I’ve been losing weight for about 2 months now, and over the last three weeks or so, I’ve been noticing them:  my fellow Recovering Fat Girls* (RFGs).

We spot each other on the way to work in the morning and home in the evening.  We see each other shopping at the grocery store.  We catch glimpses of each other aggressively crossing the street so we don’t have to break our stride and risk burning one fewer calorie.  How is it possible that we have this silent knowledge of each other?  It’s not totally clear, but an RFG knows an RFG when she sees one, with or without the presence of work-out clothes.

The proper conduct when encountering your sister RFG in the wild is with reserved friendliness.  Typically, there’s a quick second of eye contact, followed by mutually perceived recognition that the other is an RFG, and then a closed-mouth but warm smile of understanding with an undercurrent of support for the other’s place in the struggle.  Then, we pass by each other and go about our day, likely to forget that moment until we come across the next RFG.

It may seem like a typical exchange with any old stranger, but there’s something different in the RFG acknowledgement ritual.  The shared look and smile aren’t just reflexes to escape the momentary awkwardness of passing by a stranger; there are messages in the RFG version.  When I see a sister RFG, my eyes are saying, “I see you, girlfriend. You’re working it out.  Wherever you’re going right now, you’ll be going there with a lot more speed and confidence at this time next week.”  My smile is saying, “I understand you.  I support you.  I am you.”  At the same time, my sister RFG is saying the same to me, all without saying anything at all.

We’re everywhere, ladies. And you know what that means?  It means we’re not alone.

To all my sister RFGs out there reading this right now, I see you.  You’re working it out.  Wherever you’re trying to go, you’re GOING to get there.  I support you because I know you.  I know you because I understand you.  I understand you because I am you.

And sisters, we got this.

*I don’t have these moments in public with the Recovering Fat Dudes, but brothers, you also have my support!

(with apologies to The Troggs and Billy Mack)

My rings fit on my fingers,
My shoes fit on my toes,
This belt fits all around me,
And so the weight loss shows!

I only have one chin
And I don’t walk so slow!
So if your diet’s working,
Your body lets you know.

You know I love food,
I always did,
so I’ve been fat
since I was just a kid.
A new beginning
for my rear end:
no more on food
do I depend!

Happy Monday!  Choose wisely.
And enjoy this song in your head for the rest of the day.

xoxo

Dear Stomach,

I get it.  You’re upset.  Message received.

Would you care to explain why?

I thought it was that expired salad dressing I fed you on Sunday.  You were so unhappy with that, you turned into a giant knot and caused me so much pain that I barely slept all night.  I spent the whole day at home from work with you yesterday trying to make it up to you, and you’re still angry.  I mean, thanks for letting me get some sleep last night, but how long are you going to torture me?  You’re still cramping, you’re making me hunch over, and you growl at me every time I put food in you.  What’s your deal?  Why so mad?

Oh, wait… I think I know what this is really about.  You’ve figured out I’m trying to get rid of you.

Look, just because you’re shrinking doesn’t mean I’m going to stop taking care of you.  You’re going to get smaller, but you’re also going to get even more important.  I’m doing all I can to support you so that you can be healthy and we can have more years to spend together.  I’m building up muscles around you to protect you and help you do your work better.  I’m giving you tons of water and nutrient-rich food instead of that processed, chemicalized crap that we thought filled you up, but actually wore you down.  I’m listening to you when you tell me you’ve had enough, instead of listening to my mind that tells me to keep filling you because I’ve had a bad day.  I’m doing all of this for you because I want you to be well.  I’m trying to make you smaller, yes, but it’s for your own good.

Aren’t you tired of being squeezed by those same 3 or 4 pairs of pants I own and refuse to replace?  Aren’t you tired of entering rooms before the rest of me?  Aren’t you tired of being sucked in in pictures?  Aren’t you tired of being covered up all the time because of the way you look?  Aren’t you tired of being hit by things because you stick out?  Aren’t you tired of grazing against the steering wheel when I drive or my desk at work when I sit down?  Aren’t you tired of being tired, and always having to sit on my lap?  Aren’t you?  Aren’t you??

