Not Anymore

Tougher than it sounds.

2006-09-05T10:37:00.000-07:00

So, the Eating Awareness Training has not been going so well. Over the weekend, I kind of dropped off the wagon with it, and I need to get back on track, because I was really learning a lot about myself with it. Even the dropping off the wagon bit teaches me a lot about myself, such as the fact that I really, really like to eat in front of the television.

The program doesn't say that you can never eat in front of the TV or in your car again, but asks that for the first six weeks that you don't. When I first read this, I thought, Six weeks is nothing. I can do this, no problem. But of course by day four, Saturday, when I was hanging out by myself and had a week's worth of recorded shows to catch up on, I found myself eating on the couch, hunched over my food on the coffee table. And guess what? I found myself craving fast food. And every meal since Saturday morning has been ordered out or eaten in a restaurant.

Of course, we desperately need to go to the grocery store. But that's just the point -- why didn't I do that on Saturday, when I had nothing else to do?

I'm going to go for a walk now, and then when I come back I'm going to shower and go to Trader Joe's. I just can't not.

Remembering how.

2006-09-01T19:42:00.000-07:00

I'm going to a new bar that looks wonderful downtown tonight, with some of my closest friends. I'm sure I'll find something to wear, and I'm an expert at festive make-up. But it's been so long since I went anywhere but pubs and dive bars, and to tell you the truth, I'm terrified.

It occurs to me that I believe that the closer a bar is to downtown Seattle, the prettier the people will be. S'true.

I'm having mixed feelings, but I have about an hour to center myself while I get ready. Going for the pretty-punk look, with a purple tiered skirt, some black thing on top (when in doubt), and my chunky boots with corset-laces up the backs.

I just hope my black and white stripey tights still fit.

Eating Awareness Training, by Molly Groger

2006-09-01T10:24:00.000-07:00

See that, see how cute that is? Eating Awareness Training has a cute little acronym: EAT!

Anyway, so far I love it. I don't think it's in print anymore, but many used copies are to be had at Amazon. I borrowed this one from my nutritionist, but I may buy myself a copy so I can return it to her.

Molly admonishes the reader to not read ahead in the book, and that's what's going to be hard for me. She says that you should take a week for each chapter -- six in all -- and make sure you really accomplish everything that she tells you. If you get through a week and feel you haven't really made any progress with the first step, then you should not continue to the next week but do the first one over. She says that this will really and truly make it so you never have to diet again.

The first step includes really getting in touch with your body: Feeling each part, and then feeling each part with your hands, and then knowing where you are by looking at yourself naked in the mirror, and then picturing your natural body. She talks a lot about the natural body, instead of the thin body, which is nice. But she also makes a point to say that people's natural bodies are not 100 pounds overweight so to banish that excuse right now.

She also says to practice food amnesia. Forget everything you know about food -- calories, fat, carbs, all of it. Forget what you like and what you don't like. Forget what you've made a "bad" food and what's "good." I have no idea what future weeks will say, but for now everything is game.

This step also involves eating everything, including just bites of food, at a table. Prepare the food, sit at the table, center yourself by breathing deeply, smell the food, think about the way it was prepared, think about how it got to you, and eat it, tasting everything and trying hard to listen to what your body is telling you. For this first step, she doesn't tell you to slow down or anything, because that makes you all tense, but she says just to be aware of it. But she does say to get rid of all distractions -- no TV, radio, reading, anything. Just you and the food.

Writing down food, what time you eat it, and how you feel going into it is also part of this. It's only a part of knowing what you're doing, not using it as a whip to punish yourself with.

Here. There's a list of the things to do that encompasses it all.

Homework for Week 1

Look at your body in the mirror at least once a week, without judgments. Know where you are.

Visualize your natural body three or four times a day. Know where you are going.

Follow the Eating Awareness Techniques. Focus full attention on the eating process.

Record your food intake in your notebook without judging yourself. Increase your awareness of "what is."

Practice the techniques offered here for one full week before reading further. It is is esential to learn from your own experience, and experience takes time.

Have fun rediscovering your body.

The two things I'm finding the most difficult are the part about the food amnesia and the part about not reading ahead. I tend to like to have a plan for my life but she's very adamant about not reading ahead. So I keep reading the chapter over and over, trying to get it in my head. The food amnesia is also hard because of 25 years of messages that I have to sort through and delete. There are more than a few corrupted files in there, too, that just don't seem to want to go.

I suspect, though, that the reason those two parts are hardest for me is because I need to accomplish them the most. I believe that it can't hurt to build my patience, and I wouldn't be surprised if this very thing, waiting a week to read the next chapter, heads off a bit of the problem of instant gratification that is so ingrained in my eating habits. And as for the food amnesia, what a beautiful thing it would be to scrape myself of all those little barnacles of doubt and guilt and self-loathing dressed up as numbers.

As far as what EAT has done for me -- well, I've only been uncomfortably overfull once, and that's when I paid no attention to what I was doing because I was out to eat with a friend. I eat when I'm hungry and don't eat when I'm not. A couple of times at work I've been really quite bored and have gone for a walk instead of eating because I had a chat with my body and it just wasn't hungry. I notice myself eating more slowly, not because I feel like I should, but because that's what I need to do in order to really taste and sense everything that I'm eating.

I am loving it. My next week starts next Wednesday, and I'll talk more about it probably on Friday, after I've had a couple of days to process it and get going on it.

On Not Being Gracious

2006-08-31T10:42:00.000-07:00

So, I think I'll write about not being gracious first.

One of the things I like about Sue (my nutritionist) is that we are able to talk about all of the feelings surrounding the eating and she has a great many ways of explaining exactly how I feel. When she said that when we start making changes, we're not always the most gracious about it, it really just hit me. We went on to further discuss it because it opened up a realization in me -- that in the past when I have started making changes to better myself, my history is to assume this strange mantle of defiant entitlement with little regard to those around me.

I think it works with any changes. It works with taking better care of your body, learning to stand up for yourself and asking for what you want, surrounding yourself with what's true to you. With me, I think it gives me this excuse in my subconscious to just run roughshod over everything and everyone.

I've been having some difficulty lately with forgiving a friend and ex-roommate of mine with whom I had a major falling-out about three years ago. It's a long unresolved argument, mostly because neither of us were the sort to argue and had no idea how to swallow pride and come back together to work things out. The problem is that she's still friends, or at least online acquaintances, with many of my close friends -- including my boyfriend.

There are so many ways in which Not Being Gracious applies to my relationship with this woman, and that's why Sue's words were so immediately resonant.

When we had the fight, I was just about at rock-bottom with my drinking. I'd been drinking heavily (at least 5-6 drinks every night; a sober or non-hungover 24 hour stretch was extremely rare) for about three years, ever since I'd broken off my engagement. While the main fight that resulted in my break with my friend/roommate didn't revolve around the drinking, I can't imagine it had been very easy to live with me. After she left, I stopped drinking and started going to AA meetings a few weeks afterward. This part of Not Being Gracious doesn't have directly to do with her, but our fight was one of the main reasons I went to that place.

When I was getting sober, I felt like I deserved special treatment. While the work I was doing to get sober was tough, in retrospect I was a pain. I felt that people should walk on eggshells around me because I was a total mess. At work, I felt that they should work my schedule around the AA meetings that I wanted to go to. I lashed out at a lot of people because all of a sudden I was feeling the pain I'd been numbing for three years. And I felt so much emotional pain, so much that it blurred every interaction with people. I caused drama without knowing it, like when I went to a party and had to leave after 25 minutes because I felt like I was hyperventilating with how much I wanted a drink. I knew that I was just asking for what I needed, but looking back, I think I must have appeared very clumsy.

I've sent a couple of emails to my ex-friend in the last year or so to try to wave the white flag, to admit that I knew it mustn't have been easy to live with me, to tell her that I missed her so much that it hurt sometimes. They went summarily ignored. However, she remains connected online to most of our mutual friends. What set this whole thing off was that she recently added all of them to her Myspace page, which infuriated me. It felt like a slap in the face, because when they added her back, it felt like tacit approval of the way that she treated me oh so long ago.

But the thing is, I'm not sure anyone really knew how terribly hurt I had been. I vented about a few things, but I was hurt much more than I'd let on, because she and I had been great friends before the falling-out, and because there's all this other crap wrapped up in this, abandonment stuff, mainly. I never asked for what I needed with this. I never asked people to understand. And so, when I freaked out about it this week, I fought with my boyfriend, who was somewhat blindsided. (It was during this fight that I exclaimed I would probably be better off alone, which further confused both the matter and my boyfriend.) I was going to vent to my best friend and then realized she had also been added and added back, and so I fired off an email written in a total fit of pique, asking her how she could possibly betray me like this, and would she keep people on her friends list who had walked up to me and punched me in the stomach, and what the hell, really?

We talked about it later, and she told me that to her, online spaces don't really matter all that much, not as much as they obviously do to me. She gave me an explanation and we worked it out, but I made sure to profusely apologize. Going back and reading that email, it was like a stranger had written it. Clumsy, irate, shaky. It's rare that I call people out, and obviously somewhere I felt like I needed to -- but did I call the right person out? Did I do it with language that would have attracted a solution without hurting feelings? No. Ungracious.

I find a lot of entitlement feelings with the food thing, too, and I have to be careful that I'm not crossing other people's boundaries when I talk about things I'm doing and I have to make sure that I'm not trying to make situations revolve around myself. That's a mixture of the asking for what I want and the whole better living through proper diet and exercise thing.

I used to liken this whole situation to a sapling tied to the ground by its top. Imagine cutting the string and the way that the sapling would swing back and forth for a while before finally righting itself. That's how I felt, like I knew that I was wildly out of control with finding my ground, and I didn't want to hurt people but knew that I was. Maybe it's that all I knew was being out of control, and I'd removed the actual intoxicant from the equation and my body just hadn't caught up yet. I certainly know that I transferred a lot of the time I spent drinking into time spent eating; my fast food thing didn't really take off until after I stopped drinking, and in the last three years I've gained 60 pounds.

I'm not sure if this non-graciousness is something that can be avoided. I keep thinking learning to walk and how awkward it is -- falling, running into things, bursting into frustrated tears, being so distractedly fascinated by what's happening with the legs that everything else gets ignored. But perhaps if I can at least give what I know about this to the people closest to me, it might be a little easier to get through. I won't use it as an excuse; it is my full intention to be as mindful as possible, but I want to explain in advance that I'll be a bit wobbly at first, and to take my outbursts with a grain of salt, or at least to confront me with how uncharacteristic of me they are.

As for my friend, I miss her terribly. I sent her another email explaining my hurt that this hasn't resolved, and I haven't gotten anything back, as usual. This might be something I just have to forgive and forget without ever having gotten an explanation for it. And that's hard.

To be covered later...

2006-08-30T23:05:00.000-07:00

Want to get these two things out of my head so I can go into them at a later time, when I'm not so tired:

1.) Working with Molly Groger's Eating Awareness Training, having been lent it by my nutritionist. So far, I like it. But it's going to be a lot of patient work, which is not a strength of mine.

2.) My nutritionist (who has this address and may be dropping by -- Hi, Sue!) articulated something that I have known for years but have never been able to properly express (fittingly): That when we start making changes we're not always gracious about it.

Okay, I need sleep, and though I am tempted to write further, I am saving it for another time.

The essential pain.

2006-08-29T11:03:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine stayed with us last night as she was apartment hunting in Seattle, and we had a lovely chat over coffee this morning for a few hours. She reminded me of something that a therapist told me about a long time ago, and that is the essential pain -- the idea that there is pain that we as humans just have to go through, and often going through it helps us to change. I've lost sight of that in the last few years, even though I'd become quite familiar with it in myriad circumstances. I think it's avoiding this pain that makes me eat -- that's the numbness I'm seeking.

The trouble is, now, I have to figure out what that pain is, exactly. Fear of being alone? Fear of confrontation? Fear of failure? Fear of regret? Every moment I don't move because I'm paralyzed by the choices I have to make, I'm still making a choice. I'm still making a choice to stay where I am, and that choice will present its own essential pain to work through down the road. Right now I'm working through the essential pain of a lifetime of choices -- to stop exercising, to binge. And now, that pain has become physical and not just psychic. Maybe that's why I'm finally paying attention to it.

