Some days, I honestly don’t know what to write. Today is one of those days, so I asked people what sort of questions they’d like to have me answer. Here are a few.

I’d love to read what motivates you when you feel like you just can’t do the healthy eating any more or when you are having a stressful day.

Believe me, there are days when I get absolutely and horribly frustrated, especially when I’ve pulled out every trick in my bag and it doesn’t seem to be working. That’s happened to me, lately, and I needed a reality check that luckily came from an outside source.

I can’t always rely on outside sources, though, to remind me to get my head in the right place. On talk radio tonight, coming home after eating dinner, I heard the host put forth the idea that we often give up on something just before we achieve success — weight loss being one of the things mentioned, and the reasons are often because what motivated us, in the beginning, is no longer motivation. In my case, when I first started losing weight, being able to move easily and fit in semi-normal size clothes were big motivators, but now that those things have happened, they’re not as motivating as they once were.

You betcha.

The host suggested that prevention becomes more of a motivator that can help that final push of success, and I believe that. I have photos of where I used to be. I have journal entries of how tough things were at that time. I made videos of myself at various stages, and look back on them. When I’m having a moment where I just want to trash it all and give up, remembering where I’ve been often pushes me past whatever is holding me back at that moment.

I don’t see myself as a stress eater, but can be prone to it at times; I let myself stress eat months while caring for my husband after his first knee surgery. And that fact is — I love food. I’m not gonna lie about that. I used to kid myself into believing food is only fuel, but I love a fine glass of wine, the satisfaction of a great meal.

Mindless eating isn’t that. Being selective in my eating actually makes the meals in which I choose to have something I don’t normally eat much more special. I can fully experience it and go on, instead of just eating whatever fills the space. When I do that, I end up feeling like crap and feeling sorry for myself.

Besides, none of us ever get closer to our goals by doing the exact opposite of what we know will get us there. Throwing my hands up in frustration and diving into a bag of Doritos certainly won’t make me feel better. I have to focus that stress somewhere else.

I would love to hear your thoughts on the willpower you muster in regards to avoiding unhealthy foods.

I think most of us know how to eat healthy when we’re at home and we have the time to fix meals; the challenge is when someone shows up with cupcakes with three inches of frosting on them, or your well-meaning aunt is pouting because you’re trying to resist that marshmallow salad with whip cream on top that she made just for you. Or in my case: Bavarian pretzels are my kryptonite. (Salt is a food group, y’all. Honest.)

I try to look at these sorts of temptations in two ways. The first is that I view each day much like a bank account: I start with a set amount I can spend. If I want a treat, I have to consider whether I can afford it, or what I’m willing to give up so that account isn’t overdrawn. I will also plan times when I can spend more from that account, and thinking this way tends to make me evaluate what I’m willing to spend on, and it had better be worth it. (I actually get pretty upset if I plan for a special meal — or pretzel! — and then it’s not up to snuff. I feel like I got ripped off. Eating selectively makes you appreciate each bite a lot more.)

The second is that I know what the consequences are when I eat (or drink) outside of my norm. Eating clean helps balance cravings for treats, and it also amplifies how different I feel after I do have a treat. Someone who doesn’t drink caffeine for months and then has an espresso will have a more pronounced reaction to it than someone who has caffeine daily, and the same holds true for sustained clean eating. That pretzel might taste fantastic, but it could very well make me hungry for a couple of days when I don’t normally deal with a great deal of hunger. Am I willing to possibly deal with food cravings for a couple of days if I have that pretzel?

Sometimes it’s about limiting the amount of the treat, too — a bite of pretzel might satisfy that desire for the taste rather than eating the whole thing. It’s a longterm choice rather than an immediate “gosh, that looks good!” reaction.

I’ve become a picky eater. I want food to be a joy, so those decisions are actually not big decisions. When I do make those occasional decisions, I do so in a way that I can appreciate them instead of regret them.

Are there certain foods you substituted to satisfy a sweet tooth or a salt craving?

I don’t do a bunch of substituting. That way lies craziness and turkey bacon, but I do workarounds on occasion.

During the summer, I like my backyard cocktails, and I like combining sugar-free drink mixes with clear alcohols (rum, tequila, vodka), as well as adding things like sugar-free ginger ale. But really, I don’t crave a lot of sweets. I like my salt. I will snack on bacon or pepperoni. I like my hot sauces and spices, too.

For me personally, I stay away from processed foods that are meant to duplicate other foods. I also don’t make rice out of cauliflower or noodles from zucchini. I know there are folks who swear by them, but I don’t miss rice or pasta, so have no desire to duplicate it.

