This will be short since I only have a couple things to say tonight.
1. Zumba was AWESOME. Some of the moves still hurt like crazy, but I managed to keep up through most of the songs. And I feel great. Some stiffness, but I'll get to sleep it off. No work tomorrow!
2. Crazy news: I've lost three pounds. SINCE MONDAY. That nine-hour work day? Totally did it for me this week. That brings me down to 281.6. I may actually make my 5% goal by my birthday! (Which will put me back to where I was my last time at the doctor.)
Plans for tomorrow: walking/hanging out w/ Sis, then having dinner/craft night with a great friend. So wish I could bottle how I feel right now. This isn't impossible! And I love it!
27 January 2011
26 January 2011
My Stream-of-Conscious Takes a Stroll
Ah, Zumba. You are both bane and blessing. Where else could I find two one-hour aerobic classes a week for free? But the pain... The PAIN. Ugh.
Monday's class went really well; I actually remembered most of the steps! And despite fiber-induced gas pains, I managed to stick it out the entire hour (which was thoroughly enjoyable). It was a great way to celebrate my first official loss since starting -- as of Monday afternoon, I'm 1.8 pounds lighter! That brings my current total loss at 4.2 pounds. It was very gratifying to see that on the scale. To be honest, I didn't feel any different, and there was considerable fear that I hadn't lost anything at all. But there it was: proof that eating smarter does indeed make a difference!
So again, Monday night was a blast. I felt good and tired afterwards, compared to the immediate pain I'd felt after my first class last week. Little did I know that it was biding its time, waiting to sneak up on me while I slept.
Cue yesterday morning, 4:45 am. The alarm jerked me awake from a dead sleep. I lay there for a while dreading the thought of actually getting out of bed. I knew it would hurt. Quite frankly, I'm surprised I didn't wake anyone else up with my zombie-esque shambling around. And it didn't let up much once work started, which was bad since we got a surprise 8k units added to the 4.8k already scheduled . . . turning a three hour day into nine excruciating hours. The stiffness wouldn't have even been that bad if my feet hadn't started acting up again, too. I'd planned on going for my afternoon walk after work, but by the time I got off it was all I could do to hobble out to the car and get myself home.
That's kind of where I'm at right now. Other than Zumba, I haven't done anything active beyond what's required for work. (Granted, that's a day full of walking, but still.) My feet just hurt too much. I'm attributing much of that to old shoes and the fact that this is the first week I've really worked a normal schedule since Christmas. I'm praying it gets better soon -- I miss my walks (and spending time in Barnes & Noble afterwards.)
Other thoughts that I've had this week: other than dealing with some pain, this whole venture has been remarkably easy so far. Why has it taken me this long to do anything about my health? And so much has changed already. My portions are smaller, and I'm actually feeling full after just a fraction of what I'm used to eating. I haven't even really needed my flex points, which is a shock. And vegetables? They don't scare me. Not like they used to. I'm actually finding myself craving things like brussel sprouts and peas and carrots. What's wrong with me?!? Who is this new person running around in my head?? It's the most bizarre thing, and I'm having a hard time reconciling this new way of thinking with how I view myself.
And there's that ambiguous thing called self-image. Like it was mentioned in my first post, I've always been considerably overweight. I hit 90lbs in third grade; 200lbs in seventh. I was never the princess or romantic figure in any game or play. For years I don't think I was ever actually treated like a girl, just a human with female parts. All people see (or as I've forever told myself) is the fat. All they see some fat girl who isn't worth their time. So why should I aspire to anything else? Actually writing that down makes me sound crazy. But it's how I've always seen myself. And at the same time, the thought of eventually losing all the extra weight (essentially half of my current self) is terrifying. I don't know that person. I can't visualize her at all.
This is going to be a long journey. Guess I'll find out who I really am along the way.
