve tossed those menus that I kept on my fridge.  I’m  trying to choose sleep over late night snacking.  I’m hoping I’ll be in better control in December.  I’m proud that I was able to restart after my stops, but I need to cut down on the amount and duration of my stops.  I know if I let them get out of hand, the stops will go from being just 5 days to 5 months.  And I can’t undo all this work.

Cooking Again

I haven’t really cooked for myself in at least a year.  The last meal I clearly remember cooking was a pumpkin chili from a recipe I saw last winter. I’ve always eaten out, ordered in, or grazed from a plastic container in the last year or so.  It’s funny, because I remember I used to love cooking for myself.  I remember spending an entire Saturday cooking a big meal that would last through the week.  I used to bake cakes and pies and was always trying out new dishes.  I was on an endless pursuit to perfect my eggplant Parmesan, chili, and spaghetti recipes.  The past few years, though, I’ve slowly neglected the kitchen and became accustomed to getting my food by talking into a voice box on the side of a building.

I think it started in 2007 when I accepted a job that required a lot of traveling and being away from home more often than not.  I’d go to these pretty austere places (funny thing; austere sounds so much prettier than what it really means) and when I’d come back home, I longed for giant wedges of cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory and buffalo shrimp slathered in sauce from Hooters.  I’d fly business or first class whereever I went, and they’d feed you non-stop in those seats.  I’d sit there and order everything on the menu because I knew once I landed whereever I landed, I’d be eating crap for the weeks I’d be there.  At the same time, I was very active and never gained any weight.  This made me comfortable with my eating habits long enough to make them extremely hard to break once I took another job that left me working in a cubicle 8 hours a day.  I continued to eat as if I was this thin jet setter, but I wasn’t anymore.  The pounds very quickly packed on and now here I sit.

When I decided to lose weight this time, I stuck to what would be simple and plain—-fruits and veggies as fresh as possible much as possible.   For the first few weeks, I existed on fresh fruit for breakfast and lunch and salads for dinner.  I’d pack my lunch bag with a piece of fruit, a Ziplock bag of sliced up raw veggies, and a water bottle.  When I got home from work, I piled lettuce and veggies on a plate.  It was simple, it was cleansing, and it worked.  I told myself I was eating this way because it was healthy and effective.  And it was.  But I was still avoiding my kitchen.  I was so afraid of slipping up and cooking something fattening and falling off the wagon.  So I went into the kitchen just long enough to grab a piece fruit out of the fridge and that’s all.

I decided last weekend that it was time to cook for myself again.  A bag of veggies for lunch is fine and all, but it would be so much better for me emotionally if I could eat something hot and tasty.  I’d need to trust myself to cook again and I’d need to trust that I could do it responsibly.  I went to do my weekly grocery shopping on Saturday and immediately went to the produce section first, as I have been doing for months now.  I started picking up the same vegetables I’ve always eaten and had to stop myself and remind myself I was making slight changes.  Instead of the usual peppers and greenbeans, I picked up veggies I could cook with; onion, bell peppers, parsley, garlic……  I then finished my shopping and spent the next day cooking my meals for the week.

The first meal I decided to make for myself was pesto tortellini.  And it was delicious.  I made a potful and then divvied it up into lunch sized portions in containers and put them in the fridge.  Instead of grabbing veggies and slicing them up before work, I’d reach in and grab a container of pasta along with a piece of fruit and threw them into my lunch bag.  The first day, when lunch rolled around, I took my lunch to the microwave and relished the feeling of carrying a hot bowl back to my desk.  It was delicious, filling, and very satisfying.  When I got home I worked out for a full hour.  The next morning I was down 1/2lb.!  It felt good to know that I can cook, cook something delicious and satisfying, and still lose weight.

Now that I’m starting to regain my culinary confidence, I’m starting to get that same giddy feeling I used to get when I was younger, “What can I make this week?  What new recipe should I try out?”  Only I’m not thinking about triple layer cakes and cheesy pastas, I’m thinking of hearty low calorie meals.  My old mindset is starting to meet up with my new mindset, and it feels pretty exiting.  So exiting that I looked online for some low calorie lunch inspiration and decided that this weekend I’m gonna make some meatball marina open-faced sandwiches my next work lunch menu option.  I go grocery shopping on Saturday, and I’m already giddy.

Still Ashamed

I gotta admit; I’ve been doing pretty damn good these past couple of months.  I’ve lost about 18lbs. since I started in late September.  I’m losing at a more rapid pace since I started amping up my after work workouts.  I feel better.  I eat better.  I sleep better.  And when I get on the scale in the morning, it actually feels like a little treat.

