Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

I just keep learning things about myself. Like, nothing transports me to BingeVille quicker than an empty stomach and a sense of self-pity. To solve this, I eat small, balanced meals throughout the day and very rarely let myself feel more than a slight hunger. So far, it’s worked for me even when I can’t keep the pity at bay.

Another thing I’m learning is that I must, must, must have protein at my first meal. I can couple that protein with healthy carb/fiber, but full-on grains just kill me in the morning. I don’t just mean bagels or toast — even a healthy breakfast of steel-cut oats can send me crashing to the bottom of Carb Canyon and then messes with my digestion. So, for breakfast I try to pair a lean protein with fruit or vegetables and it’s enough fuel to see me through to lunch.

Weight Watchers mornings present a special challenge. My meeting is late enough to allow me to sleep in. (Blessed, blessed sleep.) With a 10:00 start time, I don’t get so ravenously hungry or thirsty before weigh-in that I feel I’ve done real damage. Then, though, the most reasonable time for me to do laundry is after the meeting. More than once, to fuel up for the laundromat, I’ve thought — “I’ll just grab some fast food. Just this once can’t hurt.”

But, it’s not just the calorie of the thing. It’s the soft-serve, hot-and-cold-running crap that awaits me at the fast food drive-thru. It’s the fake cheeses, fake eggs, and fake meats. Generally, I’m pretty good about packing lunches and snacks. But, when I’m on the run and have a hunger emergency, I sometimes need to find fast food in other places than the drive-thru. Sue me.

Here’s one solution that I’ve found:

Most grocery store produce sections will have sliced-up melons and fruits for sale in cups. It’s way too pricey for every-day use, but it works in this particular pinch. Then, I’ve found that many deli-meat manufacturers are selling single-serve pouches of meats. These pouches contain 70 or 90 calories of turkey. Yes, deli meats are notoriously high in sodium, but that salty flavor makes the breakfast feel like a melon and prosciutto plate. Since I first tasted that delicious combination in Paris, I always feel like it is super fancy and even the cheap grocery-store knockoff version satisfies me on an emotional and mental level in addition to the physical.

I swing by the store’s salad bar and smuggle a fork and a napkin and, if I need to, grab a bottle of water at the register. Voila! For less than the cost of a drive-thru meal, I’ve satisfied my need for protein/fiber combo and avoided that dangerous, soul-sucking hunger.

What do you do when you’re on the run? Help me continue to Ditch the Drive-thru!

Celebrating: 35 pounds (and 10% of starting weight) gone

Grateful for: my 2 wonderful dogs, so that I don’t wake up alone during a week like this.

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 318.2
This week: 317.2
Change this week: -1.0
Total change: -37.4
Next milestone: 40 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: Every muscle I stretch (both figurative and literal) makes me stronger.

Many, many thanks to those who have commented or emailed in the past few days. Your words of encouragement have meant so much to me. I continue to nurture a clarity about this difficult decision and feel that it will all, eventually, be for my good. Several of you have emailed more than once and I truly appreciate you.

As a sidenote: Losing roughly 10% of my body weight has put me into size 24 pants. In December, I was overflowing my size 28’s.

Thank you, thank you for your kindness to an anonymous stranger.

No one wants to talk about it, but I think that many people look at fat women differently when they have a boyfriend or husband than when they are single.

Maybe that’s unfair (gross generalization, anyone?) but since becoming involved with my first boyfriend 2 years ago, at the age of 31, I have noticed a dramatic difference in the way others seem to view me. It’s almost as though I have achieved the societal stamp of approval. “Well, she’s fat…” they reason, “but at least she’s not unloveable.” Men at work, at church, on the subway, and elsewhere still avert their eyes when I am too friendly with them. I admit: sometimes I flirt with repairmen or waiters in order to get the job done. What I have noticed, though, is that the squirming ends as soon as I casually utter those magical words: “my boyfriend.”

As though the conversation has let out a sigh of relief, I am suddenly back to the real world. I am not unclean or untouchable. I am a person just like they are and, hey. I am probably not looking to them for fulfillment of my fat-girl fantasies. That’s what my poor boyfriend is for, right? And so, I get to feel normal. That’s sort of nice.

I like to think that this hasn’t contributed too much to the dynamics between him and me. We have what is probably one of the most sweet and silly, most caring, most careful and gentle relationships of all that I’ve known. He is wonderful and sensitive and unerringly honest. He is a good person and he genuinely loves me and what really seems to floor people is that he is kind of a knock-out. He’s average-sized, cute, and fit. He’s never dated anyone who looks like me before, but that hasn’t stopped him from throwing himself whole-heartedly into love with me. And, I love him.

For reasons that are beyond our control, however, it’s becoming clear that we need to separate. It’s been clear, honestly, for the past year. But, how do you break up with someone that you are still utterly in love with? How do you just walk away from the kind of sweet, affectionate relationship that everyone seems to be looking for? How can you reason that the uncertainties of the future are enough basis to end the realities of today?

And, yet.

There were many tears this weekend. Our respective dreams for the future do not align and so, it seems, we may be holding each other back. There are other things, of course, that are not quite right. But, the relationship itself is so solid that the ending of it — the painful, pitiful wrenching apart — has never yet felt worth it. It may not feel worth it now, either, but we are trying to separate.

And so. I will be returning to my role as the single fat girl. I resume my place in the order of things — and today I guess that feels like insult to broken-hearted injury.

