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Breathe In, Breathe Out, Move On

Sep30

 

(I’ve now lost 127.8 pounds!)

The time is now.

Last weekend was a whirlwind of old things made new again, with new experiences peppering the rest. I admit I feared the many things we had planned for the weekend, even though I was the instigator for a few of them; I often have to fight a tendency to be a hermit, especially when I’m having bad arthritic days.

Last week was our county fair. I live in a small town with an equally small county fair. We haven’t visited the last couple of years, because frankly, I couldn’t get around that well and the fairground is just a field most of the year. Grass, dried up low spots where mud puddles once lived, soft ground in the stables, weathered and uneven concrete landings and walkways — it’s treachery for those of us with mobility issues, and I live in fear of falling.

I've lost... myself! This is me, around age 18 or so. I was around a third of my starting weight for this journey; I was also about a third of my current age.

I’ve lost… myself! This is me, around age 18 or so. I was around a third of my starting weight for this journey; I was also about a third of my current age.

But… I wanted two things: a caramel apple with nuts on it, and a carnival ride. I haven’t had either one in years, and while caramel apples aren’t exactly a diet item, I occasionally plan on enjoying things like this. Sure, I could make my own, but I didn’t want to! It’s not like I needed supplies to make a dozen, after all. The carnival ride was a bonus, because I’d feared being turned away because of my size, or not being able to be securely belted on the ride.

I knocked out both of those Friday night. I’m a ride demon once again, even if it was just one ride; that’s all I needed to remember the joy of paying money to be spun so dizzy I can’t see straight for a few moments. (Seriously, aren’t we just a bit crazy for doing that?) I bought my caramel apple and carefully transported it home to enjoy later in the weekend since I don’t deviate from my plan during the week.

Saturday, we had plans to attend a house concert in the afternoon — something neither my husband or I had done previously. At the last minute, though, both of us ended up serving as KCBS judges on Saturday, before the concert. If you’re unfamiliar with KCBS, it’s the Kansas City Barbeque Society  and they sanction barbeque competitions across the country. Without getting into too much detail, it meant I’d be sitting in with certified judges and judging barbeque chicken, ribs, pork, and brisket. In all, twenty-five samples crossed in front of me, and I had to have at least a bite of each one. They were judged on appearance, taste, and tenderness.

I admit that I did this somewhat begrudgingly. For someone who’s been on a three-year journey to losing weight, being asked to judge a food competition is — well — just a bit ludicrous! I’m used to knowing exactly what I’m putting in my mouth, but there was no way to know; it was a double-blind competition. It’s not as if I could review a list of ingredients for each sample while the other five judges at my table waited on me. I couldn’t simply discard something because it had honey in it, for instance.

But sometimes — you have to choose to live in the moment and take it for what it is. I did that. I had a bite of everything put in front of me. For the most part, the entries were tasty; there were a few exceptions, but there always are. A master judge that sat beside me and led me through the process even commented that my method of eating likely gives me an advantage as a volunteer judge, because I eat mindfully. (The table did have a good laugh, though, at having someone at the table who’s been on a diet for three years and judging barbeque.)

I don’t know who won or if I tasted their entry, because we just don’t know that information; it was a room of nearly thirty judges, and it was carefully engineered so we would never taste entries from the same contestant twice. In all, I’m glad I got roped into it, even though I initially resisted; it was an interesting experience. My only regret: twenty-five bites of meat is still a lot of meat, and some, I did have more than one bite; either because they were good and I wanted to taste it again, or because they had several cuts of meat in one entry. Between that, crackers to cleanse the taste of the meat, and plenty of water, I didn’t feel all that great later in the day.

The house concert was marvelous, followed by even more activities on Sunday. I woke up Sunday morning, silently dreading stepping on the scale; believe me when I say that even one bite of those meats ends up being A LOT of food — and a lot of whatever they used to prepare it. Amazingly, the number on the scale wasn’t bad at all. Sometimes my body is more forgiving of deviances from the norm; a couple weeks ago, I could have eaten a lettuce leaf and gained weight. This past weekend was the opposite.

This was a learning experience for me. Sometimes I need to just let go of what I fear, and do something for the heck of it. Occasionally, doing a manual override of all the “buts!” that line up when considering something different is the best thing I can do. I don’t ignore warning flags; no, I’m speaking of the voices that remind me of things that don’t really matter in the long run. People are silently judging me because I’m fat and I’m judging a food contest. I don’t know what I might eat that might trigger my appetite. Is this going to make me late to the event we planned afterward? As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about any of those things.