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Thanks to my friends for posting questions — I hope I’ve given a little bit of insight. Got questions? I may consider them for a future blog.

Last week, I talked about not accepting no as an answer, and with the help of friends, found even more ways to fight for yes. Thanks to those of you who encouraged me; I have since rescheduled my follow-up appointment, which was initially just a weight check, to be specifically with the surgeon who will replace my knee. A bonus: it’s also a week later, so that gives me more time.

I am still dedicated to losing as much weight as possible between now and then. It’s given me the drive and focus I’ve needed to get my head firmly back in place. I’ve even noticed a shift in my thought processes over the past week, and I’m grateful for that. I’ve also dropped more than half of the weight the physician’s assistant requested — something I suspect he didn’t think I was capable of doing. I knew I was carrying water weight and said so; he simply didn’t look past the easily available stats in front of him.

Gotta play those cards!

I hit a low weight in May, and since then, I’ve let circumstances become an excuse for weight creep. My mind has been slowly changing and losing that drive I had months ago, thinking I must accept where I’m at. I don’t have to accept that at all, and if nothing else, I needed this wakeup call.

Now, I’m not far above my low, again, and I’ve been thinking of where I’ll be later this fall — and what I’ll be able to accomplish after knee surgery. I’ve been working toward meeting all of my fitness goals each day, despite needing to care for my husband after his second knee replacement surgery. (As you can see, I’m pretty familiar with this entire process — which is one of the reasons I was thrown for such a loop when the PA threw a wrench in the works.) I let his first surgery in July throw me out of my regimen; I allowed myself no such excuses this time.

Life’s not fair — I’ve been dealt a number of physical complications that make weight loss quite difficult — but I can either whine about it or do something about it. Lamenting my issues instead of dealing with them not only got me up to at least 371 pounds (that’s the number on the scale when I finally looked; not necessarily my highest weight, just the one I know about!), but it destroyed both of my knees from carrying the weight of my body, robbed me of years when I could have been living a better life, destroyed my skin (need extra skin? Give me a call!), worsened any health issues I had, including depression — the list is a long one.

Playing the cards I’ve been dealt instead of just accepting them has changed much of my life. It’s my responsibility to research, change, adjust when necessary, and keep moving forward. I spent too many years creating my own limitations; my life, these days, must be about tearing them down, wherever and whenever possible, and doing the unexpected.

“Every hand’s a winner, every hand’s a loser”. When that PA glanced over my numbers and spoke to me, he didn’t see me. He saw stats and he judged. I am still a large woman. I’m sure there are a legion of women my size that are doing absolutely nothing to improve their health; that adhere to a regimen, that walk daily, that put in the effort. That isn’t readily visible on a medical chart or just by looking at me.

Conversely, there are plenty of people in this world that look entirely fit but ate Cheetos for breakfast, if they ate breakfast, and lead sedimentary lives. The truth is we don’t know the full picture of anyone until we dig deeper. My goal is to make sure my physician knows the whole person, rather than the stats. Then, we’ll be partners in my surgery and recovery. Whatever I do in the meantime to improve my health is a bonus.

Thanks for being there for me. Had I not taken the step of being publicly accountable in my weight loss journey, these current hurdles may have created enough of a limitation that I might have started to turn back instead of moving forward. That support means the world to me.

No.

That’s what I was told earlier this week. No, you’re not ready for knee replacement surgery.

I couldn’t believe it when I heard it. I went in for x-rays and the physician’s assistant told me immediately that my x-rays look horrible. That’s nothing I don’t know, already; they looked bad years ago when they first started telling me I needed total knee replacement on both knees.

The next words were even worse: come back when you’ve lost twenty to twenty-five pounds, and then we’ll talk about surgery.

I narrowed my eyes at him. Uh, say what? He then told me that this was “something new”, which astounded me, because I’ve seen my husband through two knee replacement surgeries, now, and I’m telling you that there were a lot of people much larger than me, out in the hallways and making those first post-surgical steps with newly bandaged knees. Further, I’ve been seeing this particular surgeon for around 12 years, but never this particular physician’s assistant. No one in that office, including the surgeon himself, has ever told me to lose weight; in fact, when I have said I need to lose weight in the past, when I just wasn’t ready physically or emotionally, their response was you can’t put surgery off forever.

That “no” will be a YES.

Two things hit me, immediately; the first is that one of the reasons I wanted to get this done by year’s end is because of insurance advantages, since my husband has just had his second surgery since July. If I wait until next year, my cost savings are lost, and they are major savings. I’m not a wealthy woman by any means, and one of the many reasons I haven’t had this particular surgery yet is because of the cost. If I don’t at least get the first knee done by year’s end, I realistically don’t know when I’ll be able to have it done.

