The experiment is going pretty well. The first week I gained a pound and a half, the second week I stayed the same, and the third week I lost two pounds. More importantly, I'm entirely angst free. It's really nice not to be even a tiny bit stressed about my food choices. I would bet that I'm eating pretty close to the same stuff in the same amounts as I was when I was tracking. Go figure.
Saturday I'm going to visit friends and family in California. Most of them I haven't seen in over a year, which means they haven't seen me in over a year. As it is commonly spoken and written, most people would be really excited and happy anticipating the unveiling of a body 73 pounds thinner. I hear I am supposed to relish the compliments and attention and be proud of what I've achieved and whatnot. I'm actually pretty anxious about it. I haven't told anyone I'm losing weight. It's not a secret, exactly, but I feel weird about it. I have such conflicted feelings about the concept of dieting and about involving myself in the diet industry, so I don't love talking about that. I also hate how the whole world seems to be having a constant conversation about having lost weight, wanting to lose weight, regretting cookies, wanting donuts, wishing they had time to exercise, hating exercise, being virtuous for eating salad and bad for skipping the gym. I don't want to engage in that conversation and I don't know how to casually tell my father or my childhood friends that I've been losing weight for the last 13 months and that they should expect me to look pretty different. So then when they see me they'll be shocked, which just draws more attention that I don't want. I don't want to talk to everyone I see about how I lost weight or even to accept compliments if they're giving them. Each of them will only have that conversation once, but I'm having it all the time with strangers as well as friends. It makes me tired.
A few weeks ago I had lunch with an old, dear friend who is local, but whom I don't see often. I'm sure she noticed that I've lost weight -- I am aware that I look pretty wildly different, though it makes me uncomfortable -- but she managed to show no sign of it. She treated me exactly as she always has. We ate together, we took a walk, we had a conversation about our gym memberships and she just treated me like me. It was deeply comforting. That's what I want from everyone, really. I don't think my weight loss should be interesting to anyone but me. I care about losing weight. I think about what I'm eating. I want to be thinner, to look better, to buy cuter clothes. All of that is a big deal to me, but I don't want it to be a big deal to anyone else. I just want them to be with me exactly as they've always been. I wish I could send a memo ahead of me explaining that...
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weight loss. Show all posts
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Trust
My goal for this week, (because, yeah, I do kind of have goals even though I try to be mellow about them) is to not gain more than a pound. After a few days of eating with abandon, I seem to have swung back to a more moderate place yesterday, and I have been working out as much as ever. I'm going to my trainer's class this afternoon. My weight fluctuates from day to day, but I go by my Weight Watchers weigh ins on Monday evenings. Right now I'm at about the same place as last week, so if the next couple days go well, I might even lose. Every single time this happens -- I eat in a way that feels out of control for awhile and then I work my way back to a place that feels better -- I am relieved to have made it back and comforted that it hasn't really damaged my efforts to lose weight. I feel almost, almost but not quite able to trust it.
As I wrote on Thursday, I am trying to banish the voice that tells me eating a lot of crap is bad. And part of that is about the fact that it's not bad. Bacon has no ethical value attached to it. Eating bacon isn't like torturing puppies or cheating on taxes or even driving a car. Gaining weight isn't bad. Nor is being fat. I'm working on that. But I also recognize that I am trying to lose weight. I want to lose weight. It's not necessary, it's not the right thing to do, it's not me doing good. It's something I want. So the other piece of banishing The Voice is trusting that a little setback like a craving for pizza or two parties in two days at which I choose to eat delicious food, does not derail my efforts to lose weight. It doesn't put back the 65 pounds I've lost, it doesn't take away my remarkable biceps, and it doesn't mean I will be eating that way forever. And even though I've seen it happen time and time again, I apparently don't quite trust it yet because I am still feeling that relief when I make it to the other side.
