Choices

I ended up babysitting tonight for Mrs. C's three kids. Little Sister came with me and between the four of them, they were sweet and cute and funny and wild and naughty...all of those things as usual.

At bedtime, Little J tried to stall. Wanted a story...wanted a drink...wanted to play. I reminded him that he needs to get to bed because he as a big day tomorrow. He asked me why the day was so big. "Because it's your birthday party, silly!" I told him.

With that, he scampered into bed with a gigantic grin spreading across his face, telling me, "It's a HUGE day!"

A friend of mine from high school (Sorry, M, I'm tired. No cute name for you tonight) joined the YMCA recently--today, I think--and is coming to Turbo Kick with me tomorrow morning. I haven't seen her in a good 6 years or so and I'm very excited to see (and sweat with) her tomorrow morning. We're also planning dinner out next Monday after my WW meeting for a less strenuous reunion.

That said, tonight I'm left with a choice. Do I go upstairs and walk two miles on the treadmill and hit my step goal? Or do I go to bed so I'm not rushing everyone out of the house tomorrow morning? Perhaps if I had come home and changed and gone to the workout room right away, I would have been more motivated. As it stands, I think I'll take the early bedtime.

6,081 steps today. Not so fantastic. But not terrible, either.

Confession Time.

I have a confession to make.

I haven't been wearing my pedometer. I know. You're shocked. I can tell.

Over the weekend, I decided I would be really good and wear it every day this week. Monday morning, when I was getting dressed, I grabbed it off the bathroom counter and clipped it to my pants...then I changed my pants.

Tuesday, I brought back into the bathroom to put it on as I was getting dressed. I didn't put it on, but carried it with me into the bedroom, where I stopped to put on some lip balm. Then I left the room without it.

Wednesday, I wore the damn thing. Today, I wore it again. WOW! Two days in a row...it's a miracle!

Wednesday, I walked 7679 steps and did Turbo Kick, which converts to 14,500. A total of: 22, 179 steps!

Today, I walked 5703 steps and did Turbo Kick for a total of 20,203 steps.

20K+ steps two days in a row? I could lay in bed and do absolutely nothing for the next two days and still get in my 10K steps a day average!

My next phone course is about beating stress. It's one I definitely need!

Numbers

I've always been ashamed of my weight. I lie about it on my driver's license. I refuse to be weighed at the doctor's office. I didn't own a scale for years.

The day I went to the doctor's office and found out I was pregnant--seven years ago, I weighed 247 pounds. A couple months later when I went in for my first OB appointment, I weighed 232 pounds. They yelled at me for losing so much. (Like I knew or could help it that I was throwing up every three seconds. Anyone else throw up in the doctor's office parking lot? That always seemed to be a good target for some reason.)

Over the next few months, I slowly gained back that 15 pounds. I never wanted the Hubster to look at the scale, but I know he did. (Sneaky bastard.) As I passed 247 and edged closer to 250, I got more and more nervous. I did not want to hit that number.

On what turned out to be my last OB appointment--the do-you-want-to-be-induced-in-3-days-or-in-7? appointment--I hit it. 250. I cried.

Six days after Little Sister was born, I had a wicked case of mastitis. I was throwing up in the shower sick. It was also her first doctor's appointment and I got on the scale, too. After having my seven pound, four ounce little bundle of joy, I weighed 230 pounds again. Very exciting. The doctor gave me some antibiotics and told me to keep breast feeding and said the weight would fly off.

It didn't.

230 became 250 again. 260. 274. That's the highest I ever weighed myself at, when I started Weight Watchers 3 years ago.

Those are numbers I will never see again.

274
260
250

A couple of people have asked me where I'm at now...and I know that I haven't been sharing the numbers this time around, for some reason.

It wasn't intentional. Just something I didn't think of. I'm not shy about my weight any more. I'm proud of where I've come from and what I've conquered.

When I started WW on November 3, 2008, I weighed 258.8 pounds.
At my last weigh-in, on Monday, I weighed 243.8.

More numbers I will never see again.

274
260
258.8
250

I'll never forget where I came from.
And I'll never go back.

Not this time.

Positive Thinking

I know I come across as kind of negative.

There are lots of things about myself that I absolutely hate.

My stupid, crooked nose.
My freckles.
My stomach.

I'm trying to be more positive about...things. About myself. About everything.

On that note, here are somethings that I like about myself. Things, I've decided, that I will think about more often.

I have the bluest eyes ever.
I have a nice complexion.
I have really, super thick hair.