Monday's class went really well; I actually remembered most of the steps! And despite fiber-induced gas pains, I managed to stick it out the entire hour (which was thoroughly enjoyable). It was a great way to celebrate my first official loss since starting -- as of Monday afternoon, I'm 1.8 pounds lighter! That brings my current total loss at 4.2 pounds. It was very gratifying to see that on the scale. To be honest, I didn't feel any different, and there was considerable fear that I hadn't lost anything at all. But there it was: proof that eating smarter does indeed make a difference!
So again, Monday night was a blast. I felt good and tired afterwards, compared to the immediate pain I'd felt after my first class last week. Little did I know that it was biding its time, waiting to sneak up on me while I slept.
Cue yesterday morning, 4:45 am. The alarm jerked me awake from a dead sleep. I lay there for a while dreading the thought of actually getting out of bed. I knew it would hurt. Quite frankly, I'm surprised I didn't wake anyone else up with my zombie-esque shambling around. And it didn't let up much once work started, which was bad since we got a surprise 8k units added to the 4.8k already scheduled . . . turning a three hour day into nine excruciating hours. The stiffness wouldn't have even been that bad if my feet hadn't started acting up again, too. I'd planned on going for my afternoon walk after work, but by the time I got off it was all I could do to hobble out to the car and get myself home.
That's kind of where I'm at right now. Other than Zumba, I haven't done anything active beyond what's required for work. (Granted, that's a day full of walking, but still.) My feet just hurt too much. I'm attributing much of that to old shoes and the fact that this is the first week I've really worked a normal schedule since Christmas. I'm praying it gets better soon -- I miss my walks (and spending time in Barnes & Noble afterwards.)
Other thoughts that I've had this week: other than dealing with some pain, this whole venture has been remarkably easy so far. Why has it taken me this long to do anything about my health? And so much has changed already. My portions are smaller, and I'm actually feeling full after just a fraction of what I'm used to eating. I haven't even really needed my flex points, which is a shock. And vegetables? They don't scare me. Not like they used to. I'm actually finding myself craving things like brussel sprouts and peas and carrots. What's wrong with me?!? Who is this new person running around in my head?? It's the most bizarre thing, and I'm having a hard time reconciling this new way of thinking with how I view myself.
And there's that ambiguous thing called self-image. Like it was mentioned in my first post, I've always been considerably overweight. I hit 90lbs in third grade; 200lbs in seventh. I was never the princess or romantic figure in any game or play. For years I don't think I was ever actually treated like a girl, just a human with female parts. All people see (or as I've forever told myself) is the fat. All they see some fat girl who isn't worth their time. So why should I aspire to anything else? Actually writing that down makes me sound crazy. But it's how I've always seen myself. And at the same time, the thought of eventually losing all the extra weight (essentially half of my current self) is terrifying. I don't know that person. I can't visualize her at all.
This is going to be a long journey. Guess I'll find out who I really am along the way.
22 January 2011
Zumba vs. Chicken Fried
All right. Confession time.
My cravings aren't sweet. I don't cave at the sight of doughnuts or candy. Cakes, brownies, and ice cream hold no lasting pleasure for me. Even my mother's chocolate chip cookies, while amazing (indeed, they are the best in the world), do not reduce me to a slavering blob of humanity. No, my palette responds to the savory things of this world -- the cheesy, the greasy, the batter-dipped and trans fat-laden.
Hello there. My name is Becky, and I'm a charter member of Fried Foods Anonymous.
I suppose I'll probably always hold that membership. And while my tastes have started changing this week (something I didn't believe would actually happen), there is still so much weakness when it comes to the fried goodies. Take this past Thursday for example: the week had gone really, really well so far. I'd kept up with my points and even managed a couple 30-minute walks around a major outdoor shopping center here in town. Around 5pm Thursday afternoon, I'd already finished my walk and was browsing around Barnes & Noble for awhile before meeting my sister for Zumba later in the evening. It was supper time, and I knew that I needed to eat enough to get me through an hour of aerobic dancing. (If you've never been to a class before, imagine that Richard Simmons and Ricky Martin had a love child. That's what Zumba is like.)