I guess what I’m saying is, there’ll be less of you, but it will make it easier for me to love you.  You’ve been so needy that I haven’t seen my feet in years.  I have to focus on the rest of me, not just you.  Stop being such a diva.

Get over the bad salad dressing.  I’m sorry.

Get on board with the weight loss.  I’m NOT sorry.

Love,
Me

I didn’t make it to the gym yesterday as I had planned, but I feel OK about it.  Why?  Because I still:

• Chose black coffee over a sugar-saturated latte or mocha at Starbucks in the morning
• Chose NOTHING when my afternoon meeting wanted to meet at Starbucks
• Resisted — wasn’t even tempted by — the 2 dozen chocolate chip cookies that showed up at my working lunch meeting and spent most of their time parked right in front of me
• Stuck 100% to my meal plan for the day
• Have no cravings for my old weakness foods (PLEASE let this last!)
• Exceeded my daily steps goal on Vivo Fit
• Somehow lost a pound between yesterday and Sunday when I did the official weigh-in for my DB that starts on Wednesday
• Plan to go to the gym today

GAME ON.

Although I haven’t posted in this blog before, I have been at this for 27 days already.  Precipitating this effort was a sudden, inexplicable disinterest in the terrible guilty-pleasure foods I used to have insurmountable cravings for.  I don’t even care to figure out where this new feeling came from; I’m grateful that it came along, and I plan on capitalizing on it to finally turn my life around, one pound at a time.

Sundays are my weigh-in days (not counting additional weigh-in days for Diet Bets).  To accompany them, I thought I’d do a reflection on one of the many thoughts I carry around with me about what it really means to be fat.

Being fat is lonely.  I’m someone who enjoys and needs time to myself, but there’s a major difference between time spent alone through need and time spent alone through no options.  I never realized just how lonely I am until I really started thinking about a typical day in my life, and how much time I spend involuntarily alone.

I’m a commuter on public transportation.  When I board the metro or bus, I don’t even bother looking for a seat unless I’m certain there won’t be enough passengers getting on between my starting and exit points because there’s not room for me to sit comfortably beside another perosn, no matter how small that other person may be.  Of course, everyone prefers to sit alone on public transit, but to not even have the option of sharing a seat is a form of indignity that makes me not even want to risk sitting down, no matter how tired I feel.  I start and end my days lonely.

Sticking with the sitting theme, I recently visited a close friend with two small children: one toddler, one infant.  The toddler is very engaged and loves to be read to, and her preferred seat during story time is the lap of the reader.  There is no room for her on my lap.  In fact, I basically have no lap because there’s always something on it: my bulging belly.  The little girl is small enough that she can fit on the 4″ of leg space that exist past my stomach, but it was a real effort for me to keep my knees locked together so she doesn’t fall between them.  I couldn’t sit the baby on my lap, either.  I can’t even bond with children in a normal way because I’m so fat.  I continue my days lonely.

For a long time, I even broke my obligations or declined invitations because I didn’t want to go out and be seen, even by people who already know and care about me.  Having nothing to wear didn’t do anything to help convince me to be social or go out in public.  I ended up isolating myself and subconsciously trying to fill the void with food.  I’ve been better about it lately, but overall, I spend my nights lonely. 

Then, of course, there’s having no relationship.  I’ve been single my entire life.  Even at moments where it’s seemed like I might have a possibility on the horizon, I get squirmy and embarrassed thinking about the poor guy having to touch me or see my body, and it makes me back out completely.  I’m not even looking anymore.  I’m too uncomfortable.  If not for alcohol in earlier stages of life, I probably would have no romantic experience to speak of whatsoever.  I have spent my life lonely.

Being fat is lonely.  I’d rather be able to spend time with other people without it being a terrifying idea that involves psychological battles just to motivate myself to venture outside of my apartment.

It’s time to end my middle so that I can have a new beginning.