Because he’s my first boyfriend, I’ve never had a break-up before.

This is awful.

Help.

Celebrating: 35 pounds gone (and 30 pounds gone, too)

Grateful for: alternative coping mechanisms

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 326.4
This week: 318.2
Change this week: -8.2
Total change: -36.4
Next milestone: 40 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: Stay on target. It’s going to be a rough week.

Celebrating: 25 pounds gone (still)

Grateful for: losing a little weight, even though the dreaded PMS has yet to deliver on its promises.

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 329.2
This week: 326.4
Change this week: -2.8
Total change: -28.2
Next milestone: 30 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: Migraines cannot stop me.

I am NOT a girl who goes for cliches or trite sayings, and the weight-loss world (if there is such a thing) is full of them. My primary problem is that most of them seem so negative and belittling. I mean, consider exhibit A:

A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.

On the surface, sort of cute, right? But when you think about it, a terrible message to send. It essentially demonizes all food, regardless of nutrition, and warns you about those damnable hips. I’m sorry, but hips are lovely and wonderful and make us womanly. There are worse boogeymen in the world than hips, I think you’ll agree.

Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

To me, this implies that people who are, say, naturally skinny walk around in a state of euphoria all the time. I mean, they must, since a piece of good cake tastes euphoric to me! This cliche assigns some magical and very emotional power to thinness and to thin people, which in turn condemns fat people. I’m not into it.

So, when I say that my Weight Watchers leader believes that words have power, and that she uses the structure of words to help change our thinking, I certainly don’t mean to imply that she is spouting cliche’s all the time. However, she does have some key phrases and sound bites that I’ve been chewing on for the past few weeks.

There’s no bad food, only bad math.

I like this one particularly because, overall, it is positive. It’s accepting of both a variety of foods and ourselves! Imagine! We are not bad people, we only need to brush up on our math skills! I think anyone who has taken the SAT’s would agree with that statement.

I was reading from G.G. yesterday, who was detailing a list of (for lack of a better word) indiscretions from the previous week. Splurges. She had indulged in a tiny, individual-sized ice cream and had allowed popcorn at the movies. Oh — and while we’re thinking of it — she’d had “a bit” of chocolate cake and “a handful” of chips as well!

The cliche police would have run her to the edge of a cliff and stoned her to death. “A MOMENT ON THE LIPS!” they’d chant. “A MOMENT ON THE LIPS!” And yet…

What I have learned to do, though, is compensate for those splurges. I’d eaten lightly Saturday […] I was able to juggle food to fit in some special things without overdoing it or feeling deprived or hungry at any point.

Sounds like G.G. is learning new math. For my part, I’m trying to learn my way out of a world ruled by logarithm and exponential. A bite of cake is actually not bad^evil. It is, in fact, a world away from my previous habit of eating the entire cake. That’s not calculus, it’s arithmetic. I know what a “bite” of cake does. It puts me at risk of an insulin spike. This puts me at risk of urges and cravings for MORE (hence, eating the whole cake). It contains more calories than a bite of broccoli, yet on many days I eat its caloric equivalent in broccoli. This is not emotional turmoil. It’s just math.

And so, I sometimes eat the bite of cake. I do so carefully, mindfully, and infrequently. It is this size (small) and frequency (less often) that makes this math new to me, and that’s the kind of change that helps.

Celebrating: 25 pounds gone

Grateful for: hormones that are thoughtful enough to peak on a semi-consistent basis.

Starting weight: 354.6 pounds
Last week: 327.4
This week: 329.2
Change this week: +1.8
Total change: -25.4
Next milestone: 30 pounds gone

This week’s mantra: It is the behavioral, not the numerical changes that matter from week to week.

Vickie, on a previous post, reminded me about the importance of momentum when you are working toward a goal. Then, she asked:

It sounds as if you are feeling empowered. do you feel that way???

I don’t know if I would have used the word “empowered” to describe this whole process so far. I would say that I’m feeling relieved. I mean, I of course know how to behave in order to maximize my health, but for whatever reason I have rarely been able to do it. Consequently, I feel clear-headed and grateful each time I am able to, say, eat sensibly or strap on my walking shoes.

More often than not, the struggles and issues of my life feel much more complex than they feel today. Whether it’s true or not, there is a cleanness and simplicity to my current sense that x plus y equals z in the battle for my health.

I don’t know what elements had to combine — what chemical reaction occurred — to spur me back into action. I don’t think I could duplicate the magical formula on my own, but I feel grateful and glad.

And, it’s not a struggle, yet. I feel calm, and open. I don’t need the unhealthy habits the way I have before. I wake up in time to pack a healthy lunch. I watch the Daily Show and use the treadmill when I get home. I fill up my time with other things than eating and lazing about.

Am I empowered? If I feel empowered by anything, it’s by the love and support of those around me. I feel empowered by a love for myself and a genuine care for my own well-being. I feel hopeful.

There was a time when a delivery like this would inspire awe and reverence in me; when I would have thought, “My very salvation has arrived.” In the past, I would look to a piece of equipment this large and powerful and assign to it all of my hopes and dreams for change. Here is the answer, I might think, to all of my questions: the solution to all of my problems.

But, when the new treadmill arrived, I didn’t find myself thinking about magical powers or easy answers. No, I stood, arms crossed, as the deliveryman kindly assembled the machine, and thought:

This is a tool like any other tool. It must be picked up and used if it is to do any good.