Anyway.
Mistake #1: I didn't leave the house with a dinner plan already in mind. The Fiber One bar I'd packed in my purse had since been eaten. Given that I was already out, it made no sense to go all the way home for food and then go back out. So there were too many choices.
Mistake #2: My emotions picked out the meal. After finally settling on Chick-fil-a, I walked in intending to get the grilled chicken sandwich and either a cole slaw or fruit cup. But my resolve wavered upon actually looking at the menu. And the smell...
I caved. It was my usual -- a Chick-fil-a sandwich (no pickle) and a medium waffle fries. And it was great...for the first two or three bites. And then a couple things happened that I didn't expect. One, I felt so guilty for caving in to something so trivial. And two, it actually didn't taste as good as I'd thought. Apparently, my tastes have changed more than expected this week. It actually got to where I didn't even want any more after about half the meal was gone.
Mistake #3: I didn't stop when my body said stop. I couldn't throw out good food! I'd paid money for this, and I was going to finish. So I did. But again, it wasn't as good as I'd thought it would be. There was a slimy residue on my tongue, and I don't think I've ever felt dirty after consuming a piece of fried chicken before. It was very disappointing.
My saving grace that night however, was Zumba.
It's really not as horrible as it sounds. My sister, a mutual friend, and I arrived at the church about 10-15 minutes before the start of class. We got our water bottles and found spots together in the (very) crowded gym. I was both excited and nervous. It helped that there was such a variety of people attending this week. I still had visions of high school aerobics where 99% of the people involved had never been overweight. But there was such a range of women -- in both size and age -- that I felt immediately comfortable. And the instructor seemed like a really nice lady. By the time the music started, it was too late to run (even though I did briefly consider it), and so I flailed along as best as I could.
Thankfully, I had a really great time, for all that it had nearly killed me. After an hour of sweating and moving in ways I've never moved before, I'd gained 14 activity points -- effectively beating off that chicken sandwich with the proverbial stick. We hobbled out to the car and joked about how much pain we were in on the way home, but at the same time I wondered if this was really worth that pain. The sweating and burning, the cutting back. Those nights when all I want are cheese puffs or fries but have an apple instead. The worry that maybe I'm not doing enough. That I won't have lost any more weight the next time it's checked. I hope it's all worth this.
My cravings aren't sweet. I don't cave at the sight of doughnuts or candy. Cakes, brownies, and ice cream hold no lasting pleasure for me. Even my mother's chocolate chip cookies, while amazing (indeed, they are the best in the world), do not reduce me to a slavering blob of humanity. No, my palette responds to the savory things of this world -- the cheesy, the greasy, the batter-dipped and trans fat-laden.
Hello there. My name is Becky, and I'm a charter member of Fried Foods Anonymous.
I suppose I'll probably always hold that membership. And while my tastes have started changing this week (something I didn't believe would actually happen), there is still so much weakness when it comes to the fried goodies. Take this past Thursday for example: the week had gone really, really well so far. I'd kept up with my points and even managed a couple 30-minute walks around a major outdoor shopping center here in town. Around 5pm Thursday afternoon, I'd already finished my walk and was browsing around Barnes & Noble for awhile before meeting my sister for Zumba later in the evening. It was supper time, and I knew that I needed to eat enough to get me through an hour of aerobic dancing. (If you've never been to a class before, imagine that Richard Simmons and Ricky Martin had a love child. That's what Zumba is like.)
Anyway.
Mistake #1: I didn't leave the house with a dinner plan already in mind. The Fiber One bar I'd packed in my purse had since been eaten. Given that I was already out, it made no sense to go all the way home for food and then go back out. So there were too many choices.
Mistake #2: My emotions picked out the meal. After finally settling on Chick-fil-a, I walked in intending to get the grilled chicken sandwich and either a cole slaw or fruit cup. But my resolve wavered upon actually looking at the menu. And the smell...