The other? The amount of weight he told me to lose is identical to the amount I’ve recently gained over my low weight, achieved last May. I’ve been struggling with getting that weight back off and I haven’t done nearly enough to make it happen. I have to own that responsibility; had I walked into that office at my low, there would have been no discussion of my weight. That’s entirely my fault.

Mind you, I don’t much care for no, not when I’ve come this far, fought this hard. And I didn’t stand for it.

We have a deal; we penciled in a surgery date for me in December, but only on the condition that I come back, weigh in, and lose at least those twenty to twenty five pounds. Honestly, I know what they’re after; it’s that blasted BMI number, and I am tottering on the edge between weight classifications. It’s numbers, stats, and risks. But it doesn’t make it any easier to accept. (The good news here is that I know a good deal of the excess is water weight, which is relatively easy to lose, if I set my mind to it.)

Yes, I’m angry over it. I’m angry, because that physician’s assistant doesn’t know me at all, doesn’t know my weight loss history, and it was obvious by his manner that while he agreed to allow for penciling in a date, he has zero faith that I can pull it off. He doesn’t think I’ll make it.

I’m angry at myself, too, for not having put in more effort and remaining steadfast; I’ve let things creep in my way while knowing I’ve needed to return to my focus.

But oddly, I’m also thankful. I have a goal to achieve. I have a point to prove — not just to that smug physician’s assistant, but to myself. It’s time to stand and deliver, and I’m going to turn that no into a yes. Part of that weight is already gone, and I’m going to be pushing hard during the weeks ahead to beat those stats.

My dear sweet dog Bonnie, a miniature schnauzer, is seven years old. She’s one of the sweetest, most trainable, and smartest pets I’ve ever had — and I’ve had a lot of pets over the years.

When she was a puppy, I restricted her from certain parts of the house with portable window screens; they are perhaps fifteen inches tall and expand to either side, and meant to use in windows that don’t have screens. I simply propped them at the bottom of doors; she could see through them, but she wasn’t capable of moving or jumping over them.

Not very long ago, I put one of the screens across a doorway; she’s an active adult that can jump like a gazelle, but she still won’t disturb the screen. She won’t jump over it, and she could quite easily push through it if she wanted. I assume she doesn’t, not just because she’s the world’s greatest miniature schnauzer (of course she is!), but because she’s been trained. Her mind has learned that she isn’t to go past that point.

There are other wonderful things she just will not do; she will not, for instance, get into an open dog food container, even if it’s on the floor in easy reach. She won’t jump up on dining room chairs and end up in the middle of the table. She won’t grab food and run — these are all things my previous dog did on many occasions.

Say! What a fine knee!

Long before sweet Bonnie came into our world, I was told I would need total knee replacement surgery. For years, my body and my mind have been trained in working a much narrower range of freedoms than I had before my knees revolted. In just a few weeks, I’m heading in to discuss my options with my orthopedic surgeon; after seeing my husband go through knee replacement surgery, I’ve seen how many of my fears are unfounded. I know, without a doubt, that I can make it through surgery and the tough early weeks of recovery.

What I’m not sure about is the process of overcoming the years of training my mind and body have gone through in accepting restrictions and limitations. I have actually dreamed of being young and surprised that my knees worked exactly like how they used to work; I remember one dream in particular where I ran. And it was no big deal. Running for the sheer joy of feeling my body move? That hasn’t happened since I was a teenager.

I no longer remember what it feels like to live without restrictions. Unlike my dog, I know I’ve been missing out on decades of things I haven’t been willing or able to do. Even a decade ago, when I lost a great deal of weight and was physically fit, I lived with chronic pain in my knees. I just dealt with it and worked through the pain, but there are still plenty of things I have not physically been able to do for a very long time. Simple things, like riding a bike, kneeling, climbing a ladder to get into a boat. If your knees don’t bend, those things — and many more — drift out of reach.

I have to admit that I’m both excited and a bit scared about retraining not only my legs but my brain, to move in ways they haven’t moved in decades. I know it won’t come all at once, but I am very much looking forward to a future with dancing, bike rides, and boat rides in it.

I’ve made the appointment. It’s time for the next stage of my life. C’mon, Fake Knees, take a chance on me!

In just a couple of weeks, I’ll celebrate my 4th anniversary of my journey back to health. Four years! I’ll have much to say when that day comes, I’m sure. This is absolutely the longest journey I’ve ever been on, health- and weight-wise.

It’s certainly long enough to see patterns develop, and one of them is that my weight loss tends to slow down or stop during the summer months. There’s quite a few reasons for this, and they all have to do with choices I make. Please note — that’s not blame; that’s accepting responsibility and knowledge of my own choices, and that’s a key mental difference from previous unsuccessful attempts to reclaim my health.