But I’m still ashamed of my body.  Even now, I’m so much fatter than I used to be just a couple years ago.  Now that I can finally see my body and fat for what it is, it’s really distressed me.  I can’t even think about trying to go out into the single scene because I’m so anxious about my appearance.  I found out last night one of my good friends just moved to a town about an hour north of me.  Because I’ve done a lot of moving the past several years and bought a house just a couple years ago in another state, he assumed I was there.  Because I had just spoken to him a couple months prior, I assumed he was still out of the country.  When I told him where I was now living, he told me where he had just moved to.  We used to hang out all the time years ago.  We actually dated for about three of those years, but stayed friends after separating.  He’s the only guy I’ve dated that I managed to stay friends with.  We were really good friends before, and stayed friends after.  So knowing that he’s now living so close to me is pretty sweet.  We used to have fun hanging.  He asked if I wanted to meet up at a park, and I instantly wanted to, but then just as quickly felt myself retreating.  He literally hasn’t seen me in years.  The last time we saw each other was in 2005.  I was 145lbs. that year.  And even though I know my weight gain wouldn’t affect our friendship, my vanity doesn’t want anyone seeing me this way; especially the people who knew me when I was thin.  I didn’t realize until this year that I was avoiding all my old friends.  I’d make excuses to not hang out and pretend to be out of town when they wanted to do something.  I’ve been avoiding everyone because I don’t want them to see what I’ve become.  It’s so embarrassing to even admit that.

He wants to meet up soon.  He suggested a dog park since he’s new in town and doesn’t know where to take his dog.  I’d like to, I’d really like to catch up in person……  But all this extra fat around my face and gut is telling me not to.  The fat rolls on my back are telling me to procrastinate plans with him as long as possible.  My beefy arms are telling me to try to make excuses until at least after the new year.  My cheesy thighs are telling me that no one wants to see me wobble around.  I never realized until now how much my body has been pulling me away from my friends.

Weekends

I always lose my motivation on weekends.  Every week I push myself to exercise after work and am pretty good at getting my workouts in and eating right.  There’s something about Fridays, though, that make me completely lose my resolve.  By the time I leave the office and drive home, all I wanna do is lay down on the couch and fall in and out of consciousness.  Which is exactly what I did this past Friday.  I told myself I deserved this break day; I’ve been doing so good all week and am just too tired after work.  I told myself I’d give myself this Friday evening to just relax and decompress.  I’d get back to it tomorrow, I though.

Only I didn’t.  In my defense, I wasn’t completely lazy.  I did some much needed shopping for cleaning supplies and groceries, then went home and did a much needed bathroom cleaning and some loads of laundry.  This is ok, I thought.  I’ll just make up for this on Sunday.

And I didn’t.  I don’t even know what I did.  I did get some cooking in…  I’ve been eating a baggie of raw veggies for lunch at work for the past few months now and wanted to switch it up a little.  One of my biggest faults is that I don’t cook nearly enough for myself.  I try to cook dinner, but lunch almost never happens.  I’ve been getting by with veggies for lunch at work.  And while that’s fine and dandy, I was kinda craving a nice hot lunch for a while.  So I made a nice big pot of pesto tortellini, then divvied it all up into little lunch size portions in containers and put them in the fridge.  Now I have a really convenient hot lunch for the rest of the week.

For the most part, I ate pretty good this weekend.  I bought some fresh tuna steaks and some frozen ready-to-steam veggies and had seared ahi tuna steaks.  It was actually very very delicious.  And healthy!  I also purchased some chocolate covered pretzels, but that was unavoidable.  Those particular pretzels are seasonal and more addictive than crack.  I still managed to stay below my calorie limit, so it wasn’t too bad.

All in all, I had a good enough weekend.  Even with no exercise, I was able to maintain my weight and go up any on the scale.  However, I know I would’ve been much better off had I just got off my butt and got a workout in there somewhere.  I tried, I really did, but it’s so hard to do on the weekends.  The weekends, Saturday specifically, is the only time of the week that I can relax.  I’m at work all day five days a week and Sundays are my prep-for-work days.  I know I should do better about working out, at least at this stage in my journey where I’m trying to lose the most weight, but I just couldn’t bring myself do despite all the mental pep talking.

Maybe I’ll do better this weekend.  Hopefully I’ll be a better cheerleader to myself.

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