As I wrote on Thursday, I am trying to banish the voice that tells me eating a lot of crap is bad. And part of that is about the fact that it's not bad. Bacon has no ethical value attached to it. Eating bacon isn't like torturing puppies or cheating on taxes or even driving a car. Gaining weight isn't bad. Nor is being fat. I'm working on that. But I also recognize that I am trying to lose weight. I want to lose weight. It's not necessary, it's not the right thing to do, it's not me doing good. It's something I want. So the other piece of banishing The Voice is trusting that a little setback like a craving for pizza or two parties in two days at which I choose to eat delicious food, does not derail my efforts to lose weight. It doesn't put back the 65 pounds I've lost, it doesn't take away my remarkable biceps, and it doesn't mean I will be eating that way forever. And even though I've seen it happen time and time again, I apparently don't quite trust it yet because I am still feeling that relief when I make it to the other side.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Not Recognizing Myself
I was looking through the pictures on my sister's camera last weekend during her birthday party. I wanted to see one she had taken one of me holding my baby nephew -- he was playing with my glasses and we were both laughing. As I clicked through all the photos, I passed the one I was looking for twice because I didn't immediately recognize myself. It's true that the viewer on her camera is pretty small and also that I wasn't wearing my glasses in the photo, which changed my appearance. But mostly, I just look different. I don't look as I expect myself to look. Sometimes when I catch my reflection in a mirror by accident, I don't immediately know it's me I'm seeing. It's a pretty disconcerting experience.
There's this whole mythology of transformation connected to weight loss in our culture. The ugly duckling becoming the swan. The ubiquitous Before and After photos. We are supposed to look like a whole new person after losing a lot of weight and that's supposed to be a good thing. And I'm not saying I'm immune to that -- vanity is certainly part of the reason I want to lose weight. I'm happy with how I'm looking these days and I was less than happy with how I looked a year ago. But I don't think it's a healthy part of this process to look at pictures of myself from a year ago and marvel at how huge I was, how horrible I looked, how grateful I am not to look like that anymore, not to be that person anymore. That attitude is so prevalent in our society -- in the weight loss industry, in fashion and fitness and celebrity magazines. Part of the story of successful weight loss is: I used to be fat and disgusting and now I'm a whole new, thin and beautiful person. We are supposed to be motivated to lose weight by how much we hate our fat selves, how much we want to get rid of that part of ourselves.
I look at pictures of myself at my very heaviest and I take comfort in still being exactly the same person. If I couldn't do that -- if I needed self-hate to be part of my motivation, I would fail. If I hated my fattest self, I would have to hate my current self and my thinnest self, too, because I know they are all Me. The truth is, I think I look better, but it freaks me out a little to look different. It's disturbing to look at my reflection or my photo and not recognize myself, even if it's just for an instant. I visit a pre-school class twice a month to read stories. Some of the same kids I saw last spring are there again now. This week one little girl said to me, "Miss Jamie, you look different," and it made me kind of sad. I'm not someone else and I don't plan on being someone else when I'm done losing weight.
I'm sure I'm not the only person to lose a significant amount of weight and feel uncomfortable about looking different -- to find it creepy not to be recognized. But I never hear anyone talk about it. I wish someone would.
There's this whole mythology of transformation connected to weight loss in our culture. The ugly duckling becoming the swan. The ubiquitous Before and After photos. We are supposed to look like a whole new person after losing a lot of weight and that's supposed to be a good thing. And I'm not saying I'm immune to that -- vanity is certainly part of the reason I want to lose weight. I'm happy with how I'm looking these days and I was less than happy with how I looked a year ago. But I don't think it's a healthy part of this process to look at pictures of myself from a year ago and marvel at how huge I was, how horrible I looked, how grateful I am not to look like that anymore, not to be that person anymore. That attitude is so prevalent in our society -- in the weight loss industry, in fashion and fitness and celebrity magazines. Part of the story of successful weight loss is: I used to be fat and disgusting and now I'm a whole new, thin and beautiful person. We are supposed to be motivated to lose weight by how much we hate our fat selves, how much we want to get rid of that part of ourselves.
I look at pictures of myself at my very heaviest and I take comfort in still being exactly the same person. If I couldn't do that -- if I needed self-hate to be part of my motivation, I would fail. If I hated my fattest self, I would have to hate my current self and my thinnest self, too, because I know they are all Me. The truth is, I think I look better, but it freaks me out a little to look different. It's disturbing to look at my reflection or my photo and not recognize myself, even if it's just for an instant. I visit a pre-school class twice a month to read stories. Some of the same kids I saw last spring are there again now. This week one little girl said to me, "Miss Jamie, you look different," and it made me kind of sad. I'm not someone else and I don't plan on being someone else when I'm done losing weight.