That's enough for now...I'm having a hard time of thinking of things that don't have qualifiers. (I like my nails but they grow crooked because of damage to my nail beds when I was young.)

I'm trying to be positive. I know I can do this.
This time.

Guilt

I had my Weight Watchers meeting tonight.

I gained, which irritates the heck out of me since I worked so darn hard this past week. I know I'll do better, though...it's a process. (And it SUCKS!)

After the meeting, I went to the grocery store to buy a few taco necessities. As I bagged my tortilla shells, cheese, and sour cream, I realized that the woman standing in line behind me had just sat behind me at the Weight Watcher's meeting. Oh God, I thought. Please don't let her recognize me.

When she came down to bag her groceries (This is the only state I've ever lived in where I had to bag my own groceries!) she smiled at me. "Hello again." Damn.

"Hi..." I took in her case of water, bags of frozen veggies, and other WW paraphernalia. "Don't look at my taco stuff."

She laughed. "Don't worry. I won't tell."

It's Monday night and I've starved all day, hoping for a good number on the scale. If I want tacos, I'll have tacos, consequences be damned. (Until next Monday, that is, when I'm pissed about my weigh-in again.)

My Cup No Longer Runeth Over

I went shopping today.

It was awesome. I love spending time with old friends and catching up.

We went to LB and I got measured for a new bra--I went down TWO cup sizes! That's CRAZY! I never lose weight in that area. It was so exciting to be able to buy a bra at the store and bring it home instead of special ordering and having it sent to me. I also got some cute panties (I love that word!) and a nice shirt--because some of mine are starting to look a little...sack-like. Between the two of us, we spent $105, but we SAVED $217--which is a way more important number!

We went into a couple of other stores...I'm looking forward to being a weight where we can try on the same clothes. There were a couple of things she picked out that were really cute, but I knew I could never squeeze into them. Some day...sooner, rather than later, I hope.

I made it to the shoe store, too. I grabbed a handful of shoes in different styles to try on and sat down. KB scouted the store and then came to check on me. She told me she saw a bunch of tennis shoes on clearance and asked if she should bring some over. She returned with a huge stack of boxes, which I sorted through and sent some of them back with her. I ended up with two pairs--some New Balance runners, which are suspiciously like my old ones, but pink, and a pair of VERY comfortable Dr. Scholl's walking shoes.

The best part is, when I got home, I slipped on my new running shoes and headed upstairs to the workout room. I walked a faster pace for 10 minutes, then did some weights, then walked a slower pace at a level 6 incline--my booty is killing me! I did some more weights and then came home.

I'm nervous about tomorrow's weigh-in. I try not to obsess about the scale during the week, but it's hard not to step up there a few times a day. This morning, I weighed a full NINE pounds more than I did last Monday night. We ate Chinese food last night, but I certainly didn't eat NINE pounds of it. What's the deal?

Unable to Wait

One of my early weight-loss goals was to buy myself a pair of new running shoes once I lost 25 pounds.

See, I worked at a shoe store in high school and I have kind of a...problem. I love shoes. I'm obsessed with them, really. I can't say no. Really, buy-one-get-one half off? The Hubster, Big Sister, and Little Sister all get a new pair...and I get three. I'm not kidding, either. Not that any one else in my family is hurting for shoes...Big Sister could wear a different pair every day for at least two weeks and Little Sis has a whole new wardrobe once she hits the next size up--I heart garage sales! The Hubster kind of gets the shaft, though...he's rough on his shoes so he gets limited to thrift stores and a new pair just every once in a while.

Running shoes are different. I tend to use the heck out of them and wear them until they're just about falling apart before I force myself into a new pair. And I'm picky about them. They must be light-weight. Must be cushioned. Must fit both of my feet--a difficult task with one foot longer and the other one fatter...I feel like both of the ugly step-sisters when I'm trying on shoes.

I know way too much about them, too. I'm ashamed to admit that I was a big dork--oh, wait, you knew that already? Damn. I thought I hid it so well--and I spent every break for five years in the back room reading information sent to us by manufacturers. (Minus the breaks where I was off flirting with the man who became the Hubster.) Cross trainers for aerobics? Look for grooves on the sole which allow for better stability and wear for quick, side-to-side movements. Walking? Look for a shoe that provides lots of cushioning. Runners? Look for a light-weight shoe with shock absorbing foam. Kids shoes? Don't buy them too big, hoping to outsmart a growth spurt--shoes that don't fit right will wear faster, and you'll end up buying a new pair before Junior outgrows them, anyway!