I have so much work to do. I've been having problems in my relationships, with trusting, with accepting love. I feel like I've been cutting off my nose to spite my face. Last night in the middle of an argument with M. I just blurted, "Maybe I'm just better off alone!" He looked at me and said, "What does that mean?" I don't know. Why did I say it? It's not what I want. But I've spent so much time not sticking up for myself and asking for what I want in life that food has been the only available thing that submits to my will without question.

Head is very swirly today. I feel like there's a hurricane made of light and noise and sweat and work and joy on the horizon, and right now all the animals in my head are running around crazy in anticipation.

It's fast, it's convenient, it's... killing me.

2006-08-24T11:29:00.000-07:00

So, I just spent the last hour updating my finances, balancing my ledgers, and getting ready to mail bills off. I noticed in my ledger (I keep it in Excel) that there were quite a few entries for fast food restaurants, so out of curiosity, I decided to tally all the money I spent at fast food restaurants since January 1st of this year. (Given that I have what I believe amounts to a fast food addiction, I decided just to stick to this year, so as not to send myself into a complete La Brea Tar Pit of self-loathing.)

$975.10. That's not counting cash, which I've used on many occasions. Jack in the Box, Burger King, and a local fast food place called Kidd Valley topped the charts, with Wendy's, McDonald's, and Taco Bell trailing behind. Interestingly, Jack in the Box and Burger King are closest to my house and to work, respectively.

I'm still paying off a lot of that money. Some of it is on credit cards. When I get in a binge, I don't see anything but the binge. I don't see the fact that I'm paying for that cheeseburger six months down the road, in more ways than one. All I see is that I'm going to grab all that food, arrange it on the coffee table in front of me, and eat it, methodically, until I ache so much everywhere that I can stop listening to whatever it is that's making me feel empty.

I didn't do this to punish myself, but to bring reality into the picture. I'm trying to find the balance between avoiding moralizing my choices and being strict with myself because I need it right now. Food has crossed over the line for from nourishment to a drug. I wish I could say otherwise, but it's true. This is not about me being larger than the average girl. I feel secure in saying that 300 pounds is way too much for a woman of 5'6" to weigh. It has crossed from comfort to pathology.

In the Nutrition class that I just finished (with a 4.0, surprisingly) one of the required books was Eric Schlosser's Fast Food Nation. I wish that I could say that hearing about all the terrible practices, both in meat processing and the way that fast food chains treat their employees, kept me from going to eat there. But I'm the crazy person who CRAVED fast food after watching Super Size Me. It's like there is an utter disconnect between what I am doing to myself and what seems to comfort me in the short term.

I remember watching Oprah one day, and Dr. Robin was on, and they were talking about the things women do that are violent to themselves. Smoking, overspending, drugs. Bingeing yourself to 300 pounds was also one of them. That makes so much sense to me, because here's the thing: I am so detached from what I'm doing that it is truly like someone else is abusing my body. I don't say this to disavow responsibility for what I've done, because later I "wake up" and realize it, and I am very in touch with the fact that I ate myself to this state.

I truly believe that my real me is strong and lithe and healthy and likes to go kayaking and hiking and running all of the city doing interesting and life-affirming things.

Who I am now cannot do that. I can't go places for very long because I'm not sure how tired I'll be, how long it'll be before I hurt. I had to stop volunteering at a food bank because standing for two hours in a row hurt so bad that I always came straight home and fell asleep. I've avoided more than one situation because I'm worried about my interaction with the crowds of people there. I am terrified about my brother's wedding and drawing attention away from the bride.

That is not the real me. I don't care how gentle with myself I need to be. I can do that. But that it not me, and I need to do everything in my power to get me closer to that real me.

I am not ready for this test.

2006-08-21T10:52:00.000-07:00

In a couple of hours, I'm supposed to go to a bridal shoppe (you know that's how it's spelled) and try on a bridesmaid's dress. I'm in my brother's wedding in November. I don't really want to be in the wedding because I hate getting up in front of people. I hate Being Seen. And now, not only am I going to Be Seen, I'm going to Be Seen in comparison with three other tiny bridesmaids and my brother's tiny bride, who weighs about one-third what I do.

The thing is that I don't know her very well. For a friend of mine, someone I loved and was happy for, I wouldn't mind doing this. This just feels like a chore for me, and no matter how many hints I drop to my brother, he doesn't get it.

I am so messed up in the head about my body, and I feel like I'm being thrown into very deep water, here. I don't even have anyone to go to the bridal shoppe with me. I'm going by myself, throwing myself to what could very possibly be bridal shoppe wolves, and I feel like I'm going to my own execution.

I know, drama queen. But my heart really is hurting about this. I wish that standing up for myself here didn't mean refusing to be in my brother's wedding and hurting him. I wish I could just get over it.

Days go by.

2006-08-20T21:53:00.000-07:00

This weekend was . . . okay. My best friend's birthday party was on Friday night and I got drunk on French 75s and didn't really eat much of anything besides two havarti sandwiches the next day. Today was a wedding shower for one of the girls at work, at my office manager's house, and we had grilled salmon, which was good, but I ate too much bread and potato salad. I wasn't thinking about it, at all. I just ate. And talked to people.

Matt has promised to go shopping on his way home from work tonight to, as he put it this afternoon, "increase the biodiversity of our food stores." (God, I love that man.)

Tomorrow morning I'm going to Hydrofit.

Possible problem...

2006-08-18T12:02:00.000-07:00

So far, things are going wonderfully. I've run into a couple of snags, though, but they just need to be worked through.

I've spent so long not communicating with myself that I fear I've forgotten how. I'm not sure I ever actually listened to myself, so it's learning an entirely new skill. All my intuition has always applied to other people. It's hard to let it apply to myself. I'm a person who gives wonderful advice to others but cannot follow it herself.

Last night, feeling poorly and tired and really, really hungry, I ordered a pizza to share with Matt, and I ate until I felt so full that I felt like vomiting long into the night. I remember as I was eating to try to recall my attempts at intuition and also to remember what I'd learned from the nutrition book -- about the signals of hunger going off, about how sometimes they can take 20 minutes to work. I think I listened for them for a little while and then sort of let it slide and ignored them, the sound of chewing too loud in my head to hear anything else. This is going to take a lot more work than I'd thought.

I think what it was is that I was a bit hungover. I'd gone out with friends on a weeknight, which is not something I usually do, and I'd had a few French 75s. I recently started drinking alcohol again after an almost 3 year abstinence (a reset button I desperately needed, as I'd been on a four year tear that just led to a very many bad things). I think that the Day After feelings probably hindered my ability to focus, so that's something to keep in mind.

I have to remember that this won't happen overnight. And I have to learn to find the balance between being disciplined and having grace for myself. I'm hoping that the new approach will work for me; I'm worried that I need to find something more structured for the initial period of becoming healthy. At a weight that causes me so much pain and unhealthiness, am I willing and/or able to give myself so much working room? Or is that something that I should leave for when I am out of the woods? Because that's what I truly feel -- that I am sick and need to become better, and when I am out of the woods, then the therapy of a more structured weight loss system can be replaced by the intuition.

We'll see. In the place I am now, I'm beginning to believe that intuition might not work, because my body, used to large amounts of fast food, will tell me that it wants more fast food.

Fruits and vegetables. Whole grains. Healthy fats.

It's so overwhelming.

More about the new approach.

2006-08-16T10:37:00.000-07:00

After I wrote that post, I was surfing around and found Every Woman Has An Eating Disorder. Strange that after all this time reading several body-centric blogs that I would find this just now. A lot of what she says is important to my changed perspective, and I wanted to record that here.

Even in my last entry I mentioned days when I'm being "good" and days when I'm "bad" -- and I need to stop that. It places a moralization on food consumption that does my self-image and self-esteem no favors, really. What I need to do, instead, is to learn to listen to my body's cues, to stop cutting that voice inside me off when it's telling me either that she's full and she doesn't need anymore, or that she really, really would love a burger right now. I think this will go a long way toward my acceptance of myself regardless of weight, and it will help me long term in becoming healthy.

That really is my main goal. At 300 pounds, my body cries out for help every day. But what I'm working on accepting is that I may never weigh under 200 pounds. At 200 pounds, my body may be strong and lithe (it was exactly those things at 180, in high school -- and one thing the nutritionist would not allow me to do is set a goal weight similar to a weight I maintained in high school).

This has become a long, slow process, and it will become more about the person I am meant to become than it ever has before.

I have updated the sidebar. The listings of starting weight, current weight, and goal weight have disappeared, along with any mention in my goals of a weight-related goal. Instead, the goals are spirit- and event-related, and I really want to keep it that way.

For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, I don't feel disordered about food. This undertaking doesn't feel like a chore, but a journey. I've called it a journey before, but I think I was lying to myself, like about so many other things.

An interesting development.

2006-08-15T22:53:00.000-07:00

I did something strange today, for someone who's trying to lose weight. I quit Weight Watchers. Canceled my online account. Quit the WW related LJ communities. Put away the 5 lb. bookmark that's been hanging out on my fridge without getting anything added to it. I'm going to try something different.

I've been taking this nutrition class this semester to fulfill one of my science credits for my AA degree. I've been doing it online, and we're using Eleanor Noss Whitney & Sharon Rady Rolfes' Understanding Nutrition. The book is really well written, especially for those of us writing blogs called Not Anymore who are not particularly science-minded. It's got a great tone and illuminates several things that I did not know before.

Truth is, I took this class thinking it would be a breeze because as an overweight woman I felt I'd been bombarded for years with the food pyramid and serving sizes and 5-a-day and 12 essential vitamins and minerals and fat-carbs-protein aigh! But what happened was the most interesting thing -- it was much, much more difficult than I'd ever given credit for, and I've actually learned quite a bit. Along with reading in the book, the instructor has had us working with a software that came with the book called Diet Analysis Plus. It works with a huge database of foods and not only analyzes your diet for the macronutrients (fat, carbs, protein) but also for vitamins and minerals as well.

It inspired me, actually, to see a nutritionist. My health insurance covers four yearly visits, and I had my first appointment about a week ago, and I'll be following up with her in another two weeks. The first appointment was very simple, 90 minutes of telling her what I eat ("good" days I eat pretty well, "bad" days I keep the fast food industry in business), what I like to eat and what I hate to eat, how I exercise, where I shop, how I feel at different times of the day. When I asked her about how many calories I should be eating, she refused to give me a number. She wanted, instead, for me to spend the following three weeks making sure to get protein with every meal (I didn't have a consistent pattern of doing so and it would help with feeling so damned hungry all the time), making better food choices since I already sort of know what I'm doing (as evidenced by my "good" days), and ramping up with physical activity.

The whole inspiration didn't kick in, though, until a couple of days ago when I was studying the diet and exercise chapters of my nutrition book. It really broke it all down to the biology and chemistry of what happens when I eat certain things, what my body uses for fuel at different times, how I could help or harm my body, and what, really, I am terribly at risk for because I weigh 300 pounds.

The kicker was that the book stressed the fact that because I am obese, my battle to lose weight is nearly as much against my own body as against temptation. After weight loss, activity of the enzyme lipoprotein lipase, which promotes fat storage in both adipose and muscle cells, increases, and it does so most dramatically in those who were fattest prior to weight loss. I also learned about set-point theory: after weight gains or losses the body adjust its metabolism so as to restore the original weight. The book went on to suggest that perhaps that's why people plateau after a while -- because the body has to adjust to a new set point and not keep trying to go back to the higher one. And because fat cells shrink but they don't go away, someone who's been fat has to work even harder all her life to keep weight off after losing it than someone who's never been fat.

So it's not a matter of just putting down the fork and getting off the couch. If it were that easy, everyone who so desperately wanted to be thin would be thin by now. I swear it's true. If it were desire, I would have done it. If there was one thing I could make known to everyone, it's that. That I desperately don't want to live life this way, and that I am ashamed of what my body has become, and I just can't seem to make my body bend to my own will.

Well, I haven't been able to, anyway. Not for very long. Yet.

The book spends time talking about the social consequences and psychological problems associated with obesity, and how it's kind of the last bastion of acceptable prejudice. It also proposes a kindler, gentler approach, one that advises a 10% body weight loss in six months. A year ago, I was pushing to lose that much in three months, eager to get my 10% keychain and get to tackling the next 10%. I would see women so upset about the fact that it had been five months and they were just then getting to 10%.

And there's this: "Parents and friends may scold [obese people] for lacking the discipline to resolve their weight problems." When I get all gangbusters on this weight loss thing, my boyfriend sees me go great for six months, have tremendous losses, and then lose all steam and return to my ways and gain it all back and more. He's frustrated because he wants me to be happy and I'm slowly killing myself instead. I think with the new approach it will be slower, but I will be able to stick to it more, and that will equal longer-term success and happiness.