I'm sure I'm not the only person to lose a significant amount of weight and feel uncomfortable about looking different -- to find it creepy not to be recognized. But I never hear anyone talk about it. I wish someone would.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Oh, Hello There!
Hi.
It appears that someone is reading this. Maybe as many as four of you! I'm flattered, really. When I decided to do this it was primarily because I wanted to write about the experience of losing weight -- wanted to remember later what the emotional pieces were, since I knew they would be changing day to day. I also wanted to make myself organize those thoughts while I was thinking them. In another piece of my world, I'm a professional writer, but what I usually write is a very different animal. So this is an experiment.
I decided to experiment in the form of a blog for a couple reasons. Reason the first was to keep me writing and keep me organized. If I were writing in a notebook, I'd be more likely to write scattered, run-on sentences about my whole emotional life rather than attempting to organize thoughts specifically about my body and food issues. Of course, there are still scattered run-on sentences here. Oh well.
Reason the second is this: Over the last several years, as I've lost and gained weight and tried to make some sense of what my relationship to my body means and how I fit into the world, I have read several books about people dealing with the same stuff and I have found them to be invaluable. I grew up, and into my 20s and 30s feeling very alone with my fat. I had never talked to anyone or read anything that made me believe that others were struggling in the same ways as I was. It hadn't even occurred to me. And then, I can't remember how the first book fell in my lap, but it did, and I started reading. Books about people who started out much bigger than me and ended up much smaller. Or about people smaller than me who felt bigger, or people just my size who were comfortable there. Everyone's story was different, everyone's relationship with food and clothing and her mother was unique. But familiar. There was always something that overlapped with my own experience -- the comfort of eating too much when no one was looking, the pressure from family members, either overt or subtle, to lose weight, to be different, the shame of not fitting someplace -- into chairs or socially acceptable clothing sizes, feeling both elation and discomfort with losing weight, with inhabiting an unfamiliar body. It is comforting to recognize myself in these stories.
And yet I know that my story isn't just like any of the ones I read. And I am a writer. A writer writes. Knowing that reading someone else's story is helpful to me makes me hope that reading my story will be helpful to others. I started writing and posting my blog without ever seeking out readers. I am shy, and this is still an experiment, after all. But I am glad you are here. Welcome. Please comment and/or email me freely. I would love to hear from you.
Some of the above-mentioned books:
I'm Not The New Me by Wendy McClure
Passing for Thin by Frances Kuffel
Half-Assed by Jennette Fulda
Tales from the Scale by Erin J. Shea
The Incredible Shrinking Critic by Jami Bernard
Confessions of a Carb Queen by Susan Blech
Thin is the New Happy by Valerie Frankel
Many of these people are bloggers. I'm too lazy to create links, but I'm sure you can find them if you haven't already.
It appears that someone is reading this. Maybe as many as four of you! I'm flattered, really. When I decided to do this it was primarily because I wanted to write about the experience of losing weight -- wanted to remember later what the emotional pieces were, since I knew they would be changing day to day. I also wanted to make myself organize those thoughts while I was thinking them. In another piece of my world, I'm a professional writer, but what I usually write is a very different animal. So this is an experiment.
I decided to experiment in the form of a blog for a couple reasons. Reason the first was to keep me writing and keep me organized. If I were writing in a notebook, I'd be more likely to write scattered, run-on sentences about my whole emotional life rather than attempting to organize thoughts specifically about my body and food issues. Of course, there are still scattered run-on sentences here. Oh well.