Choosing to live in the moment also means discarding history that works against me at times like this. We couldn’t find a decent (or free) parking space at the fair, and I almost opted to go on home — but I know I would have missed out on that ride (and the apple!). I could have chosen not to do the judging, and found something to do for a few hours while my husband participated, but it was a fascinating process and the only dietary fallout I had was late that night when the meat sat heavy on my stomach.

I also could have said no to the last opportunity to swim outside on Sunday, but I would have missed spending time with great friends, enjoying the last warm day of the season, and I probably would have escaped the sunburn on the back of my neck. (I should have remembered the sunscreen. Oops!) How often do we get to swim in late September?

Life is a series of choices. Always choosing the easiest option is pretty boring. Sometimes, you have to take that chance and see where it leads you — and then move on to the next.

When We Were Young

Sep23

 

I’m old enough to remember what life was like before email, the internet, all the wonderful technology that has both improved and confused our lives. Not long ago, I waxed nostalgic (what else are you gonna wax? Okay, the car, perhaps…) about the differences in communication when I was young, and how things are, now.

I remember having pen pals. Long distance phone calls were expensive; not to mention, there was only one phone in our place. It was mounted on the kitchen wall, and it had a long-ish cord, but unless no one else was home, everyone knew who you were talking to and what you were saying. Letters were more private affairs, and at least speaking for myself, I wrote (and often rewrote) each line with care. I thought carefully about what I said.

The anticipation of a letter back was a sweet thing; a delight to find something special with my name on it in the mailbox that hung by the door. There was a special pleasure and innocence in reading hand-written words meant just for me, regardless of who wrote them.

This progress photo obviously is not me.

This progress photo obviously is not me.

Unfortunately, this has become a dying art form, and a well-written letter truly was a cherished thing, read and reread, kept. Not a single LOL or a WTF in any of them. We led more deliberate and thought-out lives. I’m sure I don’t have to explain how times have changed; after all, what medium are you using to read this very blog? How often can you now throw out a casual status update, text a friend, or drop an email to your boss, your client, your mother?

While our methods of communication have changed, one thing has not: we still craft ourselves as we want to be seen rather than revealing who we truly are. In the old days, distance allowed us to distract, divert, or only share the best of ourselves. Things are not so different, these days; many of us project a second — perhaps better — version of ourselves online, hiding the faults and scars of our daily lives.

We hide behind selfies that required twenty retakes until we are happy with the result. We use old photos for profile pics because we firmly believe we looked better in those days than we do, now. We craft and present the world with a cleaned up version of ourselves.

When I first started this journey, I swore that I would not do this, but the truth is that I still often do. Perhaps it’s human nature to want to be seen in a certain light, and I’m probably about average when it comes to vanity; I promised myself I’d always keep a current photo up on social media, but the truth is, I just recently ditched a 10-year-old photo on LinkedIn. I was thinner, then. In my own mind, I looked better then than I do, now. I know that my outward appearance has no bearing on how well I perform my chosen career, but there’s part of me that believes a potential client may well believe that it does.

It’s a mask many of us wear, and speaking for myself, I need to discard the fear of losing that mask. I am who I am; I may not look like the person I was a year ago, ten years ago, thirty years ago — but it hardly matters, does it? We tend to keep or discard people in our lives based on who they are, not what they look like.

The older I become, the less tolerance I have for shallowness. That said, I’ve recently realized that I fully expect other people to be shallow and make judgments about me based on my physical appearance. It’s why I don’t post progress photos on a blog that deals entirely with weight loss. Unfortunately, there are many people out there that judge a person’s worth by the number on a scale — but it seems to me that those people are not here. I worry that people I believe are friends would see those progress photos, and instead of being happy for me, they might be critical behind my back, or use my progress photos in ways I’d rather not imagine.

I have no idea if this perception is accurate. I am not done with my journey, so I’m not sure what people expect to see in such things. Mind you, I’m proud of my progress, and I have shared progress photos with people who are close to me. But I fear that doing so in a more public way could, perhaps, damage the mental strength I’ve been careful to build.