I caved. It was my usual -- a Chick-fil-a sandwich (no pickle) and a medium waffle fries. And it was great...for the first two or three bites. And then a couple things happened that I didn't expect. One, I felt so guilty for caving in to something so trivial. And two, it actually didn't taste as good as I'd thought. Apparently, my tastes have changed more than expected this week. It actually got to where I didn't even want any more after about half the meal was gone.
Mistake #3: I didn't stop when my body said stop. I couldn't throw out good food! I'd paid money for this, and I was going to finish. So I did. But again, it wasn't as good as I'd thought it would be. There was a slimy residue on my tongue, and I don't think I've ever felt dirty after consuming a piece of fried chicken before. It was very disappointing.
My saving grace that night however, was Zumba.
It's really not as horrible as it sounds. My sister, a mutual friend, and I arrived at the church about 10-15 minutes before the start of class. We got our water bottles and found spots together in the (very) crowded gym. I was both excited and nervous. It helped that there was such a variety of people attending this week. I still had visions of high school aerobics where 99% of the people involved had never been overweight. But there was such a range of women -- in both size and age -- that I felt immediately comfortable. And the instructor seemed like a really nice lady. By the time the music started, it was too late to run (even though I did briefly consider it), and so I flailed along as best as I could.
Thankfully, I had a really great time, for all that it had nearly killed me. After an hour of sweating and moving in ways I've never moved before, I'd gained 14 activity points -- effectively beating off that chicken sandwich with the proverbial stick. We hobbled out to the car and joked about how much pain we were in on the way home, but at the same time I wondered if this was really worth that pain. The sweating and burning, the cutting back. Those nights when all I want are cheese puffs or fries but have an apple instead. The worry that maybe I'm not doing enough. That I won't have lost any more weight the next time it's checked. I hope it's all worth this.
19 January 2011
The Multivitamin Quandary
I have to say that when I shared the link to my last post on Facebook, I certainly didn't expect the showers of love and encouragement that came from it. Thank you -- so, so, SO much -- to all of you who have expressed an interest in this journey. Putting myself out there like this is frightening (almost moreso than the weight loss itself) because now the inner critic in my head is freaking out over what it views as "pressure to perform." Oh yes, the what-if's and I-can't-do-this! spent quite awhile swirling around in my head yesterday before the part of me that is newly in control (that part which struggles to break free from said inner critic) managed to bring things down to a more reasonable state. And I had to be reminded of this truth -- a journey like this absolutely CAN NOT be accomplished alone. Every wish for success, every "you can do it!" uttered is just one more person added to my accountability/cheering section. I love you all for it; it's made these first few days of this whole endeavor that much easier, and again I thank you.
Now, as for that multivitamin. I've never had much luck with these things. We took vitamins for awhile as kids -- those chewable Flintstone ones. And yes, we fought over who had to eat the grape ones. Neither of us liked them, so naturally there were several left once all the other flavors were gone. But since about 5th grade on I just haven't had much to do with vitamins. There's only been one other time I've tried multivitamins, and that was back in college. Mom thought it would be a good idea to start a vitamin regimen, so we found some Women's One-a-Day and started taking them. For a couple days, at least.
From what I remember, it was awful. I have a sensitive digestive system, and the added iron plus who knows what else wreaked havoc. I promptly gave up the habit and have thought very little of it since. Til now, of course, when taking a multivitamin is strongly encouraged to help aid weight loss and promote healthy living. I'm not thrilled by the idea. There is a large bottle of the things sitting on my nightstand. They've been there for a couple weeks now. And the seal isn't even broken yet.
To be perfectly honest, it's embarrassing to admit that I'm afraid of taking a vitamin.