Reason the second is this: Over the last several years, as I've lost and gained weight and tried to make some sense of what my relationship to my body means and how I fit into the world, I have read several books about people dealing with the same stuff and I have found them to be invaluable. I grew up, and into my 20s and 30s feeling very alone with my fat. I had never talked to anyone or read anything that made me believe that others were struggling in the same ways as I was. It hadn't even occurred to me. And then, I can't remember how the first book fell in my lap, but it did, and I started reading. Books about people who started out much bigger than me and ended up much smaller. Or about people smaller than me who felt bigger, or people just my size who were comfortable there. Everyone's story was different, everyone's relationship with food and clothing and her mother was unique. But familiar. There was always something that overlapped with my own experience -- the comfort of eating too much when no one was looking, the pressure from family members, either overt or subtle, to lose weight, to be different, the shame of not fitting someplace -- into chairs or socially acceptable clothing sizes, feeling both elation and discomfort with losing weight, with inhabiting an unfamiliar body. It is comforting to recognize myself in these stories.
And yet I know that my story isn't just like any of the ones I read. And I am a writer. A writer writes. Knowing that reading someone else's story is helpful to me makes me hope that reading my story will be helpful to others. I started writing and posting my blog without ever seeking out readers. I am shy, and this is still an experiment, after all. But I am glad you are here. Welcome. Please comment and/or email me freely. I would love to hear from you.
Some of the above-mentioned books:
I'm Not The New Me by Wendy McClure
Passing for Thin by Frances Kuffel
Half-Assed by Jennette Fulda
Tales from the Scale by Erin J. Shea
The Incredible Shrinking Critic by Jami Bernard
Confessions of a Carb Queen by Susan Blech
Thin is the New Happy by Valerie Frankel
Many of these people are bloggers. I'm too lazy to create links, but I'm sure you can find them if you haven't already.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Struggling
The last couple weeks have been challenging for me. Halloween is my favorite holiday and I embraced it thoroughly. I threw a party the weekend before, and though the dinner I cooked was healthy, I also made monster cupcakes and chocolate demon mice for dessert. I made cocktails. It was no big deal -- I had some of everything, but didn't feel out of control. And then there were left-over cupcakes and chocolate mice in my house for a week. I ate a cupcake every night. Still not a big deal, but I wouldn't have eaten a cupcake every night if they hadn't been there. I also neglected to go grocery shopping that week because I'd shopped for the party and had left-over real food, too. But that didn't last and I ended up buying dinner every night instead of cooking. Again, not a disaster, but several less healthy choices than I would normally have made. Halloween day came and there was candy at work. I ate a lot of candy at work. And eating candy somehow brought back old feelings of needing to eat as much as I could while no one was watching, so I ate plenty of real food, too. Then I went to someone else's dinner party and ate more candy. On Saturday, I had to work and ate more candy.
When I went to my Weight Watchers meeting on Monday, I had gained two pounds.
None of that, in and of itself, really bothers me. I feel like it's important to be able to embrace Halloween, to eat crap if it makes me happy, and to not feel guilty about it even if it doesn't make me happy. I've been losing weight steadily for seven months, so gaining two pounds one week doesn't really matter.
What scares me is that while I'm feeling that way, I don't trust that I'll get this back. This has been easy, losing weight. I'm enjoying myself, and I have no interest in getting to a place where I start worrying and feeling guilty and telling myself not to eat things I want to eat. That mindset fucks me up. I truly believe that the most valuable thing I'm doing right now is not worrying.
But it only works if I keep wanting to eat spinach and chickpea curry and go running at 6:00 every morning. If I start wanting to sit in front of the TV and eat cupcakes, it's all over. Right now I feel like I have it back. I made that curry over the weekend, as well as a vegetarian chili, cucumber salad, and roasted root vegetables. The idea was to distract myself with an abundance of yummy healthy food, and it worked. This week has been better. But it feels tenuous. I fear that I'll feel out of control again and not bounce back so quickly. I couldn't even write about it while I was wanting to eat candy constantly -- it felt like the struggle would be real if I named it, so I name it now in the past tense because that's safer.
I'm entering a place I haven't been before -- a longer period of successful weight loss, a smaller clothing size, and it feel scary and like it will be easy to lose.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
More Semantics
I find myself in a socially awkward situation when people say to me, "You've lost weight." I believe that they expect me to say, "Thank you." Only, is that a compliment? It's an observation, a statement of fact. If someone said, "You got a new tattoo," or, "You cut your hair," it would be unclear whether or not she approved of the change in my appearance. I would say, "Yes I did," and would not say, "Thanks," unless she expressed a positive opinion.
