Weightless

Oh, Weight Watchers. If we were in a relationship, our Facebook status would be “It’s complicated.” But you lured me in with the offer of two months free if I lost 10 pounds in the first two months, so here I am. We’ve had a tumultuous start, you and I. The first few days I was in denial that we were back together, and ignored the illuminated WW tile on my phone. Even though I was paying good money on the plan, I was putting off tracking… putting off the idea, the concept, the fact that my free for all with food was over. I made fun of you and Oprah, wondering why the richest lady on earth needed to futz with smart points and meetings. If I was a billionaire, could I abandon my worries about my weight and health and just be? The answer of course, is no, because the human brain doesn’t work like that. Nothing is ever enough, nothing is ever done.

Once I got my game face on (encouraged by the weekly weigh in I keep with two of my Fitbloggin’ friends), we got along better. I started swapping my 2% Chobani mango for 0% plain with a sprinkle of powdered peanut butter. I ordered salad on the side, hold the dressing. I took the baby for a walk and diligently counted out 14 rice crackers. I tracked every BLT I ate… not bacon, lettuce, tomato, mind you, but bites, licks, and tastes. We were jiving, you and I, like two old high school friends who ran into each other at Dairy Queen. Then came time for weigh in. I stood on my own scale, hopeful, like I had been so many times before. The number surprised me, and it slapped me in the face with its usual sting of hurt. Up 3.7 pounds. I stepped off the scale, sad, but familiar with the disappointment. My body, doing what it wants. It wants to be fat. It wants to hold on to this layer of fleshy skin, to be held by sloping hills grown from years of rewards, of angst and joy, and more recently, the cozy home of a child.

I brushed off the rejection of the scale and went to my meeting anyways. I didn’t want to. It was 7 p.m. and I could think of every excuse why I shouldn’t. The husband didn’t get home until 6:45. The baby was sweetly cooing. I had been eating all day and it’s best to weigh in in the morning. I was tired. My back hurt. I didn’t shower. I could go tomorrow. But I went. I put the feet in the shoes and the body in the seat and the key in the engine and off I went. As I stood on the scale, the receptionist leaned towards me. A smile played at the corner of her lips. Was this a shared sadness, a “sorry, you didn’t lose this week” or a hint at celebration? She hugged me. “You’re down 3.7 pounds,” she said.

I sat in the chair at the meeting. I thought, and analyzed, and contemplated the strangeness of this journey. I felt motivated and encouraged, ready to defeat the demon in the scale, in me, in my appetite. I courageously tracked every morsel I consumed. Then the weekend came, and I got sick. I drank Dayquil instead of my morning tea. I ate a Cup O’ Noodles instead of a salad. I wanted comfort, and warmth, my bed, a lack of responsibilities. I let it go for just three days, and then those three days caught up with me. I skipped a meeting. I ate pizza for dinner. I mindlessly plucked hard-shelled Cadbury Eggs out of the candy dish when a spreadsheet at work was getting the best of me. How quickly it all changes and how quickly it all begins.

I don’t want to fight with me anymore. Eating healthy is not sexy. It’s not fun. It’s not the saucy gossip you whisper scandalously to the neighbors while the curtains are drawn. It’s boring, predictable, routine, and good. It is not naughty. It is a mindset, and as much as I hate the term, it is a life style. I need to stop looking at food like my vice and sin. It is fuel and nourishment, and sometimes, celebrations. And that’s okay.

I forgive you, self. I forgive you, friend. I will whisper to you quietly, “It’s okay”, until you realize the berating of your choices will get you nowhere. Instead of the disappointment and frustration, I say, be like the Phoenix and rise up. Leave the Cadbury and the skipped meeting, the tight jeans and the pizza in the ashes. You will rise, and you will fly. You may fly the wrong direction, but eventually turn around. You will reach your destination, and you will look down, and the old you will be there, as you always were.  And you will know that the work, the effort, the struggle, the disappointment, the eventual success was worth it all. You will have risen in the light, a lighter you. Weightless.

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Weekend Wrap Up!

Toffee at rocket fizz

Hey everybody! I had so much fun this weekend, despite the 102 degree heat in my hometown…  Friday night, Matt and I had dinner at our favorite local Indian food place, Clay Oven. I ordered Matar Paneer in honor of my paneer-flop from the night before. It was deeeeelicious! After dinner, we went next door to Rocket Fizz, a soda and candy shop! We sampled a couple different types of toffee and I tried a low-cal rootbeer, sweetened with honey. It was only 30 calories and so refreshing to try a soda made with natural ingredients as opposed to buckets of aspartame, nutrisweet, sucralose, etc.

Pre-lobster snoozing on the sand

On Saturday, I went to water aerobics with my buddy Virginia and did some aqua-cardio for an hour. The fun in the sun didn’t stop, because Matt and I headed out to Zuma beach in Malibu where he boogie-boarded in the waves while I read and accidentally fell asleep on the sand. Note to self, and helpful hint for everyone else: If there is even a SLIGHT possibility that you will fall asleep on the beach, RE-APPLY SUNSCREEN. I am stupidly suffering from my mistake and cringing every time the crease of skin behind my knee cap moves, which is often. My legs seriously look like I’m wearing red tights, and the best part is how white my bum is in comparison. My lower half looks like a peppermint. No, it’s not sexy. Who says wisdom comes with age?

