244.2 BITCHES!
That’s right. Overnight I went from Morbid to just Obese.
I am aware how morbid in humor that sounds but it is amazing… just amazing.
I am gonna take some pictures tonight and form my first before and after collage.
I love you guys, I love you guys, I love you guys.
Dear Hanna,
Why you gots to be ruining on my fitness mojo with your 70MPH winds, rain and the occasional tornado? Hm? Yeah, great. No walking for me.
So there was this joke that this (other) fat kid I knew once told me…
Q:What do fat people do in the summer time?
A: Stink.
Well, that is what happened to me today, when we Yanks suffered the highest humidity levels we have had in 3 years. The air was not moving, and the Jimmy Buffet CD title, Barometer Soup, became so true I felt like just walking around I was doing laps in a pool. Andy and I turned the air conditioning on last night, calling it the “sub-artic last hurrah” of the summer. I walked out of my bedroom this morning and the only thing that could come out of my mouth was “UGGGGGGGGGH.”
The AC has been on all day and I spent the majority of the afternoon playing mandolin (badly, it is a lefty instrument and I am a righty in every other instrument I play, so the mandolin is played upside down in my instance) My point is the AC gives me a hell of a migraine and so I spent the whole day in these lame sunglasses. It saves me from the nausea. Fat girl in boxers and a tank, in aviator shades, playing an instrument upside down that is too small for anyone – hotness.
Good thing my dog loves me.
I just feel so trapped inside and wish the weather would cease. It just makes me even more nervous for the coming winter months and I really hope I get some kind of equipment in my house for those days when it is too cold for walking outdoors. I don’t want to become lethargic when facing those winter blues
Well folks, we hit 255 this morning, and I actually performed the entire dance to Thriller in my underwear upon exiting the bathroom.
It was a glorious moment, well, until my crazzzzy Portuguese elderly neighbors realized that I was watching them, watch me. I can only imagine what they think about the unmarried 27 year old with two dogs doing a full on 80’s dance in pastel yellow panties. It was hot; you all know you want it. (Distant crickets)
I feel like these people are somehow going to be a comical element when I finally get my ass moving to write my book. They see me everyday, mounting my bike, wearing the same white long sleeved shirt when I go on my walks, they see me sweat, they see me cook, and I almost feel like incorporating them, and their apparent voyeurism, into a type of Statler and Waldorf, if you will. It is easier to keep their obvious staring at bay during the winter months - when the sunshine isn’t fabulous and the breeze isn’t nice.
For those of you who are Muppet-tarded – Statler and Waldorf are those hecklers from the muppet show that sit in the balcony claiming how bad the performance is.
Oh, and for those of you that are lost on the Star Wars Bantha reference – The second picture is for you.
So seeing that my recent success was sending me in to cloud nine – I decided to try on this pair of black pants that have been hiding in my closet for 2 years. I bought them because they were my size and when I got home I couldn’t even get them past my thighs. I could have returned them but something in my gut told me it just wasn’t worth it. So, 255 meant it was time to try the damn things on. I was ½ excited when I could get them past my thighs. I was more excited when they covered my butt. I was less excited when I finally buttoned them they created one of the largest muffin tops you have ever seen in your life. I didn’t cry but instead started cracking up.
I looked like a chunk of breakfast, which brought me into the blueberries, which brought me to Violet Beauregard. Violet, I was turning Violet, Violet. Not just because of the muffin my midsection had created – but because I think if I left them this way I would have trouble breathing and start to turn purple. It is amazing how my mind works sometimes. But I was cracking up. My dogs, Brisco and Kenobi, stared at me like I was insane.
Oh, and if you see missing posts on this blog – it is because I made the mistake of telling my mother, who has begun South Beach, about this website. Seeing that those posts were basically ripping her a new one – I put them on private. Lol. I am such an idiot.
Walking down the beach in the last weekend of a long summer. My legs hurt, my dogs are pulling me faster and I just keep thinking about the grains of sand embedded in my thighs and the impending rash that will result from them. I wade into the water to try to get rid of the substance and the bottoms of my shorts get soaked, begin to fall down, exposing my stomach.
I just sat there, staring at the waves rolling in, wondering what the hell I got myself into being 270 pounds. I wish I could say I remember the days when being at the beach at sunset made you feel beautiful but in this moment in time I feel frumpy and hopeless. 130 pounds seems so far away. The idea of being able to wear a bathing suit that doesn’t ride up or expose me would be one of the greatest accomplishments. Just to be able to wear a suit under normal clothes. To take those clothes off and wear the suit and not have to sit in the car soaking wet and itchy because I am too ashamed to remove my clothes in public.
I am in this personal war with myself these past few weeks. I am not giving up by any means but the frustrations that come with dieting, losing pounds one week, not losing the next, working harder only to level the scale when you stand on it, is really getting to me.