Anyway. On to my shoes. My beautiful shoes. I can't wait another 7.2 pounds. I need them NOW. We were stomping in Turbo Kick this morning, and I felt a sharp pain shoot up my shin. I started thinking about my shoes. I hadn't exactly been active until the latter part of 2008, so I haven't really been wearing out the running shoes left and right. I bought these last March, before our trip to Texas. These shoes carried me through Sea World, saw me cry in the Alamo, and shopped with me on the Riverwalk. They came with me to Florida and took me through Disney's Animal Kingdom, Magic Kingdom, and Hollywood Studios. They carried me in the rain to the Renaissance Festival last summer. They helped me through my first Turbo Kick class, stumbled through my first (and only!) Body Step class, and watched me from afar as I did Yoga, PiYo, and Body Flow--barefoot! They carried me many miles on the bike and the treadmill...through the grocery store, to orthodontist appointments, and to work on Fridays. These shoes have seen a lot.

But it's time.

I have a shopping date tomorrow with one of my best girlfriends. I'm planning on getting measured for a fancy new bra to celebrate losing 15 pounds...and I will also *sigh* be shopping for new running shoes.

Sweet Dreams...

Last night...I was tired. Dragging myself out of my recliner and into bed was a huge accomplishment. (One which involved knocking over a glass of water onto Little Sister's homework, of course.) When I got to bed, I turned on the TV to watch my super-secret-favorite show and climbed under the covers.
Since my eyes were already drooping, I took off my glasses and just listened for a few minutes. I was so close, I decided I would just miss my show and get some sleep.

Ten seconds later, I was out like a light. But I could hear music. Where was that music coming from? And I was moving. Lunge. Knee. Lunge. Kick. Lunge. Knee--Oops! I lost my shoe!

I sat up in bed.

Oh. My. God.

Turbo Kicking in my SLEEP.
What's wrong with me?

Ow. Ow...Ow.

I was sitting at my desk earlier today, innocently minding my own business when I had a thought.

I think I'll go to Turbo Kick tonight.

WHAT?!?! But it's Thursday! I just went YESTERDAY! I don't have to go again until Saturday!

But I want to.

Seriously? What is my problem?

So I called up the Hubster. "Hey. I want to go to Turbo Kick tonight."

"Again?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." (He's so easy, I love him.)

And so we went. We got there early and made it seven laps around the track...A few minutes before class started, we congregated at the door with a bunch of fellow Turbo Kickers. Turbo Jennie was there, too, and gave us a confused look. "Didn't you say, 'see you Saturday?'"

"Yeah. I did...but I'm a psycho." I figured that about summed it up.

About 20 minutes in, she asked me if I regretted my decision. I shook my head, unable to speak, my face already flaming red. "Oh, yes, you do," she said, "I can tell."

I laughed, as much as I could, anyway. She was right. I was tired and puffing and ready to fall over. But I stayed. And I made it. Until the ab track--excuse me, the EXTENDED ab track. My gut was already killing me from yesterday's extended track, so every crunch was like a knife in my midsection. It hurts when I sneeze. When I laugh. When I move. Ugh. (I just sneezed. Ow.)

And after Turbo, I finished my three laps around the track for a mile. Pretty darn good workout.

Turbo three times in one week. (Yes, I'm already counting Saturday. I get to.) I want to be down 30 pounds by the end of March. It's less than 2 pounds a week away...I know I can do it. I also know I need to step up the exercise.

I'm ready.
To be healthy.
To be stronger.
To be happy.
Let's move it!

The Trouble with Metformin

Years ago, I was diagnosed with poly-cystic ovarian syndrome and my doctor put me on Metformin. It's a medication that diabetics take to help control hyperglycemia. When I list it in the medications I'm currently taking doctors, nurses, and dental hygienists alike immediately assume I have diabetes. (Right, like I forgot to mention that.) One actually had the nerve to ask me, "Have you been diagnosed with diabetes yet?" Excuse me, "yet?" Rude.

I have an on again/off again relationship with the drug. The first doctor who prescribed it moved me up the dosage ladder too quickly. All of a sudden, I was taking 1500mg a day and getting dizzy spells. When I knocked it back to 1000mg, I felt much better. I was supposed to move back up to 1500mg, but never made it because I stopped taking it. When I finally admitted to my doctor that I'd stopped taking it, she asked me why.