On the flip side, I hope that people who follow my words, here, find hope and strength to battle whatever demons keep them in their own locked cages. Will it help them to see someone like me, with all my imperfections, making progress, even if the progress is not yet complete? I don’t know.

If you have an opinion on the matter, I’d like to hear it.

 

Waiting On The World To Change

Sep16

 

Sometimes, change slaps you in the face — and sometimes, it creeps in on kitten feet. Like last night.

Like last night.

A little history: my close friends and I used to compete on a weekly basis at bar trivia. The locations changed over time; so did the faces. Some weeks, there were only a few of us. Other times, there might be a dozen or more of us, huddled around a table as we competed against other teams.

Can you find me in this pic? Hint: I'm not there.

Can you find me in this pic? Hint: I’m not there.

One of the locations, though, bothered me. On a normal day, I didn’t mind being there, but on Trivia Night, the place was packed so tight that just walking in the door made me feel anxious and trapped. This is, unfortunately, one of the darker sides of being morbidly obese. Being in tight quarters, especially with a lot of people around, made me incredibly uncomfortable.

My fears were likely unfounded, but that didn’t make me any less nervous. I’d sit at a table with our team, only to feel completely closed in on all sides, trying to work out the paths I could take to get out of the room, or simply visit a restroom, if needed. For a person of normal weight, passing between backs of seats wasn’t an issue — but I was not a person of normal weight. If I found myself in a loud, crowded place where I couldn’t easily find a way out, my level of anxiety rose.

I stayed for my husband and my friends, but enduring the couple of hours it took to play an evening’s round of trivia often resulted in clenched teeth, tight muscles, jangled nerves. For obvious reasons, I try not to put myself into those kinds of situations very often, and it’s been some time since I’ve dealt with that sense of claustrophobia.

And then — there was last night.

I’m a member of a club that meets on a monthly basis, and we changed our meeting location to a new restaurant that just opened a few weeks ago. They’ve been pretty busy, but I had no idea how busy until we showed up last night. Our large group had reservations at two long tables, but otherwise, there wasn’t an open seat in the place; it was loud and definitely hopping.

You’d think those old feelings would have jolted me when I walked in the room, but amazingly, I realized about an hour into the meeting that it didn’t bother me at all — not like it used to. I wasn’t on edge, waiting to leave as soon as I arrived. I actually enjoyed myself, and I didn’t worry once about whether or not I’d need to ask someone to move out of my way to clear a path — because it wasn’t an issue at all.

I’m glad to know that old fear has healed itself without my conscious realization. I have to think it’s just another sign that my brain is growing healthier, right along with my body. The closer I draw to normal, the more these fears fall away and I find myself doing things I would never have considered three or more years ago. While I’ve been waiting on the world to change around me, it’s been me that has changed.

While I’ve been waiting on the world to change around me, it’s been me that has changed.

 

Fortune Favors the Fools

Sep9

 

This week’s update: 125.2 pounds down, and 14.8 pounds to reach my next big goal!

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know that for the last year or so, I’ve included a link to a song that somehow jives with what I write for that week. This week is no different, except I’m going to quote the chorus here:

So when you’re swinging for the bleachers, don’t think about first base
Don’t even set the sail if you don’t plan to win the race
‘Cause no sailor worth his salt ever stopped to count the cost
So when you go after Jaws — bring along the tartar sauce!

Sure, the song Fortune Favors the Fools is fun and catchy, but it’s also full of optimism, and it’s one of the reasons I like it.

125 Pound Blue Tip Shark -- where's the tartar sauce?

125 Pound Blue Tip Shark — where’s the tartar sauce?

But it’s also counter to how I’ve thought about losing weight, at least for the past three years. After all, when you have a lot of weight to lose, one of the biggest de-motivators is thinking about the entire amount you need to lose. I’m a 5 foot 2 inch tall female; according to an online ideal weight calculator I just used, I should weigh between 101 and 137 pounds. The median range is 110 to 121 pounds.

So, now that I’m done laughing myself into hysterics — even if I were to pick the top number in the range, I’m still over 100 pounds above it. If I were starting my journey today, at my current weight, coming to terms with facing a 100 pound loss would make me feel as if I failed before I started. Holy crap, that’s a lot of weight to lose!