I don't have anything against WW. It's worked for me in the past. But I want to do a more whole-health approach to this thing. I want to cook beautiful, healthy meals. I don't want to count all the fun out of everything. I don't want to thumb through recipes with brand names like Kraft 2% or Cool Whip Lite or anything; I want to make things real. I want to do this slowly, and live my life, and just get active and healthy and alive.

So, I'm still in for a lot of work, and I'm still going to keep this blog, but you might see a different tone. It's not about points and pounds. It's about how I feel. I may check in with weight every once in a while, but that remains to be seen. I'm not going to watch Celebrity Fit Club or The Biggest Loser. I'm going to stop obsessing about before and after pictures.

I need to be okay with food and not obsess about it in any regard, whether it be the regard that makes me put on weight or the one that makes me lose it.

What is it, really?

2006-07-31T13:15:00.000-07:00

Caeriel Crestin is my favorite, favorite horoscope writer. I used to follow Rob Brezsny's Free Will Astrology, but I much prefer Caeriel's Sign Language, mostly because Caeriel does not pull any punches and has, on many occasions, brought me kicking and screaming into reality. Which, of course, is funny considering it's astrology and most people don't associate the two.

I suppose I like to think of Caeriel as more of a motivational speaker. Witness this week's 'scope:

Pisces (Feb. 19–March 20)

I dreamed that you had asthma you were deliberately cultivating and worsening (by smoking). When I woke up, I looked for evidence that you might be doing stuff to intensify or aggravate your suffering, and I certainly found some. Where are these masochistic urges coming from? Are they your self-generated excuses for not doing something brilliant and fantastic with your life? Sure, many things in your life outside of your control don't work out the way you wish they would. But if you're not making quite the progress you desire at the moment, I have to tell you: You really have no one to blame but yourself.

Um, yeah. So what is it, exactly, my self-generated excuses are for? What am I afraid of getting to if I accomplish my goal? Is it that feeling like this is an known quantity over which I have no control? Meaning, yeah, I feel shittier every day but I can convince myself that I'm not doing it to myself?

I'm in constant pain these days. I've crossed the threshold, I think I've mentioned, from where it sucks for a week or so when I first work out to where the pain is so bad when I work out that it keeps me from doing more.

I feel like I want to go to Fat Camp. Take two weeks off, cash out my savings, and go to fat camp and get all my reset buttons pushed. In other fantasies, someone buys me a gym-quality elliptical so I can watch all my television shows while working out instead of while horizontal. In still another, I get duodenal-switch surgery and my health doesn't suffer.

My fantasies are growing more and more complex, and more and more expensive. I label them the things standing in my way, making them more and more impossible.

More than anything, my heart hurts, but feel like all my emotions are shoved under layers of fat and food. I can't even cry about it. I feel like I'm physically unable to cry.

Photo horror.

2006-07-23T11:45:00.000-07:00

So, my mother sent me photos from the party via email this morning. I had resigned myself to having photos taken of me, trying to put it out of my mind that I felt I was ruining everyone's memories by being this huge hulking (brightly-colored) mass in the middle of the picture, and I let them snap away.

The sad part is that I look like a very pretty morbidly obese woman. Some of the photos capture me having a great time. In one I am smiling wanly while standing with my boyfriend and my parents at the end of the evening.

After seeing the photos, it took me two hours to convince myself to eat anything at all, even though I felt so hungry this morning. But I know that not eating breakfast is worse than eating breakfast, so I tried to choose healthy things that would keep me full for a while and proceeded. Two eggs, two slices of 20 grain toast, a nectarine, and a quarter of a cantaloupe.

It hurts to walk. It hurts to bend down. It hurts to sit for too long. I'm constantly twice as warm as everyone else. I can't fit into booths. I panicked about how full the flight would be last weekend, and as it was, I had to get a seatbelt extender. Clothes don't fit right. I get terribly winded climbing the three flights of stairs to our apartment.

I was thinking about it today, and I worry that I don't have enough fight left in me to do this. When I was in the 260s-270s, I would hit the gym, and it would suck for the first few days, but I was able to ramp up pretty quickly and kick ass. Now, at just under 300 pounds, the thought of going to the gym frankly terrifies me. I'm going to start the Hydrofit classes at the local pool tomorrow morning at 10 AM. But I am truly afraid that I have crossed some sort of threshold that will require surgical intervention to come back across.

Life is not fun like this. It used to be that I could convince myself that life was okay even if I got weird stares and the occasional abusive comment from a stranger. At this point, though, I feel like my heart is broken, along with the rest of my body.

Fits and starts...

2006-07-21T10:29:00.000-07:00

I did really well yesterday -- for a while. I ate about every four hours, and I stuck to my menu. And then I crashed -- even though I ate my pasta salad with a tomato and a nectarine at about 5, by 8 I was so hungry that I was unable to resist the siren call of the Burger King down the road. This is going to be tougher than it ever has been; I feel as though every cell of my body has now been programmed to need fast food. It sounds ridiculous, I know -- it FEELS ridiculous. I'm trying not to beat myself up about it, just trying to get back on the horse after flinging myself so wildly off of it.

On a roll with cooking.

2006-07-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I prepared menus for three days. I thought I would do it for a week, but it was too much all at once, especially for someone easily distracted. So I promised I would do three days at a time. That way I shop for fresher ingredients, too.

I'm someone who can eat leftovers -- there are folks who can't, who need to have something different at every meal. I don't even mind eating the same thing for lunch and dinner.

Last night I made a zucchini-tomato torta from Kathleen Daeleman's Getting Thin and Loving Food and it was absolutely delicious. Thin slices of zucchini, roasted in a small amount of olive oil, and layered with a tomato basil sauce and parmesan & skim mozzarella. It was 7P per serving, which is a good dinner amount. I ate it with a side salad.

I also made a tuna pasta salad with rotini, drained water-packed tuna, light mayo, non-fat yogurt, capers, scallions, roasted red peppers, lemon juice, and Tabasco. It's a thing of beauty and is 8P per serving, which is a big one at 1.5 cups. Of course, it made six servings and my boyfriend's a vegetarian, so I'll be eating this stuff for the next 3 days. I plan to serve it over a couple of cups of spinach.

Cooking makes me feel empowered. I must do more of it.

I hate writing titles for this thing.

2006-07-19T11:38:00.000-07:00

I need to find a way to make posts without a need for titles on this thing. Maybe I'll write in a stylized date? I don't know. I always feel stuck when it comes to writing titles. I used to write titles in the form of song lyrics on my other journal, back when I was very much into music and listened to it non-stop while I was at work. Maybe it's because I can't do that anymore that I'm not as inspired.

Things are okay. I swing back and forth between living without fear and being petrified. Last week Matt and I went to a huge party that my parents threw in celebration of their 60th birthdays and their 40th wedding anniversary. It was at a country club down in California, a really nice one, and it was hard for me because it was very hot outside and I felt like a great lumbering hippo compared to everyone else that was running around there. At the pool I managed only to strip off my top but I kept my peasant skirt on; I didn't make it into the pool because just as I had decided to do so a gaggle of Country Club Teenagers gathered to hang out around the pool and I was all self-conscious. I'm 29 years old, for godsakes! Why do I care? But, yeah. I chose instead to swelter.

The party was so much fun. The food was awesome, four courses of the most beautifully made and presented food in small amounts, that all added up to quite the meal but made it so that I was not overfull. A citrus salad with spinach and hearts of palm, a wasabi-encrusted salmon with sticky rice and baby bok choy, and Kobe beef (!!) in a wine sauce, with a kiwi strawberry tart with cardamom consomme for dessert. Absolutely gorgeous and quite the food experience.

My boyfriend's parents were there and there were a lot of people that I hadn't seen in years, so it was both great fun and also very scary. It's hard being as big as I am; I have crossed the border into supersized and it's terrifying to face people who knew me when I was athletic and muscular and trim. Many of them didn't even recognize me, and while my mother kept saying it's because my hair is a gothy shade of purple instead of the sun-kissed blonde I sported in my youth, I know it's because I'm 125 pounds heavier than when many of these people saw me last.

Nonetheless, I went shopping, found beautifully bright-colored clothes that would fit in with the Hawaiian theme of the party, and made the most of it. Now I am back on earth and am ready to attack this pathology anew. I ordered swimsuits from Junonia so that I could start aquajogging at the local pool, and Matt and I went for a walk this morning. (His parents just gave us their old car, and he informed me this morning that he would be pushing for us to exercise more so he didn't "marshmallow up" now that he won't be walking as much as one does when one takes the bus everywhere.) I must now do some menu planning and then hit the grocery store after work to get on the stick about the whole cooking at home thing. (An aside: A friend of mine wrote this great Associated Content article about cooking at home that deserves a look.)

It's time to get to work.

Un vie sans peur.

2006-07-05T20:50:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I decided I was going to have "un vie sans peur" ("a life without fear") tattoo'd on me in a typewriter font, but I got distracted and haven't pursued it yet. Truth is, I haven't decided where I want to put it yet. My first inclination is to have it done very small on my inner left wrist, so that it could be covered with a watch if I needed to, because part of me worries about getting a job with a wrist tattoo. Which is funny, considering the sentiment.

I also decided that every time I learned a new foreign language, I would have the same phrase done in a different font. All black ink.

The day I decided I wanted the tattoo was a hard one. I've been really struggling with the physical pain of my morbid obesity and the way it interacts with the emotional pain that I want to stifle with food. I've never been able to place why, exactly, I let myself get to this point, but I know that I believe it is a pathology of some sort. I don't know if that's the right word, but I don't think we were made to weigh 300 pounds.

I remember watching Oprah and her new head doc lady, Dr. Robin, talk about how things like overeating and drinking to excess and smoking and overspending and inactivity were violence to our bodies. I believe it. I believe it is true. I was always confused about where my need to eat came from, but honestly, here I am, pushing 30, and the only abuse I can really credit at this point is my own.

But the day I decided I wanted the tattoo, I managed to bypass the drive-thru on the way home by silently chanting, "un vie sans peur, un vie sans peur, sans peur, sans peur," until I was safely behind closed doors in close range of healthful food. And I remember being amazed that it had taken me so long to find my talisman in this fight, but really it's not all that amazing. That's the price of mindlessness.

So I think it will be on my wrist after all. Very small. Six-point type, maybe eight. I need this first one where I can hold it to my lips, as though it will guard the gate of my cavernous mouth, as though the words will slide in and nestle in my empty space until the empty space stops screaming.

Dark days, take two.

2006-07-04T16:08:00.000-07:00

As I've mentioned before, summer is glorious in Seattle. But I have sunk to a dark place that I'm only beginning to come out of.

I haven't weighed myself officially, but the last time I got on my scale in my bathroom, it said my weight was 298.5 pounds. If you look over the right, you can see what kind of weight gain that represents in the last couple of months. It's also the highest weight I've ever been, the closest to 300 pounds ever. I am terrified, both that I have gotten to this place and that I won't be able leave it, that I will, in fact, sink deeper into it.

I'm now to the point that hurts just to exist. I can't sit or stand in place for longer than about 20 minutes before my body starts to complain. After half an hour, it becomes an emergency to switch my position. I am in constant pain, though I don't talk about it much.

I know all the things I need to do to change my predicament. It is a matter of doing them. Just doing them.

I am stocked with good groceries, lots of healthy vegetables and pantry items to build good, healthful meals. I have bought two cookbooks by Kathleen Daelemans and a mandoline slicer. I have shoes in which to exercise. I have a gym membership and 22 more personal training sessions. I have a supportive boyfriend. I have a pretty open schedule.

So what's wrong with me?

I feel like I'm a 45 stuck on repeat.

I have a friend (I've mentioned her before) that had gastric bypass surgery last year. And now I can't talk to her without her pretty much telling me I'm unable to do this on my own and that I NEED this tool in order to succeed at weight loss. When I insist that I haven't given it my all, she always says I have. I have, but only for three weeks at a time or so. She sees my initial good, strong efforts and thinks that's how it always goes, like the first three weeks of this blog. And it always works. When I set my mind to it, it always works. Always.

So. I'm going to write down all the goals again.

Fast food is only allowed if it is a salad or a low-fat sandwich from Subway. No more fast food burgers. If I want a burger, I have to make it myself.
Cook more.
Go to the gym more.
Lather, rinse, repeat.

I'm just tired of living this way.