So I follow my belief in language, rather than the universal assumption that losing weight is an inherently good thing. I nod and say, as neutrally as I am able, "I have lost some weight." If she then says, "You look good," I smile and say, "Thank you."
Am I being petty?
So I follow my belief in language, rather than the universal assumption that losing weight is an inherently good thing. I nod and say, as neutrally as I am able, "I have lost some weight." If she then says, "You look good," I smile and say, "Thank you."
Am I being petty?
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
"You're wasting away,"
...said one of my co-workers this morning, then added, "You look great!"
Am I really supposed to take "wasting away" as a compliment? Makes it sound like I'm dying of consumption. How glamorous.
Am I really supposed to take "wasting away" as a compliment? Makes it sound like I'm dying of consumption. How glamorous.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Dangerous Leaps
I realize I'm making up for lost time, here. Blogging is new to me, as are the changes happening to my body, and sometimes I'm not quite up to looking either one in the face.
I've lost a little over 50 pounds, now. I weigh about 200, depending on at what hour I step on the scale. 200 was my goal for the end of October, so getting there a month ahead is a bit startling. It's not just a number -- I seem to have leapt forward all at once. I lost more than 6 pounds in two weeks. All of a sudden, none of my clothes fit. Nothing. I had to buy new bras (and I know I'm not the first to say this, but I did not sign up for losing a cup size!) I had neither time nor money to go clothes shopping, but I had to do it anyway. And people started noticing. I lost 20 and 30 and 40 pounds and pretty much no one said anything -- a couple people thought I was tan or had cut my hair or something. But in the last two weeks, everywhere I go, people are commenting on my weight loss -- my co-workers, who I've seen every day all along (including one person who never speaks to me), friends I hadn't seen in awhile, friends I see all the time. And suddenly, I feel like I'm walking around in a different body. It's not entirely comfortable. It's weird. Maybe a little scary. Weight loss is a loss. Part of me, a big 50 pound chunk of me is gone now (and where did it go? seriously, I'd like to know) and that frightens me in ways I don't entirely understand.
This week, after losing 6 pounds so quickly, I actually tried to eat a little more -- I was never starving myself. I always ate all my daily Weight Watchers points and a few more due to all the working out. I have always indulged here and there in pizza and cupcakes. But this week, I did a little more indulging. I ate heavy dinners Monday and Tuesday nights when I had friends visiting from out of town. I found myself craving heavy food on Wednesday and ate several mini-chocolate bars at work, plus lots of after dinner snacks. I was in a grumpy mood all day Friday and ordered greasy Chinese food for dinner. Now, Monday and Tuesday, I was deliberately relaxing, allowing, even urging myself to eat more because I wasn't comfortable with my rapid weight loss. But the second half of the week the indulging has felt more emotional, a little out of control. Part of me wonders if this is where I will start sabotaging myself.
Once before I lost about this much weight and stopped right here. Here as in October. Here as in 200 pounds. This might be the place I'm afraid to go past. But I do feel different this time. The few people who know I'm trying to lose weight will occasionally say that I'm working so hard. It doesn't feel like it. I hear that and it sounds wrong and I point out that I'm not doing anything I'm not happy with. I love working out. I'm happy, really, entirely happy with my food -- happy with the veggies, happy that I'm able to do pizza and cupcake just often enough, and happy that I'm not hungry. And that feels different. It's hard to sabotage something like that.
The other thing is, I don't feel so alone. I have always felt really alone with my food/body struggles. My friends are thin, and mostly have pretty healthy relationships with food and their bodies (and I'm kind of proud that I've gravitated toward people like this). My sisters are thin, as is my mother. My mother has not been helpful -- I'll write about this some other day. So whether I've been frustrated with my size or working at trying to change it, I've always felt I was in that alone. My body, my issues, nothing anyone else could help with or understand. It felt lonely, and feeling lonely makes me want to eat cookies. It was trying to get away from that loneliness that inspired me both to join Weight Watchers (which as you know I have mixed feeling about) and to hire my trainer. Going to Weight Watchers meetings is helpful. I haven't made friends, have rarely spoken to anyone outside of group discussions, but I feel them there, working on the same stuff, and that helps. And my trainer just rocks. It helps that he's all about getting me in shape, getting me stronger, and not about denying me food or making me thinner. I like focusing on strength. And I like knowing he's there. Yesterday I was at the gym on my own, not paying him for a session, and he snuck up behind me (not hard to do, as I take off my glasses and put on my headphones when I work out) and raised the incline on my treadmill. I growled at him, but kept the incline where it was and kept running. I was thinking about it all day and smiling. I realize the reason it made me so happy was because it felt like someone was watching out for me. It felt safe.
