Winning

This has been a winning week.

My mother’s been a lifelong Cubs fan, from when she was young and listen to the games on the radio with her father, in a rural town in central Illinois. The Cubs games were always on tv when I was a kid, and baseball (and later softball) has been an indelible part of my life for as long as I can remember. I had the fantastic experience of being with her and sharing their World Series win. They beat 108 years of history as well as the other team. 😉

There’s a lot of ways to win and take stock of what’s great in your life. This past Wednesday, I passed a neat little mile marker on my journey; I logged into MyFitnessPal for 500 days straight. That’s not the entire length of my diet — there were times I forgot to log in, or strayed off the path and didn’t log my food for weeks at a time, fighting with myself about whether I was doing things right or if I wanted to keep trying. If you miss a day of just signing in, the counter resets, so 500 straight days is a challenge.

500 days of logging into MyFitnessPal!

[Note: ignore those numbers on my summary. I was halfway through that particular day, and MFP won’t let me change my caloric goals.]

I’d be lying if I said I actually logged every bit of my food for those 500 days — I didn’t. But it became important to me to at the very least acknowledge my journey every single day, even if I was on a vacation and not recording my food intake. Sometimes we need a reminder of staying the course, and the accumulation of 500 days is pretty momentous. Vacations are when we tend to want to forget these kinds of commitments, but I see it as a way to acknowledge that part of my life. It doesn’t just magically disappear because I’m camping on a lake for a week.

I’ve won in other ways, too. My daughter came to visit for my birthday a couple of weeks ago and brought me a pretty big stash of clothing. She’s been losing weight as well, and she offered me the clothes that are now too big for her. This is a first, folks; there were certainly times I gave her clothes that were new (or nearly so) because I’d gained weight and didn’t think I’d ever have the chance to fit in them, again, so they became hers. Now, she’s returned the favor several times over. Everything I’ve grabbed to put on, so far, has fit — and that’s quite a victory.

These are Non-Scale Victories — NSVs. They’re just as much markers of the right path as the number on the scale or the measuring tape. In some ways, they’re even better; most of us just don’t go around, sharing the number on the scale or how big our waist is, but wearing smaller clothes is a large and concrete marker of success.

A tiny fear always lurks when I pull out something I haven’t worn, before. I’ve pulled out clothing to try on so many times and failed that I suppose I’ll always live with that fear something won’t fit… until I zip up those jeans or pull on that top or dress. More often than not, these days, things fit; and when they don’t, it doesn’t discourage me. I know they will. It’s part of my life that I’ve accepted as certain, even in times when weight loss is slow, as it is, now.

I will always live with shadows of a long past as an obese woman. It may take a very long time for me to lose those echoes of a larger body; a timidity about changing simple things, like the kind of shoes I wear, for instance. Today, I bought some low heeled pumps, and felt like a five year old girl playing dress up. It’ll take longer for my brain to be comfortable with the idea of them than my feet!

I take my victories where and when I can. Evolution and complete change is a slow process, but a sure one.

Life is a Highway

Oct28

Last weekend, I turned 55 years old, and had one heck of a great time with friends.

I knew I’d be taking the weekend off and the consequences of doing so — no weight loss this week, but the experiences from last weekend were absolutely worth it. I had a glimpse of what it’s like to live with fewer restrictions, and it reminded me of what sheer joy there is in simply living.

My age is a legal speed limit, now, but I’d rather not think about it.

Watching what you eat can become a dangerous game, an obsession that can evolve into something just as unhealthy as the opposite. This is part of the reason why I occasionally take diet holidays and restrict my food less, but I’m also careful to do it when I know I won’t lose heart. Last week, that was actually a riskier move than normal, because my head hasn’t been in a great place, but the experience itself was enough to reinforce my resolve.

Sure, I had some things that I wouldn’t normally eat, but rather than making the weekend about food, I was able to take the emphasis off food. My “cheat” weekends, if you want to call them that (is it a cheat if you plan it?), aren’t opportunities to stuff my face; they’re chances to eat reasonably, make good choices, and let food drop into the background.