Mind you, I didn’t start at my current weight. I started 125 pounds ago. I knew I was fat. (And I still am.) I knew the number I was facing was daunting, and the chances were set against me. I knew that if I dwelt on the idea of needing to lose not 100, not 125, but more like 234 pounds, I’d never make it past the first day. Because holy crap! Forget swinging for the bleachers; had I thought of losing that much weight, I would have given up and just sat on the bleachers instead of playing the game.

But three years in, and 125 pounds lost? I’ve already lost more than I have left to lose. I’m past that halfway mark. I already know without a doubt that I’m capable of doing this. I’m not sitting on the bleachers, or even warming the benches. I’m in the game, and I can hit a grand slam out of the ballpark. I’ve already proved that. And I’m going to keep right on proving that.

Realistically, I’m not aiming for 137. I don’t know what my final number will be, but it’s quite likely to be above that. When I get there, I’ll know, but for now, my goals are to lose 60 to 70 more pounds, and then evaluate.

As I enter this next phase of weight loss, I realize that the lay of the land is far different than it was three years ago. I have different challenges ahead of me. There are surprises I must adapt to at every turn. But one thing has seeped into my mindset, and it’s here to stay: as I pass each of these progress markers, I do so with the intent of winning the game, whether it’s by sacrifice bunts or swinging for the fences.

 

Landslide

Sep2

 

My third anniversary since starting my journey is tomorrow. I am, as of today, 124.6 pounds down; and what a journey it’s been.

My first post on this journey was First Day of the Last Diet Ever , which I just re-read. In that post, I talked about my plans and my hopes, after having dieted successfully in the past but not keeping the weight off. I haven’t looked back on that initial post in quite some time.

123 pound hamburger — I’ll take one with a Diet Coke to go, please.

Sometimes, you have to climb that mountain — and pause to look down behind you. It’s not always easy; admitting my weight, my size, my defeat in past efforts to the world was one of the bravest things I’ve done, and I have no regrets in doing it. Because, from this vantage point, there are things I see clearly that I only hoped for, back then.

For one thing, my goal that I’m claiming, today, means that one-third of me is gone. Not a third of my weight lost; a third of my original weight! I always try to post a photo of something that’s the same weight of something I’ve lost, and for quite some time, now, I’ve been able to post photos of people. Grown-ups. Both men and women, no less! I’ve come a long way from posting pics of fish, dogs, and bowling balls. Today, I could have claimed I’ve lost Taylor Swift — but the huge 123-pound hamburger seemed a lot more entertaining. (Sometimes it’s a real challenge to find something that weighs exactly what I’ve lost.)

I’ve mentioned many times that I lost 140 pounds a number of years back; it took about a year and a half, and then I went into a stall that lasted about another year and a half. Well, then — look at me, three years in, going strong. Yes, it’s taking a lot longer than back then, for a lot of reasons, but I’m learning to be thankful for that; I have learned so incredibly much over the course of the past three years. My next goal is to beat that 140.5-pound loss; only 16 pounds to go, and I know without a doubt I can break that goal, too.

Not only that, but I’m still following that basic plan I set forth, that first day, and it’s still working. My methods may fluctuate as time passes, but the goal and basic methods of my journey stay the same.

A child born on the day I started this last-ever diet would now be in preschool, hopefully potty trained, maybe learning letters and numbers, full of possibilities. I wouldn’t call myself a patient or determined person, but I’m learning that I’m both. Age and wisdom have taught me things I refused or couldn’t learn on previous attempts, and with each passing day, I can visualize the future; both over the weeks and months to come and down the road.

How amazing it is to me to remember that woman, three years ago, who struggled in nearly everything, who was a prisoner of her own environment and her own making. Then, I could barely take a step and a breath without fighting for it; today, my world has grown by leaps and bounds. When I look back at my photos, I see the pain in the early ones; I just didn’t have very much to smile about. These days, I smile a lot. I’ve even allowed myself to be just a little bit proud of what I’ve done — but not too much, because there’s still work to be done.

Some would call this a birthday instead of an anniversary, and perhaps it is. Perhaps I’ve finally given myself the single most important gift I can give — the ability to not just extend my life — but actually live it.

 

Time Machine

Aug26

 

I’m absolutely thrilled to be able to say that I’m now 122.8 pounds down! I finally passed that 120 mark, and I’m just 1.2 pounds above my next goal.