I've lost a little over 50 pounds, now. I weigh about 200, depending on at what hour I step on the scale. 200 was my goal for the end of October, so getting there a month ahead is a bit startling. It's not just a number -- I seem to have leapt forward all at once. I lost more than 6 pounds in two weeks. All of a sudden, none of my clothes fit. Nothing. I had to buy new bras (and I know I'm not the first to say this, but I did not sign up for losing a cup size!) I had neither time nor money to go clothes shopping, but I had to do it anyway. And people started noticing. I lost 20 and 30 and 40 pounds and pretty much no one said anything -- a couple people thought I was tan or had cut my hair or something. But in the last two weeks, everywhere I go, people are commenting on my weight loss -- my co-workers, who I've seen every day all along (including one person who never speaks to me), friends I hadn't seen in awhile, friends I see all the time. And suddenly, I feel like I'm walking around in a different body. It's not entirely comfortable. It's weird. Maybe a little scary. Weight loss is a loss. Part of me, a big 50 pound chunk of me is gone now (and where did it go? seriously, I'd like to know) and that frightens me in ways I don't entirely understand.
This week, after losing 6 pounds so quickly, I actually tried to eat a little more -- I was never starving myself. I always ate all my daily Weight Watchers points and a few more due to all the working out. I have always indulged here and there in pizza and cupcakes. But this week, I did a little more indulging. I ate heavy dinners Monday and Tuesday nights when I had friends visiting from out of town. I found myself craving heavy food on Wednesday and ate several mini-chocolate bars at work, plus lots of after dinner snacks. I was in a grumpy mood all day Friday and ordered greasy Chinese food for dinner. Now, Monday and Tuesday, I was deliberately relaxing, allowing, even urging myself to eat more because I wasn't comfortable with my rapid weight loss. But the second half of the week the indulging has felt more emotional, a little out of control. Part of me wonders if this is where I will start sabotaging myself.
Once before I lost about this much weight and stopped right here. Here as in October. Here as in 200 pounds. This might be the place I'm afraid to go past. But I do feel different this time. The few people who know I'm trying to lose weight will occasionally say that I'm working so hard. It doesn't feel like it. I hear that and it sounds wrong and I point out that I'm not doing anything I'm not happy with. I love working out. I'm happy, really, entirely happy with my food -- happy with the veggies, happy that I'm able to do pizza and cupcake just often enough, and happy that I'm not hungry. And that feels different. It's hard to sabotage something like that.
The other thing is, I don't feel so alone. I have always felt really alone with my food/body struggles. My friends are thin, and mostly have pretty healthy relationships with food and their bodies (and I'm kind of proud that I've gravitated toward people like this). My sisters are thin, as is my mother. My mother has not been helpful -- I'll write about this some other day. So whether I've been frustrated with my size or working at trying to change it, I've always felt I was in that alone. My body, my issues, nothing anyone else could help with or understand. It felt lonely, and feeling lonely makes me want to eat cookies. It was trying to get away from that loneliness that inspired me both to join Weight Watchers (which as you know I have mixed feeling about) and to hire my trainer. Going to Weight Watchers meetings is helpful. I haven't made friends, have rarely spoken to anyone outside of group discussions, but I feel them there, working on the same stuff, and that helps. And my trainer just rocks. It helps that he's all about getting me in shape, getting me stronger, and not about denying me food or making me thinner. I like focusing on strength. And I like knowing he's there. Yesterday I was at the gym on my own, not paying him for a session, and he snuck up behind me (not hard to do, as I take off my glasses and put on my headphones when I work out) and raised the incline on my treadmill. I growled at him, but kept the incline where it was and kept running. I was thinking about it all day and smiling. I realize the reason it made me so happy was because it felt like someone was watching out for me. It felt safe.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
My Sundress
I always wear the same thing to my Weight Watchers meeting -- it takes away a small variable and I like to keep things as stable as possible so only my actual body weight changes. Since it got warm enough it's been a JJill linen sun-dress that I bought on eBay this spring. At my meeting last night my leader mentioned that it's getting too big for me. It's true, and pleases me to no end. But I love it and am going to wear it as often as I can while it's still summer. I'll buy smaller clothes in the fall. It's gratifying to find that my clothes are too big, and much more gratifying to find clothes that have been too small for me for over a year are now fitting perfectly. But it's also hard to give up things I love and expensive to replace them. Especially since I plan to keep needing smaller sizes.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Being a work in progress
I'm finding it very roller coaster-y to be in the middle of losing weight. I've lost almost 35 pounds now, which is enough to feel really different. This is especially true given that I've been working out a lot and doing strength training for the first time ever. My body is different. I feel different. I spend a lot of time lying in bed at night feeling around at my muscles in places where I wasn't able to feel muscles before. It's fascinating and thrilling.