How tired to I have to be?

Things progress.

2006-05-03T12:29:00.000-07:00

I'm doing okay. Have been able to get myself a bit out of the depression that was ruling my life. My back is still messed up, but I've been managing it with pain medication. Fortunately, it's back to sunny in Seattle after a few rainy days, so I'm having some help with the depression.

I wasn't going to buy any clothes while I was this heavy, but even with some clothes given to me by my friend who had weight-loss surgery, I don't have a lot of stuff for the summer, and I've been suffering in long-sleeve black. So, after I eat lunch today, I'm gonna head over to Avenue and use the coupons I got in the mail.

Speaking of eating, I'm doing a bit better. I think I just needed to take the pressure off myself. I want to continue to see how this works. I think I might start tracking stuff online on Monday, but I think I'm gonna pass on meetings for the next while.

The sun has come to Seattle.

2006-04-25T12:27:00.000-07:00

It's friggin' gorgeous outside. It's impossible to be depressed in Seattle when the sunny season arrives. I've spent two of the last three days basking in the sun at Green Lake. In fact, now that I've eaten lunch, I may take my homework over there and do it again, since we have to take every opportunity we have here.

First, I'd like to thank everyone who comments here. I don't think I know any of you in real life (I haven't shared this blog's address with anyone I know or anyone who reads my day-to-day blog, which is here, if anyone wants to read it.) But many of you have posted very encouraging comments even after knowing me through just reading my few entries, and I really am grateful.

Second, the epidural injection that I had on Thursday didn't work. I'm still in a lot of pain. I've heard it can take more than one to work, so I have to go through the rigamarole of setting up the appointment, getting time off, etc. again to see if it works. I just need relief! It's only a temporary fix, but I feel like I will be able to have the cylinders to use in concentrating on getting fit and healthy once I can get this constant pain silenced.

Third, I think I might actually try a different tactic with the food. Instead of going to Weight Watchers, I think I will:

Eat fresh, organic food from the outer ring of the grocery store.
Try to get at least a half hour walk each day, starting slow at first, as pain allows.
Get a pass to start with aqua jogging classes at the local pool.
Work on drinking at least 64 oz. of water every day.
Cut out fast food entirely.

As those of you who took me up on the offer to go read my other blog will have read already, I wrote today about how I have that weird brand of perfectionism that means things are All or Nothing. The trouble is, I most often err on the side of Nothing, which is the problem. I think that I need to be more gracious yet still firm with myself, and allow myself in the in-between.

Oh, fuck.

2006-04-22T10:22:00.000-07:00

I weighed in. I gained it all back plus exactly ten pounds.

I had the injection on Thursday, and I can't tell if it worked yet. Sometimes I'm pain-free, others (like now), it rages.

I've been bingeing for weeks. I am distraught, in pain, can't feel me.

I'm closer to 300 pounds than I've ever been. This is the heaviest I have ever been.

Dark days.

2006-04-12T08:54:00.000-07:00

I am just having a really, really hard time. I've eaten until I'm sick and then I want to eat more. What am I looking for that I'm missing? Extra time that I don't have? Painless moments? Why does my brain/body make the assumption that the food will give those to me?

I am terrified right now, and I'm not sure when I'll have time to catch up.

Yet another "I'm still here" post.

2006-04-07T23:04:00.000-07:00

Things have gone from bad to worse. Along with the fucked-up-ness of my lower back, I have additional and similar fucked-up-ness in my neck. I had another MRI because my shoulder's been bugging me with pain that goes all the way down to my left hand and has been pretty constant for almost four weeks now. The second MRI confirmed that I have another disc problem in my neck right at about where you'd expect it to be if it was affecting my shoulder this badly.

What this means is that everything about my life has changed. I have to change the way I look at exercise, finding ways to do both cardio and strength-training that do not run the risk of straining those discs any further. That is, when I'm up for getting back into actually being able to move. School started this week and I've been adjusting to just being able to get to school and get between classes, etc. I'm juggling full-time school (which amounts to 15 hours in class weekly and 25-30 hours of homework weekly), half-time work (24 hours weekly, the minimum I can work and still keep my health insurance, which I desperately need at this point), two weekly physical therapy appointments at an hour each, and a weekly chiropractic & massage appointment at 2 hours each. Plus I actually have to find time to kiss my boyfriend once in a while.

I'm supposed to have a cortisone shot to my neck next week, which hopefully will knock out the pain so I can get back to being active and resuming my weight loss efforts. This is the most difficult part of this -- that old gym fear has now blossomed to any activity whatsoever. I freak out a little bit even if I feel a sneeze coming on, because it could mean being laid up for a week. But once the pain is under control (currently it's controlled only by regular sedating doses of Percocet and Flexeril -- a muscle relaxant -- and let me tell you: this one-two punch of a narcotic cocktail does wonders for my writing assignments) I am going to start going to the local pool for water-based exercise. I'm also hoping to find some help with rehabilitative Pilates sessions with a local instructor who comes highly recommended.

So, life has not been fun. Life is all kinds of upside down for me. Every day is different and I can't plan things too far in advance because I never know how bad the pain will be. Last night I almost took a pharmacy assistant's head off because my doctor had mistakenly signed the "fill as prescribed" line for my pain medication prescription, and my normally $15 refill amounted to $80 for brand-name drugs. I apologized profusely and she understood. I felt like crying. (I call them my boutique drugs, which amuses me a little bit, for what it's worth.)

I know that right now my body is cashing checks that I wrote when I was drinking. During that time (about a five year span) I fell down stairs more times than anyone really should fall down stairs in their entire lifetime. I was also the front-seat passenger in a very large late-night freeway head-on collision that I thought I'd escaped unscathed.

But the old ghosts have been rattling their chains.

I have been solacing myself with food. I know this to be the wrong thing to do and yet I continue to do it. My clothes aren't fitting right and I'm dreading facing the closet every morning. A friend who had gastric bypass in November is going to let me go through her larger clothes, so at least I can save a tiny bit of my pride by not actually having to shell out the skrilla for larger sizes I hope to not spend much time in.

My goal in the coming week is to just stop eating fast food. That it is so much bigger than it seems. It's my last vice, really. If I can just stop doing that, it'll be a major step.

And to think that in this very blog I was enumerating the evils of that ciabatta burger... lately it's been comforting me on a pretty regular basis.

Anyway, I am still here, and plan to continue writing, even if it's in fits and starts to begin. The Percocet makes me talkative while I'm on it, so having this outlet might be a good way to bring some stuff out of me.

I am still here. I swear.

2006-03-17T19:45:00.000-08:00

I'm here. I know this blog exists. I look at it every once in a while, reading back through the posts from when I was doing so well.

I had an MRI. In my lumbar spine, I have one herniated disc and three bulging discs with tears in them. The pain has been better. But I am really, really depressed. And when I am depressed, I eat. I eat and eat and eat and eat. I eat until it hurts.

I need to get back on track because the weight isn't helping my back. I know it's not.

I actually started browsing weight loss surgery websites today. I don't think I'm ready to start seriously considering it, but when I feel really down and helpless I think about it a little.

I know what to do. I gotta sit down and set some rules for myself. I also need to research ways to exercise that won't fuck up my back.

I don't know what's standing in my way. Why am I so afraid to be what I want to be?

Things are rough all over.

2006-03-01T09:21:00.000-08:00

Life has been kicking me in the ass. Repeatedly. While wearing pointy boots.

My back is still having a lot of problems. I haven't had the MRI yet because my doctor, from whom I need a referral, has been on vacation. The referral has finally been written and hopefully I can get an appointment soon.

The pain meds I've been taking for the back problem have made me really depressed, despite my faithfully taking my Prozac. And when I'm depressed, I eat. The last two weeks have been a blur of take-out and delivered food. My boyfriend and I are both very overwhelmed at school, and I'm not able to stand and cook. By the time he gets home from work we're both just knackered, so we order food. And I haven't been making the best choices.

I'm scared. I'm scared about my back, and I'm scared about the way I've been eating. I'm scared about being so depressed. My immune system is shot and I think I am coming down with a cold, in addition to all of this.

It's so hard to take care of myself when it seems like none of it works anyway.

My birthday is in less than a week. I'll be 29. I'm wayyyy too young to feel so old.

What's going on with me.

2006-02-16T13:43:00.000-08:00

Sorry I haven't posted here in the last week, but I've been facing some pretty crazy stuff. My back went out for real on Monday, after I've been fighting with it for a few weeks, and I've been totally fucked all week. I missed the Aerosmith & Lenny Kravitz concert last night, the one I've been looking forward to for two months. Midterms are this week, and I'm swimming through a Percocet swamp trying to retain information. Working out has come to a complete halt. I've got an MRI scheduled for Sunday to find out once and for all what the hell is going on in there. Surgery might be an option. If this all seems scattered and all over the place, that's because that's how I feel.

I used to think that I keep having these problems because of my weight. I'm sure that my weight exacerbates it, but looking back at every time I've started working out, my back goes out within four to six weeks. (It's nice to have various other journals that I can take a look at to try to track this.) What this is telling me is that even if my weight caused this, I'm not going to get anywhere with it.

I'm staying on track with the food, even though it is my dearest wish to comfort myself with Jack in the Box. I've continued to measure and track and even take into account the division of my food as my trainer recommended (25-30% fat, 30% protein, the rest carbs). I've been taking my vitamins. I've been drinking my water. I've been trying to move as much as I can -- staying mobile actually tends to help, but there is, of course, a limit.

Anyway, I wanted you all to know why things suddenly seemed to go offline with me. I'm trying my best to stay on track, but in the meantime, I'm having treatment and trying to figure out exactly what's wrong. Everything I've read and everything I've heard says that a microdiscectomy will better my quality of life by leaps and bounds. Surgery is scary, but worth it if I can get out of this hell I've been in for years. I want to remove the glass ceiling that keeps me from having the life I want to have. I can only imagine how great my life would be if I could get this obstacle out the way of being as active as I want to be.

I'll try to keep on top of posting, as this stuff makes me terribly, terribly angry, frustrated, and sad, and that makes me want to eat. So I just need to stay centered about it.

Sigh.

My first gain.

2006-02-11T10:33:00.000-08:00

So, I went to weigh-in this morning and found out that I gained two pounds.

I could give all sorts of excuses about why this has happened (and believe me, I have thought of a few) but honestly, though I was back on track this week, when I had that derailment it was really, really bad. I binged. A lot. So a gain of only two pounds is, frankly, a good thing. (Though I am a bit surprised, because when the trainer weighed me yesterday, I was 2 pounds down, not up.)

I'm not as discouraged by it as I could have been. The thing I'm worried about is that my back has been giving me some problems this week and it was really bad this morning after working out with the trainer yesterday. I'm worried that I will have to postpone training until my back is feeling a bit better -- but that's what always happens. I get gung-ho about doing this, and something happens with my back. I've been trying to work through it, still walking and all. But I hate that I have this hindrance. It makes me really angry, an emotion that generally makes me want to eat until I don't feel it anymore. So I just have to be really vigilant.

Luckily, my boyfriend has gotten really great at working the knots of pain out of my back. So I'll just lean on him for support a bit and keep soldiering on.

It makes all the difference.

2006-02-10T16:57:00.000-08:00

It's been gorgeous in Seattle for the last week or so -- that crisp clear coldness that we get inexplicably in the middle of winter sometimes. It's been sunny and wonderful. Nature's really getting going. It gets me going, too.

Yesterday I decided at the last minute to walk around Greenlake, a length of 2.8 miles. I grabbed my Zen, loaded up some Arcade Fire, and basked in the sun until about halfway through, when I realized the wind off the lake blasting into me on the south side of the lake was a bastard. It was cold. But it was that bracing cold. I get this kind of superiority swagger when I work out. It's not that I feel superior to anyone else. I feel superior to the me that sits and watches television for eight hours straight.

Today was my first appointment with the trainer. (I forget what the acronym was that I called him, and I recall thinking it was kind of stupid when I first used it, so I think I'll just call him my trainer until I get sick of that and come up with something equally stupid or possibly brilliant.) We did all the usual First Session routine. I could dance this bitch on Broadway, I know it so well. But, the nice news is that my body fat percentage has gone down 2.4% since last August, when he and I first worked together, and I was eight pounds down. So, it wasn't totally embarrassing, though I don't really know how having 50.2% body fat could be anything short of absolutely fucking mortifying.

The trainer is discreet, thank god, and encouraging.