I had a great time, hanging out with friends and family, dancing to music in a hotel parking lot, playing Baggo, adventuring around the area wineries, and more. This time was easier than last year, when I still walked with a cane; while I’m not running any races yet, each year brings improvement. I do more things, I don’t tire as easily, I get to participate on a more active level. I’m not as afraid of the camera. And even more telling: when I was in the process of stepping up on a tram to take a vineyard tour, a complete stranger offered me his hand in assistance. (That didn’t happen when I was at my heaviest.) I still had to give my knees plenty of rest time, but at no time did I feel like I was stranded by my own body.

These sorts of successes are my incentive for not getting lost in feeling sorry for myself that my life is not like the lives of others. I could, if I wanted, wallow in the things that make life harder for me, from my health to my abilities to my body’s reaction to food. Admittedly, it’s a battle for many — sometimes me, included — to keep the rewards in mind and push down the desire to throw it all away, not look back, and end up right where I was when I started this journey.

I firmly believe that change is always possible, and I’m learning that the more I change, the easier it is to keep moving on down the highway and make these great changes permanent.

Rise

Oct20

I find that four things must be in order for me to successfully lose weight. Right at this moment, I need to work on every single one of those four things: diet, movement/exercise, sleep, and mental well-being.

I am struggling with mental well-being, which complicates the other three. I swore I’d be transparent in this blog — and today, it’s time to be honest about my current struggles. In a way, I’m dealing with growing pains, and I absolutely should be talking about this, facing my fears, and meeting all of this head-on.

I’ve had a number of people ask me, recently, what I’m doing to lose weight, and I repeat what I always say: I eat less, I move more. And that’s essentially correct, but the reason I’m not more forthcoming is because no one needs a data dump in their lap when they’re just asking a question to be nice. The truth is, weight loss is both that simple and at the same time, tremendously challenging and complicated.

Time for some sunshine.

Losing a great deal of weight is more a metamorphosis than a mere transition. The body certainly changes, but if the brain doesn’t adapt and evolve, failure is guaranteed. I am both more “me” than I have ever been, before, and a new “me” that’s still beyond my grasp, requiring me to learn and discover. I suspect the inability to shift thinking is the biggest reason many fail at losing and then maintaining large amounts of weight loss. The truth of the matter is, though, that I have no choice; this isn’t a matter of losing twenty pounds for a high school reunion. It’s losing perhaps up to two hundred pounds to save my life.

It’s a hard reality to accept. My journey governs nearly everything I do, and it’s inescapable. While I have no desire to be defined by my weight or even my weight losses, I cannot ignore how much of my life is tied to my process. It is, at times, overwhelming and I get incredibly frustrated. When I started this journey, I had the hope that I could get beyond obesity, as if it’s just been a phase of my life. I’m learning that’s far from the truth; if I don’t learn the lessons this time, I’m doomed to repeat them yet again. There is no finish line; goals are just markers for what comes beyond that point, and that life will take just as much dedication and hard work as losing weight requires.

No matter what, even if I reach a point where I look like I’ve never had a weight problem in my life to someone who doesn’t know me, it will not change this transition I’m going through, right now. Being overweight isn’t just a phase I’ll be able to forget, like a bad dream. Perhaps it’s important that I never forget the battles I am winning right now, because my life will always be about overcoming challenges.

I’m scared. Excited, yes; but scared, too. I think that fear of the unknown is likely the reason many people shy away from staying at a goal weight and slowly let themselves return to a weight where they feel secure and protected from whatever fears they imagine. Fat is insulation; a way to block unwanted attention, an excuse to not face something troublesome, and a hiding place from any number of issues. Last week, I wrote about how invisible a life an obese woman can live — and there are times when being invisible is the easiest solution to tough problems.