It has the unpleasant side effect of...let me go look up the medical term...Ah, once again, Wikipedia says it so much better than I could: The most common adverse effect of metformin is gastrointestinal upset, including diarrhea, cramps, nausea, vomiting and increased flatulence. I didn't realize that's what was causing my...problems until I noticed that those problems were gone. Then I was reluctant (obviously) to start taking it again. When I mentioned it to my doctor, I asked her if I really need to take it. Is it doing anything? Is it going to help me lose weight? She laughed and said most people lose weight while taking it because they get diarrhea. So I sighed and rolled my eyes and said I would take it. (That was in August. I took it, too...for about three weeks.)

I know I should follow my doctor's advice and take the medication. But when the side effects are so distressing, it's a hard to do the right thing.

The Devil Sells Thin Mints

Every year brings the same old-same old New Year's Resolution.

Eat Better.
Exercise more.
Lose Weight.

The Hubster's birthday comes early and I get by, eating baked fish and broccoli. Valentine's Day comes and I open the cards and throw the candy away.
Easter comes and I look away from the candy and cry myself to sleep at night.

And then come the Girl Scouts.
I do pretty well. I think I got by with two or three during last year's diet. Not-a-one the three years before that.

This year, though, is different.

This year, both of my girl are selling Girl Scout cookies.
Samoas.
Tag-a-longs.
Thin mints.

Heaven help me.
(And please email me if you'd like to order!)

Slowly but Surely

At my Weight Watcher's meeting tonight, we had a substitue leader. She was actually subbing the first two weeks I started WW, way back in November. At the end of the meeting, she came up to me and asked me how I was doing since I started. She remembered me and said I looked great and asked how much I've lost.

Down 16.8 pounds tonight!

(Of course, I'm fairly certain at least half a pound of it was hair..)


It was nice to hear a compliment from someone I don't see every day. If there's anothing I've learned from this run of WW, it's that it works. I know it does. It's ME. I have to stick to it...even if it's slow, it's better than nothing. Slowly but surely.

I wore my pedometer today! Of course, I took it off when I changed after my meeting so I can't give a step count. It's around 6,000, though. Not fabulous, but I was really busy today, too. Spent a lot of time at my desk finding ways to tell patients to provide their own medical care if they don't want to pay us. Ha! I only wish I could say that. At least once I day I think of this joke:

A well known rich businessman's wife broke her hip. The businessman got the best bone surgeon in town to do the operation. The operation consisted of lining up the broken hip and putting in a screw to secure it. The operation went fine, and the doctor sent the business man a fee for his services of $5000. The businessman was outraged at the cost, and sent the doctor a letter demanding an itemized list of the costs. The doctor sent back a list with two things: 1 screw: $1. Knowing how to put it in: $4999.

Angry Eyes

I hate it when my weekend turns out to be more hectic than I planned.

Saturday morning, we went to the Y where I turbo-kicked the Hubster. He is rarely doing what we're supposed to be doing and when I went to back kick--yes, I LOOKED--he was right there. It wasn't so much me kicking him as him running into me while I was kicking. (I just typed cooking. I'm starving but have to weigh in tomorrow so I'm going with a light dinner. Ick.)

Saturday night brought my office holiday party at a dinner theatre. The drive was long, the food was horrid, and we didn't stay for the show. I hesitated about going this year, but now I know for sure we won't attend the next one if they don't change the venue.

I woke up this morning to a crying baby. I thought at first that it was Little Sister, so I hauled myself out of bed and listened at her door. I could hear her snoring softly (she gets that from her dad!) so I went back to bed. There was a definite "maaaaaamaaaaaa..." embedded in the cries, so I know it wasn't the new baby down the hall. I heard it again later, but still couldn't identify where it was coming from.

Little Sister had a play date with a BOY from her class today. We met at an indoor play place and they had tons of fun. They were arm-in-arm adorable. (Although I kept recalling the picture Mrs. C showed me of friends of hers who met in Kindergarten and are now MARRIED. Yikes!)

After our play date, Little Sis and I went for haircuts. The first place had an hour and a half wait, so we drove to another place, which turned out to be closed. I called the Hubster for directions to another place, but the website listed conflicting information, so I ended up driving all over town. When I finally found a place that was open and could see both of us, there was a 40 minute wait. Since I'd been waiting all afternoon--plus the months and months I've been meaning to get a haircut--I decided 40 minutes wasn't so bad. Of course, when I finally got home three and a half hours after our play date ended, I realized I should have just gone to the first place and waited an hour and a half.

