24.5 pounds of meat

First things, first: since last week, I’ve had a 4.5 pound loss, which carried away the half a pound that made an appearance last week, and four of its fat friends.  Off to the right: 24.5 pounds of rib meat, showing my total loss.

Last week, as in Week 10, was a perfect week; I did everything right — and I mean everything.  Despite that, the evil scales showed a gain.  I knew it would come off, but it was also a reminder that sometimes doing everything right doesn’t have an immediate payoff.  So often, some of the more hardheaded diet gurus will insist that everything comes down to calories in, calories out; and if you haven’t lost during one particular week, it’s because your incoming calories exceeded what your body burned.  (Anyone notice how most of those who insist on this theology don’t have a uterus?)

While I’m a believer in science, and have been successful in the past by approaching weight loss as a scientific method, there are still some things that don’t come with easy explanations.  That would account for this week, during which I did pretty much everything wrong, or at least not according to plan.

Since last Friday, I’ve been sick with some sort of evil Mad Cow Disease.  It’s been an aggressive upper respiratory infection that has kept me drugged up and not functioning at all for almost a solid week.  During that week, I didn’t drink as much water as I should have; not even close.  My food intake was all “legal” foods, but far below where my calories should be for each day.  I didn’t exercise.  In fact, I barely moved.

I had made up my mind that this week’s weigh-in would be a loss, because *scientifically speaking*, the body often retains water as a healing mechanism.  I had convinced myself to be happy with whatever the scale said.  And just when I thought I had things pretty much figured out, I lost weight.

Who knows why, for sure.  Bodies are fickle things.  It could have been that just being sick was enough of a break in my regimen that it startled my body into giving up weight.  Or it could be that the decongestant I took has a diuretic effect.  Who knows, but I’ll take the loss.

The lesson: sometimes what you’ve done weeks ago comes into play when you least expect it.  It’s worth sticking to your plan.

Be happy with me!  I not only lost the 6 pounds of water that I gained, but another 1.5 pounds went with it.  I really didn’t figure I’d show a loss this week, but I’m happy that I did.  I’m happier, still, that the water weight is gone, because for me, it causes joint pain.

20.5 pounds of turkey!

In honor of the loss this week, it’s the return of “things that weigh what I’ve lost”; introducing a 20.5 pound turkey.  On one hand, I’m glad to be able to post a new pic of equivalent weight loss, but on the other hand, it’s become quite a challenge to find a pic of something that isn’t a fish or a baby.  I’m getting tired of the fish photos, and at 48, I don’t even want to think about making comparisons using baby pics.  No!

This last week was all about sticking it out.  Even though all evidence was to the contrary, seeing the number on the scale go up was disheartening.  I knew it was water.  I knew what I had to do to get rid of it; drink more water.  If you don’t already know this, when the body retains water, it’s usually doing so because it’s in a reserve mode.  Drinking more water actually gets your body to release what it’s retaining.

I have been wishy washy about getting enough water.  This week, I made sure I drank at least a gallon daily, and recorded each glass as I drank it, so I could keep up.  (Let me add that I do NOT recommend that everyone go out and drink a gallon of water, daily; that just happens to be what my body needs to release water.)

It’s about diligence and sticking it out when things get a bit tough.  Even 9 weeks in, it would be very easy for me to talk myself out of my successes to this point, including making sure that I do my exercise.  The little voices in my head tell me that I don’t really have to do it today, or it’s not helping me — look at the scale, etc.  I think it’s still in part because I know that 20 pounds isn’t a recognizable loss for me, yet, and that evil voice is reminding me that I can still safely bail without anyone saying “hey! How’s the weight loss going?”  That’s a voice based in failure; one that assumes that I’m not going to be successful, again, so back out now before I humiliate myself.

That is a huge thing when you are morbidly obese.  People hope you will lose weight, and when you fail at it, they see it as a character flaw.  In anyone else, it might not be a big deal, but I still think the majority of people who have had either small weight problems, or none at all, think that the morbidly obese got in that position by secretly cramming their mouths full of Twinkies and doughnuts.  That might be someone’s reality, but it isn’t mine; yet, it’s as if I can feel the judgment of those who either don’t know me, or even those that do.  So, recognizing that voice that says “back out before you fail” means acknowledging those feelings and dealing with them.

I have often been defined by my weight.  If I wasn’t one of the biggest people in the room, then I was that woman that had lost an incredible amount of weight.  When you lose a bunch, it’s easy to let yourself be defined as that person who has lost so much weight; people hear about you, they ask how you did it, you become a mini celebrity in your own right.  (One of my friends recently has lost a great deal of weight, looks terrific, and I bet she knows that I’m talking about!)  But even then, it can be frustrating to make that huge journey toward a healthy weight and still be defined by your weight.

I’ve jumped that 20 pound mental hurdle that I wrote about a few weeks back.  Now, it’s time to keep sticking it out and working toward my next goal, and tell those little deceiving voices to go to hell.