The odds are still stacked against me. My weight loss, these days, is at a crawl, but still a loss. I’ve reached a point where I need to change my thinking and take different actions. And for all your support, which I truly appreciate, this is a battle I fight alone. This is the point where I keep walking out from the shadows and into the sunlight, and rise.

Run-Around

Oct14

Sometimes when I write this blog, I just have no clue what to write — so I resort to Google Roulette, and the wheel spun to the comment on the website noted, above. My search terms: ask a fat woman. And I found this statement.

Yesterday I saw an obese woman using a cane to waddle her way through the supermarket because she couldn’t carry her own weight. With her tree trunk calves and her tiny feet in her tiny shoes, she looked like a 747 sporting Volkswagen tires.

Now, Lucinda, I know what you would say about her. You’d say she’s not responsible for her slovenly, self-destructive eating habits. She can’t and need not control how much she eats. She should be able to look however she wants and not be judged on her appearance. And everyone knows that it wouldn’t be politically correct to criticize her.

Well, I don’t care how much the various “full figured” gals may glorify their excess poundage. Fat is not beautiful to everyone and, more importantly, it’s not healthy. Overweight people are at risk for diabetes, heart attacks, high blood pressure, and wearing out the living room carpet before its time. Food is meant to be used for fuel, not as a way to escape life’s problems.

(Source: “Should You Marry An Overweight Woman?”, Page 2, Ask Men)

It might be human nature to label, but labels are often incorrect.

I admit I cringed, reading the description above — not because it’s abhorrent, although it is.

No, it’s because it could have described me at some point in the recent past. I, too, walked with a cane, because of severe arthritis in my knees, so I suppose the person who wrote this would be somewhat accurate in saying that I wouldn’t be able to support my body weight. As for the rest of an incredibly unkind description, well — it’s opinion.

Granted, this appears in a men’s magazine, written by an anonymous persona who likely gets attention for brazen descriptions of people that he obviously dismisses as unworthy of attention. Later in the same article, he states:

“Most importantly, I want men to pick women who are not overweight for partners, so they will raise their kids to be healthy and not have eating disorders. Statistics show that if the parents are overweight, 90% of the time the kids also end up with weight problems.”

Now… am I angry? Surprisingly — no, despite the obvious error that genetics require both parents, and yet he doesn’t promote to overweight men that they shouldn’t marry or have children.

It’s not anger. I shake my head at such casual dismissal of the supposedly unfit, but what I feel is more like disappointment that such attitudes not only prevail, but seem to have made a resurgence. Shouldn’t we be beyond such shallow ways of assessing each other?

Unfortunately, this attitude is a lot more common than many people are willing to admit. It’s the quantifying of a person’s entire value based on the judgment of one physical characteristic, good or bad. Because the woman in the grocery store is obese, the writer has gone on to assume that she’s slovenly, self-destructive, has an eating disorder, and apparently, will kill her carpet in no time flat. Maybe he’s right — and maybe he’s totally off-base, but characterizations such as this one are why obese women, particularly middle-aged women like myself, tend to become invisible.

While the writer of the above comments basically declares overweight women unworthy of marrying and suggests they shouldn’t breed, my contention is that both men and women often have a tendency to dismiss people of all ages, weights, races, disabilities — based on one aspect that they can visually see, and not just as potential spouses. And once someone is mentally dismissed, they fall into the background and become unimportant.

Dismissing someone outright for a physical characteristic out of their control (whether immediately out of control — such as weight loss, or permanently — such as race) denies that person their right to humanity. It also infers that there’s a desirable height/weight/race/physical form when such preferences are highly personal.

I admit that when I lost 140 pounds, years ago, I fell into that trap; I developed the attitude that as a formerly obese woman, I had the right to judge others for not having committed themselves to losing weight. How unutterably thoughtless I was to do so — who am I to say what someone else’s journey should be? How am I to know, just by looking at someone, what aspects of their life might have caused their current state, or for that matter, that they aren’t doing their best to better their health?

How many people silently judge me, still — thinking look how fat she is! She ought to DO something about it, the lazy slob! — not knowing that I’ve already lost 128 pounds?