I like my new cut, but I hated the way she styled it so I came home and took a shower right away...not only to get out all the gunk she put in it, but also to get all the little hairs off of me. (I don't like stuff by my neck, so I made her close the drape loosely and ended up with hair everywhere...my own fault, I know.) Now I'm waiting for it to dry so I can see what it will really look like.

Six o'clock on Sunday evening and I have to work tomorrow. I didn't get half of anything I wanted to do this weekend done, and now I'm sitting here blogging about how I haven't worn my damn pedometer...oh, did I forget to mention that part? Yeah. The goodness the Hubster did laundry while I was gone so I won't have to call in naked to work tomorrow.

Also, I got my eyebrows waxed, so I've got lovely pink angry eyes. It's a good look. Really.

Having a Day.

Not doing so hot today. I'm stressed beyond belief.

I forgot to wear my pedometer AGAIN today--because, yes, I'm a complete moron. I was irritated with myself all day, but even more so at the end of the day when I got my cell phone from my purse and found my pedometer sitting in there. (Oh yes, in my purse, where I put it last night so I would be sure to remember it this morning.)

I could have used some exercise tonight, but there was too much to do...a trip to the post office, pick up my new glasses, out to dinner for the Hubster's birthday--I did excellent, by the way. Kudos to me for drinking water, putting half of my baked entree in a to-go box right away, and limiting everything else.

I slept peacefully last night for the first time ages. I'm hoping for a repeat performance tonight.

Guess What?

I forgot to wear my pedometer today.
I. Am. Awesome.

I was driving into work today when I realized it wasn't clipped to the waistband of my pants. I hit the steering wheel and threw a little swearing hissy fit. Darn it.

The good news is that I came home, put it on, and headed to the Y. Instead of sitting on the bench, watching Little Sister's swim class for 40 minutes, I went upstairs and walked a mile on the track. (I wanted to run on the treadmill, but they were all full!)

After swim class, I headed up to Turbo Kick with my friend, The Sex Toy Lady. TSTL hadn't been to Turbo in three months or so and was a little nervous. Of course, she rocked the house while I stumbled through my 4th...5th? session of round 35. During class, she turned to me and asked, "You seriously do this twice a week? Are you crazy?" Yes, yes I am. (But I've lost 15 pounds, too! Cross, cross, zig, zag, knee!) I literally had sweat dripping off me tonight, which I usually don't have. (I tend to just get really, really red.) I was breathing hard and pumping furiously...and I didn't cry!

The Steps

So, I'm totally short changing myself since I didn't even put my pedometer on until 5 tonight, but I think it will be okay in the long run since I get an insane amount of points for Turbo. I just have to pull out my handy, dandy conversion chart...

Turbo: 14,500 steps (I count it as a mixture of low impact and high impact aerobics)
Actual steps: 4360
Day One: 18860

Not too shabby, right?

Ten Thousand Steps

My new insurance company offers different over-the-phone courses free of charge. In order to obtain a $300 wellness credit--which pays part of my insurance premium each month--I was required to take an online health assessment. Shortly after taking it, I received a call from a nurse at my insurance company suggesting I take their weight management phone course. (Hm? It's free? Count me in!)

I had my first call about a month ago. I spoke with a nice woman, a nutritionist named Lindsay. We spoke during my two hour commute home. (What's turning out to be one of many, unfortunately.) She assured me that I was eating the proper amount of fat and calories and praised me for my weight loss. We scheduled my next appointment with a fitness specialist.

Tonight, I received a call from Kathryn. While Lindsay was easy to talk to, talking to Kathryn is like listening to a recording. "When you think about types of physical activities you enjoy, what comes to mind?" She answered my questions, though, and didn't scold too much when I confessed I hadn't been wearing my pedometer. (Part of the program...and it was free.)
"Okay," she said robotically. "Let's set a goal that relates to your pedometer."
"How about...I agree to wear it every day first? Can that be my goal?" (Did I mention she called right as I walked in the door and I had to pee so bad I was dancing in my bedroom? Yeah. I was.)
Apparently, that goal wasn't good enough for Kathryn. She didn't even laugh. "Your goals should be specific and attainable."
"Okay...how many steps am I supposed to have? Ten thousand? That's my goal. Ten thousand steps a day."
She did have a good suggestion, though.
Ten thousand steps a day on average for the week. I can handle that...because even if I don't get out of bed for two days, the forty million steps that Turbo Kick converts to will even me out for the week.

We came up with some ways I can do it, too...I refuse to park further away from my building, though...it was 20 below zero today.