I know it is ignorant to expect change over night. But I feel like I am not making the progress I should be. Because of that I am being stricter on myself, which might be doing more damage than it is good.
I am looking at it as an addiction. But what the sick sad part is that with a drug addict – there is a clear line – that you can’t have that substance. With overeating – you have to have that “drug” in order to survive but you have to take it in moderation. You have to deal with the food commercials jammed in your face ever minute of every day. You can change the channel, or go for a walk but the billboards haunt you. It is everywhere.
I know I have the problem and I know I am going to fix it but the journey is becoming more distracting and more torturous as the weeks turn into months. It has taken over my mind frame and the battle is all I can think about.
The things that don’t kill you will only make you stronger – but what if what is supposed to make you stronger is killing you?
Seriously I just think you guys should see this – how friggan insane is this????
I have lost fourteen pounds of face.
I just about dropped dead when one of my co-workers was visiting my my-space and did the comparison for me. Seriously - almost died. Not only is it the loss of weight in the cheeks, chin but my eyes are brighter, my skin is cleaner and the tone is just … holy crap.
As Tim Gunn on Project Runway would say “Make it work Paula.” Oh hell yes I am Tim. Hell yes I am. More behind the cut.
In more serious news.
Going to be increasing my walking time gradually over the course of this month… each week I am going to be increasing it by one mile a week. This week is one mile. Next week – two miles and so on until I am walking four miles a day. I am hoping that will make the biking easier as I have been on my bike rocking it 2 miles a day. I have got to find on of those stupid pedometer gadgets at wal*fart this weekend.
Seriously this whole exercising thing is a pain in the ass – and my shins. Even after a total throw down fit of complaining about how much I hate walking, I have discovered how less of a total fat mess I feel when I am walking with my dogs – as opposed to being the girl on the bike whose ass has swallowed the seat.
But of course, while it may be low impact, my dogs and I enjoy it, I personally dig it due to the ability to crank the Regina Spektor MP3’s in my ear while my dogs poop.
It is also something I can do while the snow is on the ground. Not the 4000 feet New England usually gets – so I am looking for an alternative way to get this done. I am panicking because I don’t have a lot of bling so I can get a treadmill. Maybe I will just ask for something like it for Christmas.
Or perhaps craigslist… hmmm… treadmill or hookers? Which one do you guys would burn more calories and not give me the crabs?
Oh mayun. Today was one of those days where you actually are proud of yourself for making it. I went on two bike rides today, one, in the morning after I woke up, and the second around 7 p.m.
But I am hitting something that is both annoying and frustrating. I cannot figure out why it so hard for me to bicycle. I can only make it a mile before I start to think that I just cant do it anymore. I was also sweating a lot more before and even that has stopped. So tonight I felt like my second bike ride was totally moot. I get in the house and do my normal walk around my kitchen dancing around but it was worthless. My heart rate was nothing. So I decided – what the hell – I am gonna go on a walk. My dogs grabbed their own leashes and away we went. I ended up walking them for a good portion of two miles. I feel it in my legs and my ass is sore. I am unsure if this is from being sexually assaulted by my bike seat when I go or just the reflex in my muscles.
When I first started going and working out – what I feared most is how the public preserved me. I have not had once instance yet where someone yelled at me out the car window until this evening. Friday night – go figure. Also, while I was walking my dog this group of teenagers I was walking past – one smart assed little hag decided to open her mouth.
Now, you see, I am possibly one of the most obnoxious people you have ever met and being in a job where I basically get to take on some of the most powerful people in the community, corrupt cops, politicians, and just general people who take a great deal of education and balls to debate. Going head to head with a 16-year-old girl calling me fat wasn’t going to be an issue. I verbally break danced on this girl and it made me feel like a million bucks.
After she had called me a string of nasty names, I removed my headphones, commanded my dogs to the ready position. I have a spaniel and a schnauzer and they are both hunting dogs that go on point at command. They are also highly trained in all manor of snuggling and attack. I turned around and looked at this ghastly harlot up and down and started to laugh.
She then issued a string of obscenities, another thing that I am very good at, asking me what my problem was. I walked closer and stared at her for a moment and the burst out laughing. She seems appalled and downright surprised. I then looked at her straight in the face and issued the following statement.
“I may be fat, but even to an amoeba like you, can see that I am working on that – But no matter how hard you work you can’t fix what is wrong with you.”
“What is that,” she inquired.
I mustered up the biggest smile I could gain and responded.
“Ugly.”
She had nothing left to say after that and I kept my walk up at a slow jog. I felt like I was the head Marshall in a tickertape parade.
I have dealt with assholes like this my whole life and to finally be able to be heckled as I bettered myself just reminded me how powerful I am as a woman and that no skinny skank in a Wal*mart t-shirt reading “Princess” is going to kill my feel-good buzz.
The shirt may have say princess but the face said… Troll.
The scale finally friggan moved. Thank Jebus.