And then sometimes I look in the mirror and remember that I'm still really fat. I'm not self-depricating here. I weigh 219 pounds, which makes me obese according to BMI charts and abnormally huge according to the fashion industry. I still have 80 or so pounds to lose. Mostly I'm not in a rush. This is a good pace -- I'm losing an average of two pounds a week, which is plenty. But it's hard to place myself. It's hard to feel where I am now while I am still and constantly changing (and of course, not changing -- I continue to be Me, which is a comfort and a delight as well as a frustration).
And then sometimes I look in the mirror and remember that I'm still really fat. I'm not self-depricating here. I weigh 219 pounds, which makes me obese according to BMI charts and abnormally huge according to the fashion industry. I still have 80 or so pounds to lose. Mostly I'm not in a rush. This is a good pace -- I'm losing an average of two pounds a week, which is plenty. But it's hard to place myself. It's hard to feel where I am now while I am still and constantly changing (and of course, not changing -- I continue to be Me, which is a comfort and a delight as well as a frustration).
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Supporting the Diet Industry
I have a serious problem with the diet industry. I believe they're making gazillions of dollars by making people (mostly women) feel bad about themselves. I also believe they're setting people up to fail so that they'll come back and spend even more money. I hate the success stories that are all about how disgusting someone looked before and how she's a whole different person now. I hate how the success stories always state in teeny tiny print that those results are not typical. I hate to give my money to companies that do shit like that.
And yet. I joined Weight Watchers. There are some things I hate about it -- most notably the politics of the industry -- and also some things that are really working for me. I'm trying my best to use what tools are helpful and still do my own thing.
What I like:
The first leader I encountered had been working for Weight Watchers full time for about thirty years. She was drinking the sugar-free Kool Aid, big time. In discussing how to deal with celebrations -- your own birthday, for instance -- she pulled out a Weight Watchers cookbook and pointed to a chocolate cake recipe. She asked us to guess why a slice was only, I don't remember how many points -- 2? 3? I was thinking, less sugar? whole wheat flour? eggless? The answer was: a serving size is approximately two bites. So she's trying to sell a cookbook based on its serving sizes. Fucked up. I drove across town to get away from her.
Once my leader (across town, and completely worth the drive) missed a meeting and our substitute made me want to play corporate bingo. She kept saying "your weight loss journey" and smiling too big. She said that at the end of the summer "there should be less of us." I walked out.
Another time he was gone, our substitute handed out plastic sun-visors.
I got really lucky.
And so, I let them charge me every month so that I can go to meetings and be weighed and count Points on my computer. Did I sell out?
And yet. I joined Weight Watchers. There are some things I hate about it -- most notably the politics of the industry -- and also some things that are really working for me. I'm trying my best to use what tools are helpful and still do my own thing.
What I like:
- Getting weighed, officially, once a week
- My leader (more on him later)
- The online tools (looking up foods, calculating points from my recipes, etc...)
- Counting Points (isn't that freaky -- I thought I would hate this, but I don't. More on that, too)
- It inspired me to get more exercise, which has changed my life more than losing weight is.