Future blogs should include a step count. (Maybe. If I feel like you.) Feel free to yell at me if it's not there...I need that sometimes.

Rewarding Myself?

15.2 pounds!!!

I'm very excited. Weeks ago, I told a friend that when I hit 15 pounds, I was going to eat whatever I wanted.

Now that I'm there, I don't want to--which is a good thing.

But now I'm stumped as to how I should reward myself. I've gotten some good suggestions on Facebook, but my favorite came from a friend who said I should buy some sexy underwear. I love that idea. I think I might go spend a small fortune at Lane Bryant on some underwear and a matching bra...mine are starting to gap. Maybe I won't be Gigantic for too much longer.

25 pounds is new running shoes. I love shoes...I can't wait!

Tears in my Turbo

I have had a busy weekend.

Friday night, I went scrapbooking with some girlfriends. While there, we met the craziest ladies ever and had a great time. Didn't get home until around two in the morning, crawled into bed and passed out.

Saturday, I got up around nine (Seven hours of sleep...not too bad) and got ready for Turbo Kick. Seriously, there were at least 80 people in the studio. I kicked the woman in front of me--not on purpose, of course. She was back kicking and I was front kicking (which we were supposed to be doing, thank God) and our feet collided. Sorry I kicked you! We had to do push-ups--AGAIN. My poor arms were shaking, my abs were killing me, and I was almost crying the last ten minutes of class. I say almost because I was taking huge, deep breaths and reminding myself that if I cried, everyone would know because I am NOT a pretty crier. My nose and eyes get all red, my face gets blotchy, and I'm basically a HUGE mess. I checked out the mirror and my nose WAS red, but so was the rest of my face, so I figured I was safe. I'm blaming the endorphins released during exercise for my rush of emotions during class yesterday. I felt sad for no reason the whole way home, cried in the shower, and emerged with a raging migraine.

Awesome.

Today, I've got what I like to call a migraine hangover...it's just like a regular headache without the fun of the night before. I'm physically and emotionally exhausted from dealing with pain all day yesterday and I'd like nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the day. (Okay, I'd also like a hot tub or a massage...but would settle for the nap.) Of course, I'm a mom so that sleeping-all-day thing doesn't exactly work for me. Too much to do. Too little time to do it in.

Not Sure How to Handle This...

I never watched 90210. Not religiously, anyway. Yes, I knew of Dylan and Brenda and Kelly and Donna. I saw the prom dress episode. And I caught 30 seconds of a very early episode where one of the girls told Brenda she had to lose weight because she couldn't hide under baggy winter clothes anymore. She was wearing a sweatshirt at the time--not a hoodie, an honest-to-God sweatshirt. I know. Those were some crazy times.

I guess I pictured myself hiding under bulky clothes and whipping out my whole new body come this spring. (Because I am beyond serious this time.) But people are noticing already.

"Are you losing weight?" One woman in my office asked me today.

Shushing her, I looked around to see if anyone had heard. I nodded. "I'm doing Weight Watchers," I admitted. "I've lost 13 pounds."

I'm kind of embarrassed to tell her this because--like the rest of the world--she knows I've done this before. Over and over again, in fact.

She used her hands to outline my rather large oversized hourglass shape. "You look great!" She told me. This woman had gastric bypass about 4...3? years ago. (I'm terrible at timelines. I can remember stuff...just can't remember when it happened. Could have been 3 years ago...could have been yesterday. How the hell should I know?) She said she's lost 160 pounds since her surgery and she just can't imagine hauling that kind of weight around every day. I came home and picked up a 12 pound weight...It puts it in perspective, that I used to carry that much weight with me all the time.

A few hours later, another woman followed me down the hallway. "Hey," she whispered as I peeled my orange. "I just wanted to come down here and tell you that you're looking really good...I can tell your boobs are getting smaller." (It's a compliment in my book. Have you seen my boobs? Gigantic.)

The Over-Complimenter caught me today, too. "Hey, Skinny Minny. Your shirt's too big."

It's too much. All at once. I'm embarrassed to talk about it...all of these people have seen me lose weight before. They've all seen me pile it back on...lose a few pounds, gain a few more...lose more, gain it back. It's been an endless cycle. I want to look them in the eye and say, "This is IT. I'm really doing it this time, I PROMISE." They've all heard it before. But then again, so have all of you.


MizFit, I am proud of myself, thank you. Scared to death and unable to take compliments, but proud. (And I like Pink, too. I heard that song twice at work today and wanted to get up and jam...but NOT do push-ups.)