So something occurred to me tonight… that my best friend is a registered Dietitian and I have begun leaning on her for portion support. I have been really trimming down what I eat and am thinking that WW may not be the best way to go for me. You see, I have no issues about what to eat – being my fruits and veggies and whole grains. The pointing system is literally driving me up a wall. It just seems so implausible. I don’t have the urges to mow food down. I don’t need 30 points a day to survive. Shopping with the counter embarrasses me. I have re-learned to cook. I am changing my life.
I am so annoyed with the want to exercise more. I just can’t do it. I go for a two-mile bike ride in the evenings and I still feel like a total fat ass because my legs give out if I want to do any more.
So I have resorted to coming home at 7 p.m. after my bike ride and dancing as I make dinner. I can tell you that the crazy Portuguese old people across the driveway must think I am some kind of friggan lunatic dancing to Phil Collins as I am dicing up broccoli. I am also gonna be waking up earlier to go for two rides a day as opposed to just one. I am hoping that will strengthen my legs enough for make it workable for myself.
The minute you wake up that day when you decide enough is enough is possibly the easiest day you will have when losing weight. It haunts me and that is all I think about all day. Just the challenge and the justifications of what I need to do to become that person I always wanted to be. The journey is just so tedious. I want to feel like I am changing.
I need to find 250. I need need to drop Jessica Biel off my frame to look like Jessica Biel. That people… is just screwed up.
I am frustrated. So frustrated that I am putting it behind a cut for my expected use of the f word. User take caution because you are one click away from watching me blow my cool.
In the past few days, after discovering exercising, I realized that I had done so well that I was dying for this amazing curry from a local Thai house. Now, compared to eggrolls, fried shrimps and those delectable scallion pancakes from the local Chinese cuisine place, which is chock full of the MSG and deep fried, or what you could call my formal norm, – the boiled chicken, veggies and curry paste seemed pretty harmless.
But I still felt as if I should go and puke it up in a fit of disgust. No, I have never forced myself to vomit – unless you count that week after my 21st birthday and I had consumed that bottle of tequila and it was totally necessary. But the sheer thought of me trying to rationalize myself of how bad the idea of take out food is was pretty brutal.
To make it worse – My father comes over and is looking for seafood. I shake my head knowing damn well that there is some kind of theme happening this weekend that involves testing me to see the before and after of myself. Before – Fried. After – Baked.
I end up getting a pretty lean piece of fish, seafood stuffing, mashed potatoes and raw broccoli. Of course it comes with the lobster sauce and the dinner roll. Not only am I not getting a pound of fried fish, French fries, coleslaw and enough tartar sauce to dice a mermaid up and cover her in it – but I eat half of everything and put the rest in the fridge for my father to eat tomorrow.
My rational side is telling me that I was okay. That I had changed. That my changes and mentality are permanent.
But why am I beating myself up. Why did I feel the need to go for three bike rides today just to get rid of some of the guilt? A month into my diet and I am wondering if it ever ends.
Well, I succeeded today in humiliating myself.
My mom called at about 3 p.m. and said that she had bought me a bicycle. I was pretty surprised because usually she is a banshee who loves to rain on my parade and is just queen of killing any kind of good mood I am in. So I was all gung-ho about sucking down the fresh air and beginning my first day of intense activity.
So, off I went on my new bike, around the corner and felt so amazing until the incline started and kept going for the next hour. In five minutes I was starting to sweat. I began to get concerned about my butt swallowing the seat and the people driving by me wondering what I was doing and how terrible I looked. I was almost out of breath. Almost a mile uphill. My heart was pounding. I was getting dizzy. I see another small hill and I almost started to cry. I decide to get off my bike and pretend to adjust my seat as a truck filled with guys approached.
That is when my legs give out from under me and I hit the ground and the bike collapses on me.
I sat there for a minute and was bordering on screaming and I wondered what the hell I was thinking for those years and years as I ate and ate and ate and sat down and remained inactive. I wasn’t giving up… I was furious. I mean just plain and excruciating anger. If someone had stopped and asked me how I was I would have decked them in the face.
My heart was pounding and my hat was filled with sweat. As I decided to trek back to my house I could barely peddle. I was spitting mad when I finally made my way into my house. My dogs jumped on me and I yelled at them. I stormed around my house kicking doors and piles of laundry. I drank water and then puked it up. Then I sat on my floor.
I didn’t cry until my dogs came and lay on my lap – they obviously knew I was upset and attempting to comfort me in true doggy fashion.
How the crap did I let this happen to me. How could I have been so complacent for all of these years?
I am still fully motivated because any kind of experience like the one I had today is either going to make you or break you… but the lengths of how guilt ridden and pissed off I am at myself is infinite.
I want the weight gone and I want it gone now. I swear to god if I can’t make it up that hill by the end of the month… I am going to have to take a cardio beat down class to lay out some kind of punching bag.