I wasn’t sure what to write, this week, until I entered the search string what question would you ask someone who’s successfully lost weight in Google, and one of the surprising topics that came up was about how to talk to someone you love who needs to lose weight.

Guillermo Rigondeaux is a 122 pound boxer. And I’ve lost him, but I’m a fighter, too.

Oh, what a kick in the gut. Because I’ve been asked this a few times. The people who ask mean well and dearly love the people they’re asking about, and maybe — just maybe — most of us have someone in our lives that we wish would take those steps.

I’ve been asked, told, cajoled, chided, intentionally embarrassed, begged with love, threatened, and offered money to lose weight. I won’t even get into the number of people who have seen me as a target for the not-really-a-diet-drug-but-you’ll-lose-weight supplement of the month club. I’ve been told how to lose weight (by people who have never had my particular weight problem or health issues), I’ve been targeted at restaurants, I’ve been asked if I should really be eating whatever thing I was about to eat.

None of that works.

My advice: be there for your loved one, but realize, first, that change requires the internal commitment to succeed. Without it, anything you do will be taken in the wrong light, no matter how loving and well-intentioned you may be. Telling someone they’re overweight and pointing out the health risks of obesity is not only a rude thing to do — it’s offensive. Pretty much all of us who have ever been overweight know what the risks are. Treat us with respect, and be ready to support, whatever that might mean.

I thought about my own situation; how I’d love to have a time machine, now, and go back to the first day of my now nearly three-year-old diet, and tell me that this time is the right time, and I’m going to make it. But even though I was taking the initial steps, I don’t think I would have believed it. I’ve failed so many times that I didn’t hold out much faith for this effort, either. But here I am, more than halfway to what was then an unachievable goal.

What would it have been like, to be my own cheerleader, when I gave up after losing 140 pounds, ten years ago? Would I have taken strong encouragement and kept fighting, or would I have snapped, lashing out that I’ve done everything humanly possible, and none of it was working? I can be pretty set in my ways, and I don’t know that I would have listened, because I convinced myself that I couldn’t go on like I was. And that was true. I should have changed what I was doing long before I hit a wall. I did last for about a year before starting to gain weight, again.

Or even back when I was a teenager, maybe ten or even twenty pounds overweight, thinking that was the end of the world? Would it have helped to have Bitchy Old Lisa go back and tell my father to shove it when he offered me money to lose weight? Would I have chosen healthier ways to go about it, when I made the decision on my own, a few years later?

For all of the hope I have for finally meeting my goals for better health, I don’t think even I could have convinced myself to change course in the dozens of attempts I made over the years, or times when I really could have changed things for myself.

I had to be ready. I had to find the fight and the gumption to dig in and do this for myself. While I’m finally on this path, the biggest gift anyone can possibly give me is to keep supporting me in my efforts.

My advice? If you love someone, let them find their path, and then you can support them and be there for them.

We have to be our own heroes; no one can do it for us.

 

Days Like This

Aug19

 

First things, first — I haven’t reached my 120-pound goal, yet, for those anxiously awaiting that news; I’m a scant 6 ounces away! That’s not much at all, and you’ll be seeing that photo change soon; I’m betting on next week. Thanks for hanging in there with me. <3

I never tuck my shirt in. I still feel sassy in my mom jeans!

I’ve had a lot to think about this past week. Mind you, I did break my weight plateau, but realistically, my weight has changed only about 1.6 pounds over the past four months. That’s not a lot, but I have found that a lot of other things have changed since April, when my body decided to not play nice with the scale.

In June, 2012, I made one of my last blog entries for the last big effort I made to lose weight. I stopped at 63 pounds, and back then, I kept goal clothing that I would try on from week to week to see how the fit changed. I wrote the following in a post titled “Y2, Week 10: Goal Pants, PUI”

“The goal pants are still snug. Not surprising, really. I also tried on the goal shirt, and I can tell where I’ve lost my weight, recently: in the chest, and maybe a little bit in the arms. It’s fitting well through the torso but upper arms are still tight. Not as tight as before, though.”

Long story, short: I went to Mexico, fell off the wagon, and gained a hundred pounds over the next year or so. And now I’m back, losing weight. I’m at a lower weight than I was when I gave up that effort; I lost all the weight I gained, and then a bit more.

But those jeans? They stayed in storage.