New Year, New Body

"New year, new body! Come on, people, let's MOVE!!!"

I have a love/hate relationship with Turbo Kick. MOST of the time, I love it. (I also love this new Subway commercial where people are eating fattening things and their clothes are popping open...back to Turbo Kick, though.) I hate the thought of going. I hate how out of shape I feel when I'm gasping for breath three minutes in. I hate being sore two days later. But I love the rush. The moving. The jumping. (Thanks to my new sports bra.) I HATE the push-ups.

The first time we did them, she called them something different. "Tricep push backs" or something crazy like that. When I realized what they were, I was pissed. "These are PUSH-UPS!!!" Tonight, we did push-ups. I struggled, of course, on my knees, face inches from the floor, arms trembling from trying to push up my Fat Lady body.

"New year, new body!"

Ironically, we were rocking out to Pink's So What...which was exactly what was going through my head.

So what? I'm not a rock star.
I don't have rock moves.
And I don't need to be thin.
And guess what? I'm not havin' fun.
Are we almost done?
I'm gonna fall on my face...
I'm not alright.
And I'm not fine.
And I'm a tool.
So what? I'm not a rock star...

And as I'm collapsing to the floor and shoving myself up, praying no one can hear me sobbing, I start thinking, is it worth it? I know it is. I know it is. I know it is. But it's SO HARD.
Sometimes, I think it would just be so much easier to be...a Fat Lady.

New year. New body. New me.
Keep moving.

The Over-Complimenter

Is there such a thing? In all my years of weight-gain and weight-loss, I've never really learned how to take a compliment.

In 2003, when we did South Beach for the first time, I remember my boss telling me to buy some new jeans because she was tired of watching me hitch them up all the time.

When I fell off the WW wagon a three years ago, a friend told me how disappointed she was because she'd been so proud of my weight loss.

My dad is famous for making comments...some positive, mostly negative. I didn't even tell him I'd joined WW this time...until last week when he called in the middle of my meeting and I sent him a text message that said I would call him after my meeting. Of course, the first words out of his mouth were, "What meeting?" Damn. My cover was blown. (And I GAINED last week, too, of course.)

This time, I was so nervous about it not working...so embarrassed about all my ups and downs--The world is a witness to my yo-yo--I didn't want to tell many people. I told a small handful...and the Internet. At work, I told K, of course, and confided in one other woman, in the break room while we heated up our lunches.

I love her, but she's kind of an Over-Complimenter, if there can be such a thing. I never know what to say to her. She always wants to know how I'm doing--which is great, having one more person to answer to. But she's too much. She tells me I must be "redistributing," because she thinks I look like I've lost way more than 4, 10, or13 pounds.

What do you say to the Over-Complimenter? "Thank you" seems painfully inadequate when her comments often make my day. "Oh, no I don't," seems rude since she's trying to be nice. But when it's every day...and on the days when I'm feeling my fattest...I run out of appreciation for her well-meant words.

I've never liked the way I look. I've always been too fat. Too tall. Too...something. At the eye doctor today, the assistant told me my glasses needed adjusting, and I told her, "No, my nose is just crooked."

I'm trying. I am. It's hard for me to accept that people could see me as anything other than...a Fat Lady.

Fat Lady Arms

I felt great all day today. It was my weigh-in day, and I've been very, VERY good. I drank lots of water and prayed for a good day on the scale. Suddenly, this afternoon, I started to feel bloated. By the time I drove to my meeting, I felt so fat I could barely breathe.

At some point today, I was distracted by my arm laying on the desk. (I often get distracted by various parts of my body, if you hadn't noticed.) I pinched some flab, poking at the softnes, pulling the skin around my bones, trying to imagine what they would look like skinny.

I can't see it. I have huge arms. I hate them...and while I can feel the muscle I've been building, it's buried under layers of flab. And my hands are ridiculous. So small, I can't play piano because I can't reach the whole octave. My aunt has small hands, but she has slim wrists, also. I have small hands attached to thick wrists which morph into heavier arms.

I feel like a skinny girl trapped in a Fat Lady's body and I'll always be saddled with these Fat Lady arms. (Not that I'll be a skinny girl any time soon.)

I don't know why I'm feeling so down on myself today. I did GREAT this week. I'm down a total of 13.2 pounds. Good for me...and my Fat Lady arms.

Love what you Do. Do what you Love.

Last year, I spent some time searching for a publishing house where I could submit the romance novel I slaved over for two years.