Still, the part of me that wants this to work actually wants to take them. I guess it's one of those "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak" moments. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad now that I'm actually paying attention to what I eat. And maybe choosing a certain time for taking it would help, too. But I just keep putting it off and putting it off. Much like how I've handled most anything in my life I've never really wanted to do. Or rather, did want to do but never actually wanted to do the work to get there. Because it was unpleasant. Or boring. Or painful. But if I'm going to do this whole heartedly, I have to do EVERYTHING. Not just those things that seem easy.
Tomorrow will mark another first. I'll be joining my sister and a friend for Zumba night. Provided I don't hurt myself, that should prove to be an interesting experience ripe with blog fodder.
Now for bed . . . and a showdown with that vitamin.
Now, as for that multivitamin. I've never had much luck with these things. We took vitamins for awhile as kids -- those chewable Flintstone ones. And yes, we fought over who had to eat the grape ones. Neither of us liked them, so naturally there were several left once all the other flavors were gone. But since about 5th grade on I just haven't had much to do with vitamins. There's only been one other time I've tried multivitamins, and that was back in college. Mom thought it would be a good idea to start a vitamin regimen, so we found some Women's One-a-Day and started taking them. For a couple days, at least.
From what I remember, it was awful. I have a sensitive digestive system, and the added iron plus who knows what else wreaked havoc. I promptly gave up the habit and have thought very little of it since. Til now, of course, when taking a multivitamin is strongly encouraged to help aid weight loss and promote healthy living. I'm not thrilled by the idea. There is a large bottle of the things sitting on my nightstand. They've been there for a couple weeks now. And the seal isn't even broken yet.
To be perfectly honest, it's embarrassing to admit that I'm afraid of taking a vitamin.
Still, the part of me that wants this to work actually wants to take them. I guess it's one of those "the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak" moments. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad now that I'm actually paying attention to what I eat. And maybe choosing a certain time for taking it would help, too. But I just keep putting it off and putting it off. Much like how I've handled most anything in my life I've never really wanted to do. Or rather, did want to do but never actually wanted to do the work to get there. Because it was unpleasant. Or boring. Or painful. But if I'm going to do this whole heartedly, I have to do EVERYTHING. Not just those things that seem easy.
Tomorrow will mark another first. I'll be joining my sister and a friend for Zumba night. Provided I don't hurt myself, that should prove to be an interesting experience ripe with blog fodder.
Now for bed . . . and a showdown with that vitamin.
18 January 2011
Ups, Downs, and a Whole New Mentality
Let me start this with some good news. After going into last week at 290lbs and not really working on the actual program yet, I weighed in today at Sarah's house. Turns out I've lost three pounds! The Wii Fit still doesn't like me very much (who really came up with "That's obese!" anyway??), but I was shocked. All I'd really done was cut out soft drinks and maybe not snacked out of the chip bag every time I went through the kitchen. That was a really great starting point, so I'm totally jazzed. After doing some math with Sarah, we decided that my 5% goal will be 14.5lbs. So that's what I'll be working towards in the coming weeks.
Weight Watchers is not a diet. It's a lifestyle -- a change in the way one thinks about food and exercise. For years I've always smirked a little at the very idea of Weight Watchers. It was for older women or crazy people who just needed a program to feel better about themselves. And I never really thought it actually worked . . . until meeting some people who actually lived that lifestyle and who had lost significant weight with it.
I've mentioned before that the main reason I'm doing something about all this weight now is because I was tired of looking so horrible in all my pictures. The truth, though, is that I'd been thinking about getting involved quite some time ago. But I let my fear of failure get a stranglehold on my psyche, so here I am months later. It's still something I struggle with, but I'm learning that I have to be stronger than my fear. It's all in my head, just like emotional eating.
That's not to say that we won't have bad days. For example, yesterday started really well. I had a cup of Cheerios for breakfast, which actually held me pretty well through the morning. Mom made herb-seasoned chicken breasts, steamed broccoli, and baked potatoes for lunch (which was amazing). And even though I had a slice of birthday cake later in the afternoon at my community group meeting, I didn't get hungry til after 6pm. So I thought I'd head home, have a couple slices of leftover pepperoni pizza and call it a night.