That was until this last week, when I tried them on — on a whim. I looked at the size in the back and thought to myself that there’s no way in hell I can wiggle this plentiful posterior into those jeans. But that didn’t stop me from wearing them to a meeting last night! It’s a pretty darned cool feeling to suddenly discover that the smallest pair of goal jeans I had from 2012 now fit me. That, and a few more smaller things got moved from my archive drawer (where I keep things that are a little too small) into my regular drawers, and a few too-big things removed.

(Bonus: I’ve also found a great place to donate my too-big clothes. If you’re in the central Arkansas area, check out  The Van. And before you think that plus size clothing wouldn’t be put to use, remember that homelessness strikes us all, and the cheapest foods out there are often the least nutritious. Fat does not mean someone is eating well or doesn’t suffer from a complicating medical condition.)

Despite that scale not cooperating for a few months, I’m the smallest I’ve been in years; certainly before 2012 — more likely, years before that. What a great feeling!

And it’s not just that, although realizing that you really aren’t imagining things and you are smaller is a great revelation. When I went to my meeting last night, close to half a dozen people came up to me and said “congratulations on breaking your plateau!” (or words to that effect). You could have knocked me over with a feather. Yes, I did post last week that I broke my plateau, but honestly, I write these blogs mostly for myself, and once I put them out there, I tend to forget that other facet: that people read them.

Thanks for keeping me accountable, because that’s the biggest and truest reason that I take the time to write this blog each week. Knowing (and remembering!) that there’s a family of support that surrounds me makes me appreciate that none of us live in a bubble. We are all brothers and sisters of a sort, and your words of encouragement to me mean more than you know.

There will be more days like this — more reasons to look forward and celebrate.

 

She Used To Be Mine

Aug5

 

As I’m working my way back to my low weight, I’ve done a lot of thinking about my journey, and learning to appreciate the changes. I unearth new discoveries without even meaning to do it. (It’s awfully nice to be back in striking distance.)

Chipping away at finding my next self.

These gold nuggets are NSV or Non-Scale Victories. My most recent one was discovering that my first wedding ring now fits. I’ve been married for 33 years, and I had to stop wearing the ring I received on my wedding day within a year of receiving it — not because it was too small, but because I hurt my hand and my ring finger swelled to a point where we had to cut off the band. It was a panicked at-home job, and none too neat.

It lay around in an old jewelry box for a couple of decades, mangled, something I felt sentimental about even though we replaced our rings not long after the initial accident. Then, probably a decade or so ago, I took it to a local jeweler and they fixed the ring. At that time, I’d just finished losing 140 pounds, so the ring was smaller than the one I’ve worn over recent decades. Considering I’d stopped wearing the larger ring before the beginning of my current journey because it had grown too tight, it’s a pretty cool accomplishment to have gone through two rings.

But it’s more than that. I feel other changes that have nothing to do with size, and everything to do with the core of me. Constant change over the course of my life has left an indelible mark. I am not that girl I was 40 years ago, 30 years ago, even 20.

I would not go as far as to say there’s no trace of her; in fact, in many ways, I’ve found myself peeling back layers of me, returning to the things that brought me joy so many years ago, unearthing my foundation, returning to home. But I am not that girl; I don’t have the same fears, the same trepidation.

Along with the weight, I’ve shed parts of me that are no longer useful, that were toxic and contributed to the state I was in. I’ve been working to retain the better parts of myself as I do this, and while I freely admit that at times it binds my mental processes to a point where I feel like I’ve been spinning my wheels. I get restless, anxious, frustrated. But I’ve also learned that these things are most often the precursors to great strides forward.

I’m a hybrid of my former self and the lessons I’ve learned along the way, and instead of dreading the changes before me, I’m excited. I know there are big changes ahead of me; not just physically, but mentally, as well. I can feel those creative juices bubbling to life, and I know with absolute certainty that in the weeks, months, and years to come, I’m going to do things I never thought possible.

That girl I was, she used to be mine. She’s not gone. She’s better than she ever was, and the metamorphosis is far from complete.

 

 

Where the Boat Leaves From

Jul28

 

I’m still camping. We have a campsite near the waterfront on a large lake, with easy view of the campground’s boat dock. All week, we’ve been watching people come and go; some more experienced than others. Some in a hurry to get out on the lake; others, in a hurry to get their boats out of the water before a storm sets in.

Among these, one stood out.