Fifty point two. FIFTY POINT TWO, PEOPLE. HALF of me is fat. Disgusting, yellow, jiggly, probable-life-of-its-own-with-two-kids-a-dog-and-a-mortage FAT. I am daunted by this number, though encouraged by what it means for my "after" stories.

It's so weird, because I just don't feel this fat, except for the odd moment I catch myself off-guard in a mirror. It's strange. As a fat girl I instantly strike that pose in the mirror with my cheeks slightly sucked in, my neck lengthened, my shoulders thrown back, and my lips slightly pursed. I can't escape it. How come I never look like that in pictures? Because it's a practiced pose that accidentally became second nature, and since I'm not in control of when pictures are taken, I miss my window of opportunity to morph.

Anyway.

I am exhausted and exhilarated this afternoon. I have some cleaning to do, but damn, I feel good.

Off to it.

First day back.

2006-02-07T14:17:00.000-08:00

Today was my first day back in the gym. Due to scheduling snafu with my trainer, I didn't start today (he has Tuesdays off, and there was a miscommunication). So I just did half an hour on the elliptical instead while listening to The Gossip. What excellent work-out music.

I don't want the world
I just want what I deserve

Training starts Friday. I feel amazing today, having done this. I've missed this high.

In other, slightly related news, food is going well. I'm on top of things, and I'm finding things that are filling without being too insanely tipped in one direction or the other. Today, for instance, I had a big salad, but I included tuna with some light mayo and Dijon mustard in it, and had a piece of 20 grain toast on the side spread with a wedge of Laughing Cow Light. I find that if I have just a little bit of fat with my meals that I stay satisfied much longer.

Did/Didn't.

2006-02-04T15:57:00.000-08:00

What I didn't do this morning: Go to WW and weigh in. I just couldn't face the resuls of three days of binge eating.

What I did do: Go to the gym and hire back my trainer. We start Tuesday. I have twelve weeks of sessions. Also, I'm back on track since my flex has reset. Writing everything down.

Reality check.

2006-02-02T12:33:00.000-08:00

When I was sixteen, I went skiing while we were on a family trip to Utah. I'd been skiing a few times, only sticking to the bunny slopes. At the end of the day, I would get cocky and fly down those little hills. If it was warm, I would peel off my jacket and ski in my shirt-sleeves.

That year, my brother challenged me to ski the run one level higher for the last run of the day. I accepted the challenge and boarded the ski-lift. The lift got to the area where I should have disembarked, and I don't know if I wasn't paying attention, or what, but I didn't get off. I went up to the next run. Which was two levels up.

I fell within about twenty seconds. The lift guy asked me if I wanted to ride the lift down and, with my sixteen-year-old pride and a healthy fear of shame burning in my breast, I refused. So I got back up, wedged my skis in like a piece of pie, and started to make my way down the mountain.

Things were going fine until I hit a bump, which distracted me and made me forget to wedge my skis. Fifteen things passed through my mind all at once, like pictures of people shzushzing down the slopes without their skis all wedged like pieces of pie, and picture of me whizzing down the bunny slopes, over-confident and thrilled. So, I straightened my skis in that split second. And started going faster, and faster, and faster, and hit another bump and flew in the air and landed on my back and had to be taken off the mountain on a backboard.

Fortunately, I wasn't seriously hurt, just dazed, and I got to ride on the back of a ski patrol snowmobile with a hot ski patrol guy, but I have a great fear of skiing now. People ask me all the time whether I want to go, and I live fairly close to some great mountains, but I always beg off, suggesting we go sledding instead.

I've gotten way off track. I stopped measuring food. I stopped counting points. I stopped walking to school. I haven't gone to the gym.

And just like giving up on wedging my skis, these little defeats make me so afraid to start again. But more importantly, I find myself searching for that sweet spot between being terrified of getting up again and being arrogant about my abilities. Yeah, I lost 15 pounds. I'm still morbidly obese by any standard! What makes me think that I can relax?

I need to center myself. I need to remember how great it feels to step on that scale at weigh-in and see them write a lower number on my card. I need to remember how great it feels to walk around in the wind and/or rain and/or cold sunlight. I need to remember the endorphins that rush through me after a good workout. I need to remember how great it felt when my trainer kicked my ass and I DID it.

I think I'm sort of burned out, after everything that happened to me last week. And somehow I used all of that as a reason to allow myself a little grace. But the problem is that I have difficulties understanding what grace is. I know that I need to not beat myself up about things but if you give me an inch with that I'll take a goddamned mile. And then it's okay to eat the very self-same Ciabatta Bacon Oh My God Cheeseburger that I railed against not two weeks ago.

I call bullshit on me. Bullshit on me! (Um, ew.)

Anyway, my days off are changing. Instead of working Tuesday through Friday, and then Sunday, I now work Sunday through Thursday. (Matt and I had a Monday evening obligation that forced the crazy schedule.) Fortunately, the new schedule starts this week and I will have Friday off. I need it. I need to just load some Enya on my Zen, pack a healthy, point-happy lunch, get on a ferry to Vashon Island, drive around in whatever the afternoon offers me -- dappled sunlight or dripping, mossy trees -- and clear my head. Breathe. Remember how to breathe.

TRYING to fail?

2006-01-30T19:50:00.000-08:00

So, I didn't count points on Saturday or Sunday. And I ate. A lot. A lot a lot. Is it that I'm lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that the weight keeps coming off? Am I trying to prove my body wrong or something? Have I arrived at the self-destruction threshold that I know all too well?

I counted points today, and ate well. Well, sort of. I woke up too late to eat breakfast, but I did count the points I did eat. I had a lovely dinner of a turkey burger with a piece of muenster on some 20-grain bread, along with a big salad.

Oh, shit. I was supposed to go to the gym this week.

God, I'm a mess. My concentration is shot, my commitment is flagging. I need a reset button somehow. Somehow.

Another surprise.

2006-01-28T10:54:00.000-08:00

Well, it looks like this weight is coming off come hell or highwater. At weigh-in today, I was down 1.4 pounds. I take this as a sign that now is more The Time than anytime else.

Bad week.

2006-01-27T20:30:00.000-08:00

So, after I mentioned that I'd had that little fender-bender on Diet Blvd., things went completely and totally haywire. I, as a good friend of mine says, Freaked Completely And Totally Out Like Halle Berry On Oscar Night. I got a call from my mother saying that my father was back in the hospital with a pulmonary embolism. I drove immediately to Burger King, ordered two double cheeseburgers with mayonnaise and a thing of those chicken fries with ranch sauce, and ate them. Quickly. And defiantly.

I knew what I was doing. I was doing it on purpose. I wanted comfort I couldn't get from anywhere else. I couldn't even give it to myself. I didn't have anything left to give. The week from hell had just gotten so, so much worse than I'd expected and I'd already used up all my patience and deep breaths.

I didn't go to school today. My dad's okay, for now, but he's been admitted for five or six days while they wait for Heparin to thin his blood to break up the clot. My panic about it has diminished to a dull roar beneath my skin. This is my daddy. I can't lose him yet. It would be the shocker of the century, to be perfectly frank.

So, I'm still going to go to my weigh-in tomorrow. I kind of blew off counting points in the last couple of days because my appetite was at times voracious and at times non-existent. For instance, I ate two turkey sandwiches for breakfast this morning at 10:00, and then nothing at all except an iced latte until just now. I knocked off of work early because we were slow and I needed the time to myself, and I just cleaned the house. Clean clean clean. It's the only thing over which I can have any pretense of control right now. Cleaning.

We'll see what happens. I fully expect to have gained weight. And I'll be okay with it. Next week is the beginning of my return to the gym. I have a feeling I need to blow off steam and it'll be good for me.

Crash and burn on Diet Boulevard.

2006-01-25T21:04:00.000-08:00

Okay, not crash and burn. More like minor fender-bender hit-and-run. I've had a hell of a week, as I'd predicted, and it's only half over. In addition to everything else, I got a phone call yesterday telling me my dad was in the ER for emergency gallbladder removal. I succumbed to my crazy cravings for red meat that occur when I am stressed or depressed or sad. What the hell is that about, anyway?

We'll see what happens. I'm back on track, but I'm 20 points beyond flex for the week. Still walking, everything else still on track. My big art history exam was today, so the biggest thing is over with.

Goals: Try (even if in vain) to get good sleep. Stay on track for the rest of the week and lengthen walk home by going down side streets. Do some deep breathing exercises. And remember to drink water -- I've been majorly slacking on that front all week long.

Sunday, Sunday.

2006-01-22T13:18:00.000-08:00

This morning, Matt and I woke up late, walked over to a neighborhood pub for their lovely brunch, and then window-shopped on the main neighborhood strip and walked home. It was a great way to get some exercise, wander through our nice little neighborhood, and have a treat of a breakfast out. I had an excellent breakfast too: Eggs Florentine with an ounce of shredded cheddar melted on top of the eggs instead of hollandaise sauce, which I don't really like anyway. It was perfect and just what I wanted. Higher points than I would eat at home (I tallied it to 13.5, with the few potatoes I ate) but pretty low for a restaurant, and because it was brunch, it was like two meals combined.

On my way to work today I will have to make sure to go to the grocery store and stock up on fruit and veggies for snacks for the week, as it is promising to be hectic.

Shopping may be my new addiction.

2006-01-21T17:08:00.000-08:00

I notice that when I'm losing weight I tend to shop for clothing. A lot. Today wasn't so bad; I got a couple of jackets (one for the remaining cold months and one lighter but still warm one for the spring) as my wool peacoat was not proving very ideal for walking to school in the rain. I probably should have just got the one, because who knows if the other one will be just huge on me by the time it's a little warmer? It might be.

I am a firm believer in addictive behavior because I am of its royalty. I attach myself to routines, and I don't do anything by half. In the matter of five years of heavy drinking I fucked up my body so badly that I couldn't drink anymore. When I started smoking at fourteen, I was smoking a pack a day by the time I was fifteen. I used to drink five pots of coffee a day. And food. Food is the worst of them all. Some of the binge months (yes, months) of recent memory are horrifying to me.

So, what combats this? Is it mindfulness? I think it is, but why does my mind get tired so quickly? I realized today that I've been doing WW for six weeks now. That represents a pretty long stretch for me. I'm proud of myself, and I love that I don't feel any signs of stopping this time around. I think the momentum of everything I'm discovering about life has got me bound to this in a way I never have been before. Because I have reasons, now.

Weigh-in day.

2006-01-21T11:24:00.000-08:00

Huh. I lost 1.8 pounds. That's rather unexpected, given the week I had.

I have a study session at noon. I think I'll walk there.

Fruit Crisp Recipe.

2006-01-20T13:07:00.000-08:00

Someone asked about a recipe for the delicious fruit crisp I made early this week, so I figure I'll just post it here. I modified it from a WW recipe, and re-entered everything into the online
recipe builder.

Fruit Crisp for Four
4p per serving
4 servings

Ingredients:

Filling:

2 medium apple, sliced/chopped
1 medium pear, sliced/chopped
1½ oz raisins (you could use currants, dried cranberries, dried blueberries)
1 Tbsp fresh lemon juice
3 Tbsp sugar

Topping:

½ cup old fashioned oats (okay, honestly, I can't remember whether I put one cup or half a cup of oats in this topping - if it seems like a high butter-to-oat ratio, add another half cup of oats. This will change it to 5p a serving, but this is still well worth it)
2 Tbsp unpacked brown sugar
3 Tbsp Brummel & Brown spread
1 tsp ground cinnamon (you could go a little more crazy with this, frankly)

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350ºF.

In a large bowl, combine sliced fruit, lemon juice and sugar; toss to combine. Place fruit mixture in 9x9" baking dish/pan, set aside.

In a medium bowl, combine oats, brown sugar, margarine and cinnamon; mix with a fork or your fingers until mixture is combined and crumbly. Sprinkle crumb mixture over apple mixture.

Bake until filling is bubbly and top is golden brown, about 50 to 55 minutes.

I served this with ¼ cup of vanilla yogurt. It's also good for breakfast! You could probably cut the points a little more by using Splenda or using less sugar or something; I just used what I had on hand.

Exhausted.

2006-01-20T12:59:00.000-08:00

Yeah, I'm still here. School has really been kicking my ass this quarter, and I love love love it, but I don't have a whole lot of time to do much besides study, go to work, plan/cook my meals, track stuff, and sleep. I have the day off of work today, so I'm going to catch up a little on my leisure activities, but I don't even have much time to do that today, as I have quite a bit of studying to do this weekend.