Sadly, the pizza gods were not with me last night. There was none left by the time I got home, so I had to find something else for supper. We're still short on healthy, filling foods at the moment, so my choices were limited. I finally settled on a PB&J and some cheetoes. It filled me up enough to where I wasn't hungry anymore, but here's the thing -- I got annoyed to absolutely no end. It was NOT what I wanted, and I let my dissatisfaction affect the rest of my evening. All I could think about was food -- I wanted to eat everything. To the point where I nearly gave up and headed out to Zaxby's for a chicken finger plate, because I wanted french fries REALLY bad.
But I didn't. Instead, I made myself go to bed well before midnight. I'd stayed up way too late the night before and had been running all day on less than five hours of sleep. So I'm mostly chalking up the emotions to being tired, but it's still a testament to how strongly emotional eating affects me. All it took was one little glitch in the plan. One little taste of something that I really didn't want. That's what I'm wanting to change. Food can't control me like that anymore. If nothing else, I should just be glad that I even have food. But I'm also not doing those starving African children any good if I talk myself into the last of the chocolate cake "just because it'll go bad if I don't."
Today was much better, of course. I had a full night's sleep and the previously mentioned good news. After setting up my score sheet, I have 38 daily points to work with. I sat down this evening after supper to track everything that I'd eaten today, and I came out right around 36 points. And that was without even really trying!
Goals for tomorrow: begin a tracking notebook, 30 minute walk, and get up the guts to take the multivitamins that have been sitting on my nightstand for the last week.
Weight Watchers is not a diet. It's a lifestyle -- a change in the way one thinks about food and exercise. For years I've always smirked a little at the very idea of Weight Watchers. It was for older women or crazy people who just needed a program to feel better about themselves. And I never really thought it actually worked . . . until meeting some people who actually lived that lifestyle and who had lost significant weight with it.
I've mentioned before that the main reason I'm doing something about all this weight now is because I was tired of looking so horrible in all my pictures. The truth, though, is that I'd been thinking about getting involved quite some time ago. But I let my fear of failure get a stranglehold on my psyche, so here I am months later. It's still something I struggle with, but I'm learning that I have to be stronger than my fear. It's all in my head, just like emotional eating.
That's not to say that we won't have bad days. For example, yesterday started really well. I had a cup of Cheerios for breakfast, which actually held me pretty well through the morning. Mom made herb-seasoned chicken breasts, steamed broccoli, and baked potatoes for lunch (which was amazing). And even though I had a slice of birthday cake later in the afternoon at my community group meeting, I didn't get hungry til after 6pm. So I thought I'd head home, have a couple slices of leftover pepperoni pizza and call it a night.
Sadly, the pizza gods were not with me last night. There was none left by the time I got home, so I had to find something else for supper. We're still short on healthy, filling foods at the moment, so my choices were limited. I finally settled on a PB&J and some cheetoes. It filled me up enough to where I wasn't hungry anymore, but here's the thing -- I got annoyed to absolutely no end. It was NOT what I wanted, and I let my dissatisfaction affect the rest of my evening. All I could think about was food -- I wanted to eat everything. To the point where I nearly gave up and headed out to Zaxby's for a chicken finger plate, because I wanted french fries REALLY bad.
But I didn't. Instead, I made myself go to bed well before midnight. I'd stayed up way too late the night before and had been running all day on less than five hours of sleep. So I'm mostly chalking up the emotions to being tired, but it's still a testament to how strongly emotional eating affects me. All it took was one little glitch in the plan. One little taste of something that I really didn't want. That's what I'm wanting to change. Food can't control me like that anymore. If nothing else, I should just be glad that I even have food. But I'm also not doing those starving African children any good if I talk myself into the last of the chocolate cake "just because it'll go bad if I don't."