This pic looks a bit like Bonnie, my dog and companion, who becomes Captain Camp Dog when we’re camping.

He had an old fishing boat that looked like it had seen better days. He was young, perhaps inexperienced — or, more likely, in too much of a hurry to use good judgment. As he backed his boat and trailer down to the water’s edge, the whole trailer curved off to the side and just about into the boat dock, itself, wedging the boat into lapse of concrete between the boat launch and the dock.

I first noticed him because of the awful screeching sounds his trailer made as he backed up, sounding like metal scraping along the pavement. Sure enough, he must have jolted the boat enough that the boat motor had come down and the blades were scraping the pavement. He got out of the truck and manhandled the boat and trailer enough that the motor ended up in the right position, and he gunned the truck to get the trailer out of its stuck position. He managed to back the boat up to the water and release it to the water, tying it to the dock.

On the way up the launch to park his truck and trailer, I noticed that the metal grating sound wasn’t just the boat motor; one entire tire was shredded to the wheel. Despite that, he dragged the trailer up the hill, not to be seen again for a bit. I don’t know whether he chose to replace the tire with a spare or if he had to park the trailer and drive somewhere to buy a new tire, but it took him a bit to get back to his boat.

When he finally arrived, he untied his boat, pushed off the dock — and couldn’t get the motor started on the boat. He impatiently tried and tried — sputtering and gasping the boat through the no-wake-zone, until he was finally in the main channel of the lake. After that, we didn’t see him again. I missed it when he returned, but I thought about him.

Did he have a string of bad luck? Or were his misfortunes because he failed to prepare and plan?

I think, quite often, when I don’t see success in my weight loss efforts, that I have to go back and analyze what may have been outside of my control, and what was my own lack of planning and judgment. Did I do everything possible to produce the outcome I wanted, or did I just get lazy and blame circumstances?

Did I check that spare tire and have it with me, or did I just fly by the seat of my pants, trusting that I wouldn’t shred a tire at the last minute? Did I check to make sure my boat was in running condition, or did I just assume everything would be okay?

Are my circumstances to blame, or am I?

Personal responsibility, when it comes to weight loss (or anything else), is one of the toughest things to accept. If you’ve done everything within your power to succeed and you still fail, then it’s a matter of accepting that fate and doing the best you can under the circumstances. But if you’ve simply coasted and assumed that your efforts were good enough, then you’ve played a huge part in your own failure.

If you want to succeed, well, then — you have to actually get to where the boat leaves from in order to enjoy the ride.

 

Too Much Butt

Jul22

 

Despite having lost 118(.2!!!) pounds over the last couple of years, I still have too much butt.

Not a big surprise, right? (See what I did there?)

At least there’s a lot less of it, but I’ve still got too much personal padding, which is why I’ve done several things over recent weeks to refocus my efforts. I’ve added more movement to my routine. I’m better about recording my foods and watching the things I should be watching.

Truth.

This week, I went to the doctor. After having been at the same relative weight for three months, I felt it best to rule out any changes in my body. I’m relieved to know that everything looks good, and talking to my doctor also gave me some resources and focus that I need in order to keep pushing onward.

I admit I was scared when I went into his office. My blood pressure and pulse always skyrocket when I walk into a doctor’s office. I have had some bad experiences over the years, but just about every doctor, dentist, optometrist, and other medical professionals I’ve dealt with over the years have been terrific people.

Except — well, except. I’ve brought up my weight issues with a number of them, and it’s only been over the last ten years or so that I feel like I’ve been taken seriously. I’m not hunting a magic bullet or pill to make me miraculously lose weight; hell, every pound I’ve ever lost has been hard work. I have been dismissed, though. I’ve been given the whole eat less, move more speech. I’ve been treated as if I’m being dishonest about my food and lifestyle choices.

Unfortunately, it took developing a number of medical issues to get the medical profession to pay attention. Anytime I want to discuss a concern regarding weight loss, I gird myself for a battle. I expect to be told to try harder, buy a weight loss program, or learn to live with how things are.

So imagine my surprise when my doctor was more than willing to listen, to counsel and suggest, and not just disregard me — I was stunned. And thrilled! I can count on my doctor to be on my side, my support team, hoping for my success as much as I do, and I’m relieved. I need every resource I can to succeed, and I’m glad to have yet another.

Because I still have too much butt, but not for long. Things are changing.