(To answer the questions I know will come, my book was rejected for reasons of content. The story is good, and I will resubmit and resubmit and resubmit until I'm published.)

While paging through page after page of submission guidelines, a link on one page caught my eye. Employment.

I clicked on it.

There were job listings for readers...they paid in trinkets and gratitude but I thought it would be perfect for me. I love to read...and would love the opportunity to read never-before-seen material. As I scrolled down the page, I discovered another job listing for editors. Are you called the “comma queen” by your critique partners? Do people line up to have you do a critique because they know they will get something solid in return? It was as if the ad was written just for me. I followed the link and emailed the editor-in-chief to introduce and brag about myself.

We emailed back and forth and a few days later, she called me for a phone interview. I was up to my wrists in cheeseball when the phone rang and I quickly washed my hands and locked myself in my room to escape the calls of "Mommy, I'm hungry," and "She's touching my stuff!" for a while. The phone call went well and by the end of our conversation, she told me she would mail me a contract.

And I became an editor.

It's been the experience of a lifetime and I feel blessed every day to have been given this opportunity. The pay is minimal. At times, it's thankless. But I love it.

I make my editorial debut in July with the release of Lara Stephens' Hit Reply, to be published by The Wild Rose Press.

I am loving what I do. And doing what I love.

You Raise Me Up...

I got my new sports bra in the mail yesterday, just in time for this morning's Turbo Kick.

I have some serious issues with sports bras. They're uncomfortable. They're expensive. They're hard to find.

Hard to find in my size, anyway. I've got a Gigantic chest. No, not Enormous or Full-sized. Gigantic. At least it's not Huge. (Get it now? Yeah. Ha ha, I'm hilarious.)

I pulled it out of the box and held it up for inspection. "Oh, my God. This thing is gigantic."
"Well, honey," said the Hubster, somewhat proudly, "so are your boobs."
And what can I say to that? When he's right, he's right.

When I rolled out of bed this morning, I was very excited to have some extra support. I usually wear a regular bra and a tank top with a built in bra. (Those things are jokes, by the way, NOT built for someone who's built like me.) It's hard not to notice the bounce when I'm facing a mirrored wall, and all I can hope is that no one else is noticing as well.

So I struggled into my gargantuan new undergarment, pausing to adjust the straps twice. I still ripped the damn thing when I finally got into it. Nothing a quick run through my Janome won't fix. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I realized it gave me an odd Madonna-esque shape. I hopped up and down a couple of time, scrunching up my nose at the result. I dug out my tank top with the built in bra and decided, just to be safe, I would double bag it.

I was amazed at the end product and distracted through class because my stuff was actually where it was supposed to be. That tiny pee problem that I blame on childbirth almost 7 years ago still kept me from air-jacking, but hey, I jumped. I ran. There was minimal bouncing. (And Charlotte, who has had four children, air-jacks like a pro. I am ashamed.)

It's nice to have a good support system and feel more confident during my workout. There were half a million people there this morning and I talked to a couple of newbies after class. They said they really enjoyed it and they're planning on coming back for Wednesday class. I welcomed them and told them they should keep it up because it's a great workout and lots of fun. One asked me how many classes it takes to get the moves down. I said, "Are you kidding me? I'm STILL trying to get them all down." It's a fun time, though!

Food is going well today, though it will go better once all the Holiday junk is out of my house. I sent the Hubster to the store with a list divided into two parts: BUY and DON'T BUY. The former included bottled water, fruits and veggies, and double-fiber-whole-grain bread. The latter included peanut butter, tortillas, and cheese. There is half a log of summer sausage, a huge block of cheese, and a box of crackers calling my name, but I'm trying to shut them up with clementines and apples.

I'm done being a yo-yo.

Head Start...

Things have been going...well. I've lost a total of 12.8 pounds doing Weight Watchers--I've gained a couple pounds back over the holidays, but I really feel like I have a head start on the New Year's Resolution crowd. There were a number of new members at my last meeting, and I'm curious to see how many there will be this week.

I'll be hitting Turbo Kick tomorrow morning with what Jennie calls "the tourists." The people who make a resolution to workout more and invade the YMCA in January, only to disappear months weeks days later.

I'm feeling better about myself. My pants are looser, my face is thinner, and I feel like I'm making better choices. (No, not 100% of the time. I can't be expected to forsake every Christmas cookie I meet.) Even a bought with bronchitis hasn't kept me down, although it did keep me out of Turbo for a couple weeks.

I only made one resolution this year...I'm going to win the lottery. It's a start, anyway.