- That I'm supporting the evil diet industry
- That the food they sell is total processed crap in small portions and they pretend it's good for you because it's low in "Points"
- Most of the other leaders I've encountered
- The "success stories" that make people sound like they were disgusting losers before they joined Weight Watchers
The first leader I encountered had been working for Weight Watchers full time for about thirty years. She was drinking the sugar-free Kool Aid, big time. In discussing how to deal with celebrations -- your own birthday, for instance -- she pulled out a Weight Watchers cookbook and pointed to a chocolate cake recipe. She asked us to guess why a slice was only, I don't remember how many points -- 2? 3? I was thinking, less sugar? whole wheat flour? eggless? The answer was: a serving size is approximately two bites. So she's trying to sell a cookbook based on its serving sizes. Fucked up. I drove across town to get away from her.
Once my leader (across town, and completely worth the drive) missed a meeting and our substitute made me want to play corporate bingo. She kept saying "your weight loss journey" and smiling too big. She said that at the end of the summer "there should be less of us." I walked out.
Another time he was gone, our substitute handed out plastic sun-visors.
I got really lucky.
And so, I let them charge me every month so that I can go to meetings and be weighed and count Points on my computer. Did I sell out?
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Stats, a mission statement, and a piece of history
When I hear someone else's story about being fat, losing weight, gaining weight, I want stats, so I'll start with stats. I'm 36, 5'4", and currently 224 pounds. At my heaviest, (most recently in March of this year) I was 253 pounds. Once, several years ago, my size 24 jeans were getting too small for me. Right now I usually wear an 18.
After a lifetime of being fat and several years of losing and gaining weight with a lot of ambivalence, I am now losing again, and trying not to get smaller in the process. On this blog, I'll be trying to work out my ambivalence.
A good place to start is the incident that inspired my blog's name. About twelve years ago, I had a brief medical scare (all is and was well, so I'll not go into details) which was traumatic in and of itself, and which led to an appointment with an endocrinologist who, (winning the award for worst doctor ever) poked at me, answered no questions, and then said, "There should be less of you."
Afterward, I managed to not go to any doctor for three or four years and to gain probably fifty pounds. As someone who has always been overweight, I have always felt self-conscious about how much space I take up, but I have never, in my most insecure moments believed there should be less of me. Me is good. Fat, maybe is bad. Maybe there should be less fat. But in one brusque, offhand prescription, this overpaid asshole defined me as my fat and told me not to exist.
When I've lost weight in the past few years, usually stalling at about 200-215 pounds, I have struggled with the fact that by intentionally losing weight, intentionally changing my body, I am somehow admitting that my body (and thus me) is and has always been wrong. That pisses me off to no end. It makes the process of losing weight all about hating myself, which I don't.
So I am here, losing weight again and trying to figure out how to keep going, how to enjoy my body right now, as it is changing, rather than feeling that it's a bad thing I need to fix or get rid of.
After a lifetime of being fat and several years of losing and gaining weight with a lot of ambivalence, I am now losing again, and trying not to get smaller in the process. On this blog, I'll be trying to work out my ambivalence.
A good place to start is the incident that inspired my blog's name. About twelve years ago, I had a brief medical scare (all is and was well, so I'll not go into details) which was traumatic in and of itself, and which led to an appointment with an endocrinologist who, (winning the award for worst doctor ever) poked at me, answered no questions, and then said, "There should be less of you."
Afterward, I managed to not go to any doctor for three or four years and to gain probably fifty pounds. As someone who has always been overweight, I have always felt self-conscious about how much space I take up, but I have never, in my most insecure moments believed there should be less of me. Me is good. Fat, maybe is bad. Maybe there should be less fat. But in one brusque, offhand prescription, this overpaid asshole defined me as my fat and told me not to exist.
When I've lost weight in the past few years, usually stalling at about 200-215 pounds, I have struggled with the fact that by intentionally losing weight, intentionally changing my body, I am somehow admitting that my body (and thus me) is and has always been wrong. That pisses me off to no end. It makes the process of losing weight all about hating myself, which I don't.
So I am here, losing weight again and trying to figure out how to keep going, how to enjoy my body right now, as it is changing, rather than feeling that it's a bad thing I need to fix or get rid of.
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