I'm kind of dreading my weigh-in tomorrow. My Being A Girl time was really awful this week. It always causes me to crave red meat in massive amounts, and I succumbed to the cravings. After I ate the burger that had been retrieved for me, I felt like it was kind of a waste, though. I enjoyed it while I was eating it; don't get me wrong. But I probably would have been fine throwing one of the frozen turkey patties I made last week on the George Forman with an extra slice of cheese and still been far under points.

So, we'll see what happens. I won't be surprised if I didn't lose much of anything, because in addition to my uterine/fallopian forces conspiring against my diet, they also somewhat affected my activity (I drove to school twice this week instead of walking). Pluh. Just a not very good week all around.

Next week, my co-worker is going on vacation and I have to cover her. It's gonna be un salope of a week. More punking out over here, but if I start working out next week I will likely fall asleep at my desk, and my accuracy with my forehead does not hold a candle to the accuracy of my hands.

I'm still doing this. I am. I promise. I've been soaking in Gothic cathedrals all week, so I am em-effing motivated.

Yes, it probably sounds like I'm punking out.

2006-01-17T12:52:00.000-08:00

I'm not going to the gym this week, as was my goal. This is because I am Being A Girl this week (as a friend of mine puts it, as in, "Being a girl really sucks sometimes.") Trust me when I say that this is reason enough. I feel vaguely guilty about it, but I also know that I'm staying on track with the eating, and time will come soon enough.

Today's menu:

Breakfast:

Leftover apple-pear-raisin crisp (I decided to make this instead of baked apples last night, since we had the ~~technology~~ ingredients) with vanilla yogurt (5p)

Coffee with half-and-half -- I wish my brother my would ship the coffeemaker he got me for Christmas, as I have been buying coffee at school and they don't have any low-fat cream options. Maybe I should just get a nonfat latte at the espresso stand instead.

Lunch:

Turkey & cheddar wrap on whole-wheat Trader Joe's tortilla, with a spread made of half of a tablespoon of light mayo and a tablespoon of salsa (8p)

Mixed greens salad with Basil Vinaigrette (1p)

Five o'clock snack:

Half a cup of Quaker quick oats with 6 oz. of nonfat Cascade Fresh strawberry yogurt (4p)
One ounce of Stacy's pita chips (2p)

Dinner:

Trader's Joe's Pasta Medley (3p) with 3 ounces of added grilled chicken (2) and 2 tablespoons of freshly grated Parmesan cheese (1)

I love planning. Such a nerd.

Tonight's Menu.

2006-01-16T17:26:00.000-08:00

Matt is at work, so I'm making myself a meat-eater's dinner. (Most of the time, I make a main dish to which protein, like a piece of grilled chicken or something, can be easily added.)

I marinated a 5 oz. wild Pacific salmon fillet (4p) in Rikki's soy-ginger marinade (3p) for a couple of hours, and I'm baking it in foil. On the side, I will have two cups of steamed broccoli (½p) and soba buckwheat noodles (3p for 2oz. uncooked, not sure how much it'll be when it's done cooking) in 1 tbsp of the marinade (1p). If I'm still hungry after that, I'll probably add a salad.

After Matt gets home and eats, then I will make baked apples with raisins (3-4p, I think) for dessert.

The Verdict: Well, it's good, but the buckwheat soba noodles, which I've never tried before, are taking some getting used to. Next time I will probably go for a half-portion of regular soba noodles, which would have been about the same points and a bit less scary-looking and gritty. While I've never been a huge fish fan, the fish is nice and moist and tender, nicely flavored by the marinade, although not overdone. I sprinkled about a teaspoon of toasted sesame seeds over the fish and noodles, which is a nice addition. Oh, dammit! I just realized that I have some non-vegetarian vegetable pad thai (fish sauce) in the freezer that would have been great with this.

D'oh!

2006-01-16T15:56:00.000-08:00

I just realized when I changed templates in Blogger, I annihilated any links in the sidebar to previous posts, thereby making it difficult to find any context about what I'm talking about, at all.

I've fixed that. Mea culpa.

Lazy weekend morning.

2006-01-16T11:13:00.000-08:00

This is the first time in a while that I've had nowhere to be. No school this morning, thanks to the MLK holiday, and I usually have Mondays off from work. I slept in until nine (!!), made multigrain vanilla-cinnamon pancakes with blueberry sauce made with fresh berries (not syrup -- the point was the berries, and not the sugar), and sat down to check my email with a nice hot cup of coffee. Later today I will do a lot of reading for my art history and advanced English grammar classes, and maybe I'll do a facial while I'm doing that. And maybe go for a walk. Though not simultaneously.

I have these family friends who live about 40 minutes from me, and they've known me for almost 25 years. The middle daughter of the family was in kindergarten with me, and our families have always been close. Even after they moved away, we all got together to go on vacations to Disneyland about once a year, or we visited somehow. When I moved up here from California, I didn't see them as often as I should -- still only about once a year. But I was in a bad late-night freeway car accident in September of 2003, and they dropped everything and rushed to my side in the hospital. (I was okay, just kept overnight for observation; I escaped with only a few bruises from the airbag and a shaken spirit.)

Since then, we've seen a lot more of each other. I call them my second family. Matt and I usually go out there every other week to have Sunday dinner with them and their kids and the kids' spouses.

Anyway, that was all prelude to telling you that Mom Two loves cookbooks, and she has given me, the past year, a couple of books that explain the whys and wherefores of cooking, because I have complained that I don't cook much because I burn things or I don't understand how things go together so I can't be very creative. The first one she gave me was Cooking Light's Best Ever Test Kitchen Secrets, which talks a lot about not only the way foods work together, but how best to incorporate light cooking into things and how those things work.

For Christmas, she gave me the Williams-Sonoma Kitchen Companion. I haven't had a chance to crack it open thanks to all the studying I've been doing, but I'm looking forward to perhaps doing so tonight with a nice cup of tea. I feel inspired to continue to learn to cook (I stole the blueberry sauce for the pancakes from a WW blintz recipe and made it from memory this time, though I still measured) and come up with delicious things on my own based on what I know about how cooking works.

No Man's Land.

2006-01-15T18:14:00.000-08:00

I'm at that point (much sooner than I thought, actually) where I'm starting to question how I look in the mirror. I catch myself in the bathroom mirror or in shop windows and I think, "Wow, I'm still fat, but I'm curvy." See, I had gotten to the point where I was just becoming box-shaped. But my waist feels a bit nipped in, now, and it seems like the area right under my tits is thinning somehow.

It might all be psychosomatic, wishful thinking, or plain ol' delusion, but something is different. Maybe it's just a better self-image creeping in. I'm treating myself well. I'm not sentencing my body to nightly 2000 calorie torture in favor of my mouth's need for pleasure and my brain's need for dopamine. I'm carefully measuring and tracking everything I eat, and planning ahead 90% of the time (that's not too tough -- I am the consummate listmaker and a nerd, so tracking stuff is fun for me).

An acquaintance of mine, who is a master of the well-written rant, once said, "If you want self-esteem, do esteemable things" -- and since I first heard him say them I've thought of those words at least once a day. It's one of those things that seems so simple, and definitely one of those things (for some people) that's easier said than done -- but it's also, for me, something that falls under the category headed by the phrase, "The proof is in the pudding." Garbage in, garbage out. Kickassery in, badassery out.

It's only been 11.4 pounds, and on me, that can't be showing much. But it feels like I'm dropping dead weight inside. Maybe one of the sidetrips on this whole adventure will be accidentally learning to love my body even if I'm not at goal.

Oh.

2006-01-14T16:44:00.000-08:00

I got a late start today, and have only eaten 10 points, and I am staying home and studying this evening, and I am premenstrual, so I was trying to decide if I would splurge on what used to be my favorite burger from Crack in the Box: The Bacon Cheddar Ciabatta Burger. I went to the nutritional (hah!) website to see what the damage would be.

That motherfucker has 1140 calories in it! And 79 grams of fat! It's 29 points!

I used to eat at least one of those every day. In fact, it was routine for me to get one of those, Sausage Croissant (580 calories and 39 grams of fat), a large fries (220 calories and 17 grams of fat), and a vat of Diet Coke, set them up in a ritual arrangement on my coffee table, and have at, sometimes while watching The Biggest Loser or Dr. Phil.

I haven't been to Crack in the Box in a month. Why exactly have I not lost, like, 30 pounds automagically?

I am embarrassed. And I'm the only one looking.

Ugh.

This week's goal.

2006-01-14T12:15:00.000-08:00

Oh yeah, I should probably talk about this week's goal: To start going back to the gym.

I've had both good and bad experiences with the gym. I've belonged to at least five of them. Having grown up as an athlete I knew what my body could do.

The one I went to before my current one, Silver's (which is what we'll call it, but I bet you could figure out what its real name is), was a beautiful boutique-type gym downtown. I loved it, and working out there was quite fun. I worked with a trainer and everything was great until I did something wrong on a weight machine while working by myself and fucked up my back something awful. I have a history of back problems, so I probably should have been much more careful, but I tend to forget about that when I'm not right in the middle of an episode.

I'd had back problems before, but with massage and rest they went away in a few days. After this incident, I stopped working out, mostly because I couldn't. I could barely move to go to work. I did physical therapy for a while, but dropped it after my back felt better because I couldn't afford it. I was in a lot of pain for about a month, this time. And I kept eating, mostly for comfort. I gained back the twenty-two pounds I'd lost in 2004. Damn you, Crack in the Box!

When my boyfriend and I moved in together, we noticed that we could see the blaring brightly-colored sign for Silver's from our bedroom window. I took it as a sign to get back to the gym and marched right in and signed us both up for two years in advance. Then I went my first day to meet with a trainer for a free introductory session (you know, the one where they tell you that you need to buy more training) and, swept up in the heady nervous moment, I bought more sessions. And then felt like I was about to pass out.

You see, after the experience at the boutique gym, I developed a subconscious gym phobia. The minute I put on work-out clothing and stepped in there and put my stuff in a locker, I started sweating even before I climbed the stairs to the floor that held all the cardio equipment. Tingling sweating. Tunnel-vision sweating. Ringing in my ears oh my god I am really going to pass out sweating.

I related to my trainer, who by that point was asking me if I was okay, that I had just realized how big a phobia I had developed after my experience with my back. Turns out she'd slipped a disc before and so in addition to being a kickass trainer she knew the stuff to watch out for with me and could give me help with directed exercise to help my back. Abby was my savior in that regard. I worked with her for a couple of months and I lost about ten pounds. Then I started on another binge cycle and stopped seeing her.

When I went back, Abby had left to move across the country to go to graduate school. Alas, there was only one female trainer remaining. I had three sessions left, so I figured I'd just bite the bullet, do three sessions with a male trainer, and use what I'd learned to work by myself.

Enter The Taskmaster In Sheep's Clothing (I shall call him the TISC for short, and probably from here on out). The TISC was fuckin' AWESOME. He kicked my ass so well and soundly and made me love every minute of it. When I worked out with him, I felt like I was working out with Bob from The Biggest Loser. He was really kind and hot and smart as hell, and was good at his job and obviously loved it too. In those three sessions, I felt like he got me to the level that Abby had gotten me to in nine. I was impressed; I thought that after Abby I could never love another trainer, but the TISC stole my fitness heart.

Then the sessions ran out, and I had no money to start again. I went on vacation to Mexico with my boyfriend and his family, and then school started. I was overwhelmed. I wanted to work out, but I just couldn't get my body to go. I would wake up in the morning and try not to look at the Silver's sign through my bedroom window, just like when you avoid someone at a nightclub with whom you've had a one night stand you never wanted to remember, let alone repeat.

See, that's the big dichotomy. I realized about half a year ago that working out is the only time in my whole life that I am 100% free of fear of being alone. Up until the moment I begin I still have nagging insecurities in the back of my head, even fear about my back giving out on me or looking stupid, but once I begin, they disappear. It's like I can take every little thought of abandonment, insecurity, feeling like I don't belong, feeling like I am going to lose everything and completely banish it. In those moments I am completely inside myself. I think it comes from having been an athlete when I was a kid, and particularly having been an athlete in a sport where you really do learn to listen to your own pulse and your own breath. In the water, you can only minimally depend on the shouted support from your family or teammates cheering you on. In reality you're left with nothing but the sound of your own body and the way it feels slicing through the water. Take all of that and combine it with years of visualization meditation, an entire life of living with a mother whose passion is nutrition and a father who was a coach, and the feeling I got when I rose out of the water like a cobra when I scored a goal in water polo or when I executed a particularly good flip-turn, and it is the one thing I have where I am completely able to be alone with myself.