And worse — who are any of us to dilute any human being down to one physical characteristic and judge them by it — whether it’s race, ethnicity, ability, looks — good, or bad? There will always be someone who typifies a stereotype; and someone who breaks the mold. We should be judging by actions, by intentions, by a person’s propensity to do good or evil. To do otherwise is arrogant and dismissive.

Am I still invisible, because I continue to be a middle-aged obese woman for a bit longer? Perhaps — but as I step out into the light, I hope that I’m judged by my abilities rather than my waist size.

Question

Oct7

Update: I’ve now lost a total of 128.2 pounds.

This past Tuesday, my dental hygienist tilted her head at me, her eyebrows drawn together as she looked me in the eye.

“You’re losing weight, aren’t you? I can really see it in your face!”

I thanked her. I didn’t mention that I’d been actively losing for three years and I had seen her just six months ago. A compliment is a compliment, and I’ll take them when they come.

And then… that inevitable question arrives.

“So how are you doing it?”

128 pound cannonball — because losing that weight means getting the lead out.

So… look. I get it. I’ve been the one to ask other people that question — until I became someone who was asked on a regular basis. These days, if I notice someone has lost weight, I compliment them, wish them continued success, and then I stop there.

To be very honest about it, I can just about name every other statement that comes afterward, too — from I bet you feel a lot better! To your family must be happy for you! To have you ever thought about taking that new supplement?

I understand that people feel obligated to say something in response, whether it’s one of these statements, their own confession that they need to lose weight themselves, or mention of a tv program on weight loss, a relative that lost a lot of weight, and the hope that I’m losing weight in a healthy way. I know that people are just trying to make conversation about a sometimes awkward subject.

I admit that the first time I lost a huge amount of weight, these questions really got under my skin. To me, back then, being asked if I just feel so much better infers that there was something wrong with me, to begin with. To tell me you look great meant that I must not have looked great, previously. In my mind, there had to be a contrast to whatever people were saying, which inferred that I was somehow not worthy or less human because I weighed more. It took me a very long time to understand that change doesn’t necessarily mean value judgment.

I started convincing myself, once I passed into the realm of just overweight instead of morbidly obese, that I was somehow different than I had been when I started that journey. That I was somehow better, improved from what I’d been, before.

And that’s a dangerous way to think. Perhaps it was karma that assisted in loading all that weight right back on my hips… and then some, just for good measure.

I have a different perspective, now. I just nod, accept the compliment in the light in which it was given, and move on.

Am I proud to have lost 128.2 pounds? Well — sure, I am, but I am also very careful to not see myself as different. I’m human. I’m fallible. I’ve lost and regained so much weight that I should always know better than to think I’m beyond backsliding. While there are certainly mental changes I’ve gone through since that first day I committed to this plan over three years ago, I’m not only still that same person… I’m probably more me than I’ve been in many years.

The difference isn’t that I’ve lost weight; it’s that I am recognizing where my issues and faults have been, and weight loss is a byproduct of that recognition.

It’s the acceptance that all the times I’ve failed, before, have been for a reason, and that reason is because I’ve been wrong. I’ve failed without accepting failure. I haven’t learned from my mistakes. I haven’t loved myself enough to accept those things and change my own behavior. And that really is the truth of it.

So when people inevitably ask me how are you losing weight?, I tell them the simplest truth: I eat fewer carbs and calories, and I move more. It’s certainly an oversimplification, but the reality is that my battles are won in my brain, not on my dinner plate. The thing is, very few want to hear, in the course of a casual conversation, that this is an intensely personal and difficult journey that requires a commitment to constantly change and adjust. That there are no magic pills, no special combination of food and exercise that works for everyone, no easy potion that melts pounds off your hips.

No — it’s more a maze of constant choices that become easier as your commitment deepens. In that light, diet and exercise are only tools; only means to an end. It’s our brains that do the real work.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

That's What Lisa Thinks.

Getting healthy all the way to the core.