Today was much better, of course. I had a full night's sleep and the previously mentioned good news. After setting up my score sheet, I have 38 daily points to work with. I sat down this evening after supper to track everything that I'd eaten today, and I came out right around 36 points. And that was without even really trying!
Goals for tomorrow: begin a tracking notebook, 30 minute walk, and get up the guts to take the multivitamins that have been sitting on my nightstand for the last week.
17 January 2011
Life as a Soundtrack, part 2
It occured to me late last night that I never really got around to linking the body of yesterday's post with the title. Nor did I really go into detail about plans and goals for this whole weight loss venture. I chalk that up to staying up entirely too late on a Saturday night and singing along to my playlist while typing. So let me finish up the life-slash-soundtrack comparison in this post before I get sidetracked again.
Music has always affected me emotionally -- perhaps moreso than most people. Maybe because there's always something available to go along with my mood. In fact, were I to suddenly be rendered incapable of speaking, I think my solution would be to pull a Bumblebee and use a radio to communicate my moods. (Hmm, quite the idea, that...) Be that as it may, though, certain songs in particular feel as though they were written FOR me or ABOUT me. Those are the ones that usually get put on repeat for hours at a time while I'm either bouncing along happily or crying my eyes out. (There are exceptions for certain ones. My sister has since forbidden the mere utterance of "Puff the Magic Dragon" in her presence -- I'll spare the details on that one.)
I've enjoyed "Defying Gravity" for several years now. For those not familiar with the storyline of Wicked, it's about the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz -- only in this story, she's named Elphaba. It follows her from college up through the point where she becomes said "Wicked Witch." She's a really nice person, but everyone disparages her because she's different, and every single good thing she really wants to do gets shot down. In the musical, "Defying Gravity" is the mid point, and it's Elphaba saying she's done with being controlled by something else.
Food has been my nemesis for years. Let's face it -- I like to eat. I LOVE food. And being part of a southern family (and I'm talking Old South here), there have always been lots of lovely fried things to choose from. Also, emotional eating is rampant in my family: it's your birthday? Let's celebrate! Upset because you weren't chosen for a highly anticipated mission trip? Let's have dinner at grandma's and eat ourselves sick! For years food has controlled me, and the choices I've made regarding what goes into my stomach have been less than stellar.
The crux of the matter is this: I'm tired of looking like a huge ball in all my pictures. I'm tired of hating clothes shopping (connected with that is hating have to shop in the fat lady section.) I'm tired of getting out of breath just from tying my shoes. I'm tired of food controlling me.
My next post will contain goals for this coming year. For now, it's off to find some supper and make that list of non-food related rewards.
Music has always affected me emotionally -- perhaps moreso than most people. Maybe because there's always something available to go along with my mood. In fact, were I to suddenly be rendered incapable of speaking, I think my solution would be to pull a Bumblebee and use a radio to communicate my moods. (Hmm, quite the idea, that...) Be that as it may, though, certain songs in particular feel as though they were written FOR me or ABOUT me. Those are the ones that usually get put on repeat for hours at a time while I'm either bouncing along happily or crying my eyes out. (There are exceptions for certain ones. My sister has since forbidden the mere utterance of "Puff the Magic Dragon" in her presence -- I'll spare the details on that one.)
I've enjoyed "Defying Gravity" for several years now. For those not familiar with the storyline of Wicked, it's about the Wicked Witch of the West from The Wizard of Oz -- only in this story, she's named Elphaba. It follows her from college up through the point where she becomes said "Wicked Witch." She's a really nice person, but everyone disparages her because she's different, and every single good thing she really wants to do gets shot down. In the musical, "Defying Gravity" is the mid point, and it's Elphaba saying she's done with being controlled by something else.
Food has been my nemesis for years. Let's face it -- I like to eat. I LOVE food. And being part of a southern family (and I'm talking Old South here), there have always been lots of lovely fried things to choose from. Also, emotional eating is rampant in my family: it's your birthday? Let's celebrate! Upset because you weren't chosen for a highly anticipated mission trip? Let's have dinner at grandma's and eat ourselves sick! For years food has controlled me, and the choices I've made regarding what goes into my stomach have been less than stellar.