Not the best diet advice ever.

During the summer, my daily schedule completely changes. In part, this is because my husband (a teacher) is home, and my work schedule is historically lighter during those months. We do a fair amount of adventuring, whether it’s camping, day trips, or vacations. I’m human; I happen to like eating food. I like sharing good meals with friends and family. I like drinking alcohol, too. I will relax my normally strict eating during these times, with full knowledge of the consequences and a plan for recovery.

There’s something else at work, though, as well. While introversion gets thrown around a lot these days on the internet, and I’ve had friends laugh at me outright when I’ve said I’m an introvert, one of the toughest challenges I experience during the summer is a lack of time to recharge. I need a certain amount of time to myself, with no human interruptions, no obligations where I must interact.

Don’t get me wrong; I love people, I love being around them, learning about them, experiencing them. But it also drains my energy. If I go for too long without a break from people, I fray around the edges. I become short-tempered, frustrated, overwhelmed. And those are the times I’m honestly most likely to go off any diet I might be on. It’s this time of year that’s the toughest for me, although now that the school year has begun, I’m starting to recharge.

When I am overwhelmed, I am at my most vulnerable.

It’s a treacherous time, because I know myself well enough to admit that when I become too overwhelmed, I lose control, and the more control I lose over my schedule and surroundings, the more unhappy I become, and I freeze. I find myself unable to make the effort to accomplish much at all. And that includes taking command of my journey. So you see, just the mere fact that I’ve managed to stay on this journey, sometimes wavering and other times strongly pushing ahead, is a victory.

I’ve found that even when my life is chaos, being able to control at least one small element of my life makes it easier to fight against that chaos. No matter what else is going on, I can control what I put in my mouth. I can control how many steps I take during the day. I can control how much water I drink. While I might choose to relax these things somewhat during the summer, reclaiming my control over these things has become a fall tradition, and is very much where I am right now.

While I am more lenient with my health demands over the summer, I never completely let go. I still know where I stand at any given time. I never surprised at a gain on the scale or if my clothes fit more snug than I’d prefer. I know exactly what I did to get there, and I know exactly what to do to solve it. That sense of power keeps me on an even keel with other factors in my life, even when I feel like my mental and emotional batteries are drained.

So here I stand, knowing that these next few weeks will be a time of regaining command and pushing forward yet again. In control — it’s a good place to be.

I belong to a unique club.

Half the time, I don’t really ever want to admit that I belonged to the club that came before it, and I want to push that identity away, as if it never existed. The rest of the time, I struggle with understanding that I can’t simply divorce a big chunk of my life. I am the sum of my experiences, and I shouldn’t ignore the things that have changed me — both for bad and good.

I mention these “clubs”, because my current club is unique enough that not everyone can join; in fact, most can’t. There’s no secret handshake, no admission process, no fees to pay. The neat thing about this club, though, is that others in the club seek me out, and I do the same. We share an experience that’s not only unusual, but hard fought for — and quite often, we don’t share it with those who aren’t in the club.

Triple digits, baaaayyyybbbbeeee!

I’m talking about the Century Club — my own (not-so-original) moniker for the folks who have lost more than one hundred pounds. We are kindred spirits, no matter how we lost the weight. We are winning a war, no matter if we have more to lose. We live lives with chronic pain and other challenges either caused or complicated by our years spent in that other club; the one we fought to escape. That one has shaped us as much, or more than, membership in the Century Club.

Someone contacted me just last night; someone I casually know through a group on Facebook. The group has nothing to do with weight loss, but someone else in the group asked for photos of those who post, and I posted my profile pic. I keep a number in the corner of my pic; it’s my current loss. I do this for my own transparency, as a reminder to be mindful of my progress and journey. I explained the number, because many are curious.

That someone and I chatted privately; our total losses are only a pound apart, and we have similar amounts left to lose. We’re facing similar issues, especially pending knee replacement. We talked about the special things relevant to losing that much weight, as well as the joys; the things that those outside of the Century Club may find intriguing, but can never fully understand without experiencing them. It was common ground, and enthusiasm for the challenges to come.

Great weight loss isn’t just about seeing a lower number on the scale and fitting into smaller clothes. It’s about transformation, dedication, trial and error, mending old wounds — both physical and mental. We are warriors, and the victories are the bodies we are learning to live with and improve.

For my sisters in the Century Club (and brothers, too, although I mostly know the sisters!), this blog’s for you — congratulations for a job well done, and may your victories continue. You just never know when you’ll find another member.