Reading back in my other journals, my happiest and most focused times have been when I am regularly working out. It's as though my whole life really does lie ahead of me and instead of clinging people to avoid solitude, I can wrap myself in solitude and choose my company. Those little pockets of that I got when I used to go out dancing didn't happen during the times I was sitting on the sidelines; they came when I was in the thick of it, blind to everyone else on the floor, catching only glimpses of everyone else, including my own face in the mirror, oblivious to the sweat flying off my hair and forming in the small of my back. I found what I loved, there: The ability to be alone in a crowd and not to fear it.

My quarter at school has started again. I've been back on WW for about five weeks. And I promised myself that in addition to walking to and from school, I would start going back to the gym this week. Hell, I have to walk by the gym in order to get home from school. I'm going to start slow, and I'm going to be steady. And after two weeks, I will take my tax refund, march down to the front desk, and demand to be scheduled with the TISC for as many sessions as the refund will cover.

That's better.

2006-01-14T11:39:00.000-08:00

1.6 pounds down for this week. That's a much better feeling than the one I had last week, when I completely maintained.

We had a guest leader this week, and she hauled out Mr. Five Pounds Of Fat to pass around so we could all see just what it was we had done to our bodies and what we doing in losing weight. Given that the thing was the size of my forearm it was hard to imagine that the five (now 11.6, total!) measly pounds I've lost could resemble it in any way, particularly because it had hair and dust sticking to it. But I understand the exercise, and it's always nice to be reminded.

Ugh. Ugh, ugh.

The other thing that kind of bugged me is that as I was leaving, there were two little girls, sisters probably, studiously filling out joining forms. The older was twelve, maybe, the younger, probably ten. And yeah, they had "puppy fat" on them; they were cute round little girls. Their dad sat with them, watching them fill out the forms while they bit their lower lips in looks of steadfast concentration.

I'm not the type of person who tells people how to parent their children, but something about this just struck me as very dangerous. In fact, warning bells went off behind my eyes and I was more than a little freaked out by it. There must be some other backstory because I don't think that WW even allows kids to join -- so they might have some sort of doctor's recommendation or something. But what the hell? I remember being young and having my parents tell me they would pay me to lose a certain amount of weight by my birthday. I have another friend who was on diets from the time she was the same age as these girls -- who has recently gone under the knife for gastric bypass surgery after years of frustration with diets and "ways of life."

I know that parenting can be full of pitfalls and tests, and people just do the best they know how, but I wish someone would take their dad aside (don't even get me started there -- if your mom tells you you're too fat when you're ten it's one thing, but if your dad does it can open up a whole can of worms with the opposite sex, in my opinion) and tell him that this is a dangerous road to go down. I'm hoping, hoping, hoping that the WW reps questioned this. I've had kind of a sick feeling about this all morning.

Anyway, I have a busy day of studying ahead, so I must get started.

Holy yum.

2006-01-11T20:44:00.000-08:00

This is what my day looks like.

7:30 (Okay, more like 7:50): Wake up, stumble to shower. After shower, throw jeans and a t-shirt on, try to kill and eat breakfast. (Usually, half a cup of oatmeal with a little milk and a dab of honey, or some All-Bran with berries in it, or -- my favorite -- an egg overeasy with toast or an English muffin and a Morningstar Farms veggie sausage patty.)

8:25 (Okay, sometimes more like 8:35): Get going to school. It's a mile walk, takes me about 15-20 minutes (including time waiting at lights and such.) If I think about it, I bring along a cup of 1% milk in my travel coffee thinger, because the school only serves half-and-half at the condiments shelf, and that's a big waste of points.

9-12: Class. I usually walk home right after that, check my email, and get started on some homework. I try to make a good, healthful, nicely-plated lunch because it motivates me, and I have more time to do it at lunch than at dinner.

2:30 (Okay, really 2:40): Leave the house to drive to work.

3-8: Work. Somewhere In there, I need a snack, as the last time I ate was around 1:00. Usually, this has to happen around 5:00 PM. Sometimes I don't get to it as soon as I want to, depending on how much work there is. I hate how much importance this leeeettle snack has in my life, but it does. It's pretty paramount in my little world. It usually means the difference between feeling mindful and driving blindly to Burger King and ordering two-double-cheeseburgers-with-only-mayo and eat eat eating them.

8:20-8:30: Arrive home from work, having picked up boyfriend at the end of his shift if necessary. Throw together healthful dinner, usually something v. easy and frozen (but GOOD frozen! not crap frozen!).

9:00 PM: Finish remaining homework. This could take anywhere from one to three hours.

Work SUCKED today. We were crazy swamped due to poor planning and, let's face it, disrespect on my boss's part. (He left for most of the day yesterday, and my work depends on what he completes. He came back at 7:00 PM and started in on what would eventually amount to about four hours worth of work for me. Hence, we were already hamstrung going into this day, and today happened to be one of the busier times we've had in a about a year as well. He doesn't care though; he's off on vacation for the next three weeks.)

At 6:00 PM, I realized that I hadn't eaten The Snack. I keep a few things at work but I haven't been able to get to the store this week to restock my work supply of fruit and yogurt, which is what I usually eat for a snack. A long time ago, I had bought some fat free devil's food pudding snacks on a chocolate craving tear. I don't really like pudding, but I like chocolate, so I eat about one of these every two weeks or so. Today, they were all that was left.

That, and peanut butter.

Fat free chocolate stuff and friggin' peanut butter.

Why hadn't I thought of it before? I am a child who fought knock-down drag-outs over the last scoop of that really good chocolate ice cream with the chunks of peanut butter in it (which might tell you a bit about why I'm where I am now). CHOCOLATE. AND PEANUT BUTTER.

I carefully measured out a tablespoon of peanut butter (as I do when I eat it on apples; the protein keeps me going and I budget, both cash-wise and pts-wise, for the Adams no-stir crunchy stuff) and put it on a plate. Then I got a spoon, and a devil's food cake pudding snack, and I took tiny little scoops off the tablespoon of peanut butter, then dipped the spoon into the chocolate pudding, and OH MY GOD.

Yeah, it's 4.5 points, but that and sometimes a latte are the only snacking I do.

Anyway. It was nice to have a positive food experience, particularly one that involved chocolate and peanut butter about which I didn't have any need to feel guilty.

You may steal my idea. In fact, I hope you do. The world needs more guiltless chocolate-and-peanut-butter marriages.

TJ's love.

2006-01-10T13:44:00.000-08:00

I haven't really posted menus of what I eat here on the site, because I worry that they're boring. I wish that WW had, like Calorie King has, a personal journal that will publish your menus, so I could easily show anyone who wanted to look.

Maybe I'll just talk once in a while about stuff that turns out delicious. Or not so delicious. Heh.

Trader Joe's is awesome. Perhaps I will just make a list of stuff from there that I like to eat. They have great low-fat frozen meals, which is key because Matt and I both are in school full time and work 28-30 hours a week as well, so dinner, if it's not to be junk, has to be quick. Last night's dinner was their Pasta Italiano, which is bow-tie pasta with peppers, spinach, and carrots. I added 3 ounces of grilled chicken so I could get some protein (Matt's a vegetarian and has the choice of adding a Gardenburger if he wants protein), and about a cup of steamed broccoli. It was hugely satisfying and 5.5P, total.

Other things I habitually get from Trader Joe's:

98% Fat Free Vegetarian Black Bean Chili -- I usually mix this with a can of black beans for extra beany goodness. Ends up being 4P a cup. I serve it over brown rice (also to be had in their frozen food section, already all made and ready in the microwave in 3 minutes!) for a good complete protein. The chili has some TVP (textured vegetable protein - think what Boca burgers and fake bacon are made of) in it, too, for good protein.
Omega-3 eggs. I love that they sell them, and I love that they're cheaper there than in regular grocery stores.
Ezekiel 4:9 bread. See above regarding price and regular grocery stores. This is pretty much the case with a lot of this stuff.
Cabot 75% Reduced Fat Cheese.
About a gazillion different types of frozen meals like the Pasta Italiano that work out to 3-5P a serving.
Tofurky - Matt's lunch meat.
Fat Free Spaghetti Sauce with mushrooms.

You don't have to take it from me, though. Dottie's Weight-Loss Zone has a great list of TJ's stuff with points values.

I am a convert.

2006-01-09T17:59:00.000-08:00

Remember when I said that I always used full-fat mayo because I couldn't stand the taste of any reduced-fat ones? Well, I decided to try good old Best Foods' reduced fat variety, and they must have done something to it. It's still a little sweet, but only a little, and that's key.

I'm pretty happy about this. Now I can budget that extra two points for other things, like chocolate or extra chicken.

Cacophony.

2006-01-09T14:12:00.000-08:00

The last few days have not been my best. I've been all over the place, being that I had brunch with friends on both weekend days, and I found myself today getting lunch before a study session. I picked what I thought was a grilled chicken sandwich (the sign said "chicken breast sandwich") but ended up to be of the breaded variety. I should have gone back for something else, but I couldn't shake the feeling of having wasted money.

That's what it comes down to, right? Thinking that I'm good enough to pay for something else, that I'm worth that extra outlay if it means that I won't be eating against what I should be eating.

I think it's Dr. Phil whose weight loss advice is centered on an admonition to stop making excuses. It's very hard, as a student, to realize that it's an excuse that I didn't have enough money to go back and make a better choice. Frankly, I shouldn't be eating at the school caf at all, unless it's a salad, and even then, iceberg lettuce might as well be water for all the nutritional punch it packs. I should have planned ahead. That's where not making excuses comes in. I could have had my study session and then gone home to eat a healthy meal, but I ate a breaded chicken sandwich -- and it wasn't even that great. Dry (at least it wasn't overly greasy) and not-quite-right-tasting.

Walking the thin line drawn by all the voices that appear in my head when I'm losing weight would be tough for a 98-lb.-weakling. Imagine how tough it is for a 269 pound weakling who's lost any sense of good posture and balance! One voice barks, "Stop making excuses!" The other coos, "Be gentle with yourself -- you'll make mistakes because you can't do everything right all at once." One taunts, "You'll never get anywhere if you keep just maintaining your weight; do you want to embarrass yourself at weigh-in again?" Another reminds, "Remember, slow weight loss is what will help you keep it off in the long-term." I feel like I'm running a gauntlet, here.

I just need a few deep centering breaths, and to get back on track. If I eat correctly, I don't get famished. If I go for instant gratification, it doesn't usually keep me satisfied as long. Instant gratification feeds a greedy monster who always wants more of it. I'm the first to admit that part of getting off track has to do with Saturday's weigh-in disappointment. I lost hold of mindfulness. It's willy-nilly that always drags me along with it, shoving food into my mouth as it goes.

Focus is key. It's something I'm learning to hone both in my personal life and in my academic one -- and I'm lucky to have the chance to do both simultaneously. It has become important to me to notice the transmutability of lessons in my life.

Disappointment

2006-01-07T16:24:00.000-08:00

So, at this morning's weigh-in, I hadn't lost any weight. I hadn't gained any, but I hadn't lost any.

I find myself incredibly disappointed, especially since I just added the walking to my activities. I would have thought that just under 8 miles of walking in a week would have done something -- especially since I didn't change my diet all that much.

But here's the part I don't want to admit to. In the middle of the week I ate a cheeseburger and fries with tartar sauce. I really don't want that to be the reason I didn't lose any weight. Because I love cheeseburgers. They're my favorite. But I guess that's how I got where I am, right?

So, I'm going to continue with the walking, and then next week I will start with the added cardio and resistance stuff at the gym. And I'm going to try not to be too disappointed. I didn't gain anything, not even a fraction of a pound, so I guess that's good. I didn't take two steps back.

Il pleut des cordes.

2006-01-05T12:51:00.000-08:00

The rain is coming down, as the French say, in ropes. I walked home in it, in my trusty new all-weather boots acquired from Payless Shoe Source. (I just went to their site to find them to show you, but they're not on the site. However, moonboots are. I think it's funny that moonboots are in style and I think it's because of Napoleon Dynamite. But maybe that's just me.)

I am loving this walking thing. My boyfriend and I walk to school together in the morning, which is a nice time to spend with him, and then I walk home on my own while he takes the bus to work, which is a nice time of contemplation for me. It's getting easier, too.