After the beach we went and saw Beasts of the Southern Wild, which is a very interesting film. Slightly depressing, but really interesting to see and learn about the people of Louisiana who live in the impoverished “bathtub” and choose to live free from modern civilization. It was a phenomenal acting job by the 5-year-old who played “Hushpuppy”, but it’s not a movie I’d pick again for a feel-good Saturday night flick.

Shelley and I rock the golden togas

Today, we went to a Golden Christmas in July party! My sweet friend Merrie hosted with her friends Brian and Erin at their gorgeous house in Thousand Oaks. The party was catered with amazing turkey, ham, roast potatoes and cheeses, and I kept well hydrated on the free flowing lemonade and iced tea. Because my friend Shelley is a creative genius, she came up with these gold togas and hair flowers for the party. Aren’t we cute? She’ll be selling homemade toffee soon… it’s out of this world, you can bet I’m going to link it as soon as her site is up!

Sweet, sweet watery relief.

 

One of the highlights of the party, besides the wonderful people and amazing food, was the crystal clear pool. I waded in and it felt like a chorus of angels singing sweet cooling relief to my sun-chapped calves. Don’t I look ecstatic? At this point Shelley and I had changed out of our stylish gold togas, because while as glittery and beautiful as they were, we quickly learned that Lamé does not breathe. It was a fabulous party, and after several hours I had to peel myself away from the cheese tray and head back to the ‘burbs to work on my thesis.

This weekend was jam packed with fun times, and while I had some food challenges (cheese tray, popcorn, birthday cake), I didn’t majorly overdo it and managed to squeeze in some exercise. I’ll be posting a weight-in post soon, but if you’ve been following the My Fitness Pal counter on the side of the blog, I’m down about 7 pounds when the scale is accurate kind to me. The past week has been a little wacky and I’ve been yo-yoing a  bit, but I think that’s more due to some salty choices and weird heat than actual weight gain, because my jeans are feeling loose. (I LOVE that feeling. Such a good feeling.)

Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope you have a wonderful week! I start my new job tomorrow, so send me some happy first day vibes, please! 🙂 What did you do this weekend that was fun?

 

 

 

Weekly Weigh In #6

This Saturday morning started out like any other – I peeled myself out of bed at 9:00, threw on some exercise clothes, and groggily drove to the gym for my weigh in and 9:30 boxing class. I was eager about this weigh-in, because I knew it would be a loss. I had worked out HARD several times this week, eaten well, and drank tons of water. My jeans were loose. Somebody at work said I looked thinner. I bought new jeans in a smaller size. My tummy area looked flatter and less paunchy. Oh yes, I had DEFINITELY lost weight. Until… I got on the scale and saw the number had moved down a tiny .2 of a pound. My initial reaction was, “What the Fu*k?!” And then I was pissed, and the poor punching bag got pummeled even harder in my class, and my poor friend Merrie had to listen to me rant about why my body seems incapable of losing weight.

How could I work out for an hour and half with Richard and NOT lose weight?!

Never one to give up, I decided I was going to weigh myself again immediately after class – in exactly the same outfit, but now I was drenched with sweat and a little less aggro. Surprisingly, this time, the scale showed a loss of 1.2 pounds. I got on three times to confirm it wasn’t just wishful thinking. Now – Am I cheating because my first weigh in was only down .2? Is this weigh in still legit? For shits and giggles, I weighed myself sans clothes, and I had lost like 2.5 pounds. Believe me, I wanted to put down that number, but I have to stay consistent and weigh in in the same outfit every week. Can the body really swell and deflate that much within an hour? Did my boxing class sweat out a pound of salt and bloat that I’d been holding earlier? And no, cuz I know you’re wondering, I didn’t remove a rib or go #2 or anything like that, thank you very much.

I’ll be weighing in a day earlier this week, and I’m hoping I can finally hit my five pound mini goal. Even though I’m claiming a loss this week, I need to get more serious about tracking. The exercise is there, but my food habits are still at about 70% when they need to be at 90%. *sigh* If you took a long look at how hard you’re trying with a new goal, what would be your percentage of success?

Check back on Wednesday for my experience with Richard Simmons  – it was an awesome adventure!

Weekly Weigh in #3

This week was much better than last, because I lost 1.6 pounds! Wooooohoooo! 😀 I was feeling really discouraged over last week’s lackluster loss (.2 – remember? pssssh), but yesterday made me feel better about things. (And I’ll be honest, if not a tiny bit disappointed as I reminisced over the old school fiber-riffic Weight Watchers plan that could help you shed 3-4 pounds a week at first)


I still had some indulgences this week that made me grateful for a nice loss – I had french fries one night, Thai food for lunch one day, and a slice of birthday cake. The fact that those types of food CAN fit into a weight loss plan make me feel good. (Sorry – I don’t buy the crock of crap about “it’s not a diet, it’s a lifestyle”. It will be a lifestyle for me when I’m not wanting to steal candy out of the hands of children. Most people don’t track everything they eat for the sake of it being a “life style”.)

My total weight loss after three weeks is 3.8 pounds. This is a good, steady loss and hopefully one that will not be coming back. This week I vow to keep tracking, make good choices about late night snacking, and keep going to the gym. This weekend will be a bit of a challenge as it’s my one year wedding anniversary, and to me, celebration always entails delicious food. I’ll have to try and enjoy the deliciousness without stuffing my face. It’d be awesome if I could hit five pounds down next week…. Let’s see what I can do! Have a great week!