The crux of the matter is this: I'm tired of looking like a huge ball in all my pictures. I'm tired of hating clothes shopping (connected with that is hating have to shop in the fat lady section.) I'm tired of getting out of breath just from tying my shoes. I'm tired of food controlling me.
My next post will contain goals for this coming year. For now, it's off to find some supper and make that list of non-food related rewards.
16 January 2011
Life as a Soundtrack
As I type this, it's currently 1:27am. I've been staring at the blog creator page for well over an hour wracking my brain for a catchy title for this thing. It's horrible, really, this feeling that something needs to be titled before I can even start working on it. I've been that way for the longest time, though -- every story I've ever written, every blog ever conceived, every list of any kind . . . they've all had to have a title before anything else could happen. So I agonized for an hour tonight while my ipod dutifully played back my favorite tunes. And just as I was ready to close out the window and give the whole thing up as a bad job (knowing full well that I'd never get back around to it later), this particular song began -- "Defying Gravity" from the musical Wicked.
I nearly laughed. It's perfect.
I've been overweight my entire life. For as long as I can really remember, at least. And I've hated it, of course. While I have no other complaints from my childhood (thanks to my family, who I adore and for whom I'm eternally grateful), the taunts from elementary school still haunt me. I went from "Elephant" and "Hippo" in second grade to Becky "Aircraft carrier" through the rest of grade school and jr. high. Self esteem, whatever you may think about it, was (and still is) non-existant. By the time I turned 13, I weighed over 200lbs and shopped in the woman's plus section. It was absolutely demoralizing. And after living with all this weight -- physically, mentally, and emotionally -- I'm done.
Thanks to the incredible success of a dear friend, I've been motivated to begin my own journey. Truthfully? I'm terrified. There have been attempts in the past to change, and they've always failed. Sarah tells me that if she can do it, then so can I. Granted, she also says that this time next year I won't recognize myself. Still not sure if I believe that or not -- skepticism is pretty high on the meter right now.
However! Fear or not, I have to do something. At nearly 27, I can't afford to keep putting it off. So we're back to why I started this blog in the first place. I need some kind of accountability, and maybe actually documenting my activities over the coming year will help with that. And hammering out all the negativities that still haunt me might help free myself from them. For now, I'm denying those things that bring me down -- fear, uncertainty, and the seemingly innocent cheese puff.
I'm excited.
I nearly laughed. It's perfect.
I've been overweight my entire life. For as long as I can really remember, at least. And I've hated it, of course. While I have no other complaints from my childhood (thanks to my family, who I adore and for whom I'm eternally grateful), the taunts from elementary school still haunt me. I went from "Elephant" and "Hippo" in second grade to Becky "Aircraft carrier" through the rest of grade school and jr. high. Self esteem, whatever you may think about it, was (and still is) non-existant. By the time I turned 13, I weighed over 200lbs and shopped in the woman's plus section. It was absolutely demoralizing. And after living with all this weight -- physically, mentally, and emotionally -- I'm done.
Thanks to the incredible success of a dear friend, I've been motivated to begin my own journey. Truthfully? I'm terrified. There have been attempts in the past to change, and they've always failed. Sarah tells me that if she can do it, then so can I. Granted, she also says that this time next year I won't recognize myself. Still not sure if I believe that or not -- skepticism is pretty high on the meter right now.
However! Fear or not, I have to do something. At nearly 27, I can't afford to keep putting it off. So we're back to why I started this blog in the first place. I need some kind of accountability, and maybe actually documenting my activities over the coming year will help with that. And hammering out all the negativities that still haunt me might help free myself from them. For now, I'm denying those things that bring me down -- fear, uncertainty, and the seemingly innocent cheese puff.
I'm excited.
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