I love the time between school and work. I usually try to make myself a somewhat involved lunch, because putting work into it and the presentation and all that make me really feel like I'm enjoying my food, which I think is essential to the new lifestyle I'm trying to espouse. Today, it was a salad of romaine lettuce and spring mix with a tomato and my favorite dressing - Seeds of Change's Sweet Basil Vinaigrette. Along with that, I had a sandwich on 20 grain bread with Diestel oven-roasted turkey and Horizon Organics' reduced-fat cheddar cheese and a about a teaspoon of mayo.

I do follow the Weight Watchers POINTS® system, but there are certain corners I don't cut. I find that when I go with The Real Thing that it is often far more satisfying than it would be if I chose something designed for dieters. I also feel that it's a little safer to do so -- diet food feels like Franken-food to me. I'm cool with eating Nabisco's 100-Calorie Packs of Oreos or Chips Ahoy if I need a treat, but something about non-fat mayonnaise just freaks me right the fuck out.

So, some of the real foods I eat (and budget points for):

Mayonnaise - I always use full-fat because I haven't found a reduced-fat or fat-free mayonnaise that doesn't taste like knock-off Miracle Whip to me.
Milk - I drink 1% because I need some milkfat to make it taste good.
Cheese - I never go fully fat-free with cheese. Reduced-fat is okay, it is just a little less creamy, which is okay. It evokes harder cheeses for me, and sometimes I eat a ½ ounce shaving of fresh Parmiagiano-Reggiano with an apple. It's the little luxuries.
Eggs - I love my eggs overeasy, not so much scrambled. As a result I don't always have the choice of using egg-whites for filler.
Chocolate - But I'm lucky in that I can eat only one small piece at a time. I let it melt in my mouth and then get on with my life. My poor mother, on the other hand, can't have chocolate in the house, one way or the other.

Who knows how this will change when my points-range goes down, though? At the moment, I'm using 30 per day, so I have a lot of leeway. But what happens when I'm down to 24? Aieee. I suppose that's what APs are for, though. Right?

What I try to do is to feel like I'm not depriving myself. Quality over quantity. Why make it so that you're just able to eat more of something that tastes like ass? Why not eat a little bit of something that tastes delicious? That's the point of this "lifestyle change": retraining myself to be involved with food in a different way. To savor things, to understand what they do to my body, to understand my reactions to them, to know how to appreciate them.

Walking

2006-01-04T12:47:00.000-08:00

As promised, more about the winter quarter. Specifically, more about its ramifications for my project.

I received You: The Owner's Manual, by Michael Roizen and Mehmet Oz for Christmas, having added it to my Amazon wishlist after seeing Dr. Oz on Oprah's show with a bunch of diseased organs. His point was to show the damages that living a hard life can have on various organs, and I realized how old I felt, even at 28.

The book is fantastic; I actually learned a whole bunch of stuff (such as just what the hell cholesterol has to do with anything). One of the things they recommend for optimum health is a half-hour of walking, every day. In addition to that, one should do 20 minutes of cardio exercise three days per week to get the heart pumping but good, and 2-3 days of resistance training, with a liberal sprinkling of stretching over the whole week.

Sort of a tangent (I've warned you about this), but the new Weight Watcher's commercials are really getting me motivated. It's a good campaign, talking about the woman who feels fatter than anyone else in the room, etc. Specifically, they talk about the woman who will try and fail more times than she can count. I have done just that. And every time I see that commercial, I want to yell, "Yes! I'm that woman! How'd you know?!" And it makes me feel like I can still do this. It reminds me that I don't have to give up on myself yet.

At any rate (See, here's where it gets back on track. Still with me? Good.), I know about all this stuff. I was an athlete growing up, my dad was a swim coach and my mom was a nutritionist. I know what sugar does once it's inside your body. I know what exercise does for not only one's health, but one's mood. I know why my back goes out twice a year.

Getting from knowing to doing has always been the trouble.

So I decided to walk to school this quarter (a distance of about a mile, each way). I commandeered my boyfriend's lovely big umbrella, bought some waterproof shoes, dug my scarf and mittens out of the closet (it's been around 45º here in the mornings), and made a vow to myself that I would at least start by getting that half-hour walk every day.

The first day was a motherfucker. Last night by the time I was almost done at work, at 8:00, I was ready to fall asleep right at my desk. Even though I consider myself lucky to have an athletic build underneath all this extraneous crap, which aids me in getting back into the swing of things, the first week is always a bitch.

But today, I felt a little bit better. I reviewed the recording I'd made of my art history class, and I breathed deeply. Most of all, I kept thinking about all the good I was doing for my body.

It's such a little thing, but for me, it's big. Once I've been doing this for a couple of weeks, I'll add in that cardio and resistance stuff, but for now, I want to concentrate on one activity thing. And then I can say to myself that I've done something every day that helps me grow healthy.

Winter quarter.

2006-01-03T08:21:00.000-08:00

It's gorgeous outside. The sun is breaking through the roofs of all the houses on the hill behind our apartment building. Which is nice, because the winter quarter starts today and I have vowed to walk to school this quarter.

It's a distance of about a mile, which means that I'll get a good walk in every weekday.

More later. Must be off, now, because I have no idea how long it's going to take me to walk.

The iceberg of rage surfaces for a few minutes.

2006-01-02T20:19:00.000-08:00

I was reading the Weight Watchers Online message boards. They have vast amounts of users on the site, and the format isn't really the sort I like (posts with new responses aren't brought to the top, so conversations often get repeated and/or sink to the bottom of several pages' worth of posts), but I go through there every once in a while.

Last night, I read posts by two separate users who were angry. The first was upset because she had asked for the day off of work and had been scheduled anyway. Not only had her boss pretty much ignored her request, she kept dumping jobs on this poor woman even as she apologized for doing so. The second related her experience of going to a party for New Years Eve, during which her husband's friend pointed out how pudgy she looked through the lens of the video camera they were using to record their fun.

I just lost it. I felt so bad for these women, and my ire melted like silver and flowed into all those other empty crevices of anger I have about things like this.

I don't tend to think that the world is out to get me because I'm fat. I do get frustrated when people equate girth with a dull wit or resort to saying, "Yeah, well, you're A FAT COW," in an argument when they haven't got any other way to win it. I'm not the sort, however, who gets upset when her doctor tells her she needs to lose weight when she goes in to find out why her knee hurts. Some people see that as irrelevant. I know enough and have been through all of this enough times to know that weight can affect everything about your body, even whether you're depressed or whether you can sleep or not.

At any rate (sorry, tangent, I do that): I found myself upset with these posters' situations because they reminded me so much of what I and others face all the time. People push this shit on us because fat people are doormats.

Every week I go to meetings and people are all like, "How do I politely turn down people who ask me several times if I want food that's not good for me?" My stand is that if by the sixth time they push cake on you, they haven't given up, you are ALLOWED to get pissed. Fuck being polite just because we have to work harder than anyone else in the room! Fuck taking this shit again and again because we don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves! That's really what it's about, innit? We don't want to cause too much of a stir because then we'd be flinching in anticipation of that, "God, you fat bitch."

I look back at my adult life and see all the times that people took advantage of me and I'm livid about it all. Dates running up bar tabs on my credit card because they knew I wouldn't protest. Homeless poets taking up residence on my couch for 13 weeks without paying rent because they knew I was too weak to stand my ground. Taking less than what I deserved in relationships, both friendships and romantic, because I didn't want to be without them. Something was better than nothing. Something was better nothing.

I'm not sure if it's my fat. I've never considered myself thin in my life, even when I was thin, so I can't tell if I would be less of a doormat if I was thin. (I know that being thin isn't the key to a magically perfect life.) But I have to think that a lot of it definitely has to do with my fear of being alone, my fear of being called out, my fear of being hurt. But I have to say, sitting back here and reading the experience of the girl at the party, I wanted to sock that motherfucker on the arm and ask him if it hurt.

It has always been my silent new year's resolution to try to care less about what people think of me. If I didn't care, I wouldn't let myself lose out on so much. Luckily, right now I have a partner who seems to love me for who I am and who wants me to be happy and to have adventures with me and supports me in my journey toward being Not Anymore.

That's part of this ubiquitous mantra, Not Anymore -- I don't let people walk on me. Not Anymore. The opinions of other people don't dictate my self-esteem. Not Anymore. I'm not 120 pounds overweight. Not Anymore. I'm not tied to the ground with no hope of reaching my dreams.

Not Anymore.

New Year's Day

2006-01-01T12:07:00.000-08:00

I've been here more often than I can count. Actually, since I'm 28, I probably could figure it out, but it's the metaphorical "here" of which I speak -- in fact, I've had more New Year's Days than I've had years.

Every person who tries and fails at what they do time and time again knows New Year's Days and probably has more of them than they have years as well. It's the Monday you start a diet. It's the "do-over" that you promise yourself as you pile your fast food around you on the table in front of you.

After a while, they lose meaning. I had at least three New Year's Days this year that didn't bring a change of any sort. The promise had become empty. I'd go to Jack in the Box and order more food than three people could comfortably eat, spread it out in front of me, and watch The Biggest Loser on my TiVo. Sometimes I would even laugh and shake my head at the ridiculousness of it all. And the next morning, I would go back to Jack in the Box for a couple of breakfast sandwiches on my way to work.

When I am on track, I am ON POINT. Nothing escapes the eagle eye of my journaling mind. I write every single little thing I bite. I'm a listmaker. I love to make lists. I love to sit down in the morning and put together the puzzle pieces of what I'm going to eat. When I'm in that zone, the thought of a sausage croissant actually doesn't sound all that great.

Weight Watchers is the ultimate in mindful eating for me. It's when I lose my mindfulness that I lose my mind with food.

The problem is that I've never been able to go longer than three weeks on a diet. Something always happens. I've had back problems since I was a teenager, which have only been exacerbated by my extra 120 pounds. Three weeks into a diet, my back goes out, and all the best-laid plans fall through. I cry angry tears and feel like fate is conspiring against me. Or, three weeks into a diet, something bad happens at work. Or I have a school project. Or the cat gets sick. And I solace myself with food.

Something's different this time. My back is out yet again, but I continue to lose weight. I've been pushing through it, trying to keep moving. I've made lists and lists of what my schedule will look like when school starts on Tuesday.

My father told me we may be going to Paris and Rome for Christmas 2006. I've been studying art history in school this year and I have actual vivid dreams about tearing around the city, absorbing everything there is to absorb. In one of my dreams I could see with every part of my body, not just my eyes, and I soaked it all up. But that's just not going to happen at the weight I am now. I won't have the energy to do any tearing, and my hips will hurt and my knees will hurt and my back will hurt and I will run out of breath.

I have things I need to do. I can't stay here. I just can't.

It's never too late to be what you might have been.

2005-12-31T18:04:00.000-08:00

Hi. I'm Kristin, and I've joined the ranks of weight-loss bloggers.

As a child and teenager, I was extremely athletic -- I swam for the local year-round swim team and played water polo and swam in high school. I look back at those times and marvel at how much I worked out; it was not unusual to have a total of 4-5 hours of practice in high school. Two hours in the morning, three hours at night, and all practices included a variety of things, including cross-training, weight-lifting, and timed sets.

Sad thing is, I thought I was fat. I weighed 165 pounds, which was far more than any of my friends.

When I moved to Seattle after graduating high school, the college I attended (and left after a little more than a quarter) didn't have a swim team. I gained the Freshman 15 and a little more. After I left school, I was extremely depressed and over the next several years agained about a hundred pounds.

I look back at pictures of myself weighing 165 pounds and I experience a strange mix of feelings -- horror, sadness, envy, anger.

I've been on Weight Watchers on and off for about four years. In my life, I've never lost more than 22 pounds. I have lost and gained the same 22 pounds for the last four years. I am tired of this mess. It's time to change.

What's different? Knowledge is power. I'm back in school after several tries at obtaining a college degree. I'm studying art history (it will be my minor) and frankly I would like to spend weeks on end just seeing all this stuff in real life. But if someone gave me a plane ticket right now, I'd be too scared to go. The laundry list of problems that my weight would cause looms large, superimposed over all of my dreams and aspirations. Not enough energy. Back and hips and feet would hurt. Can't fit ass in plane seat for that many hours. Ad nauseum.

I have a life to live and places calling my name.

I've been reading other weight-loss blogs, and thought I would make a fresh start with this one. I have another journal elsewhere, so this will probably not be about my day-to-day life -- unless it has to do with my weight loss journey. Some days I eat-breath-sleep. You know the drill.

Hi.