Exactly one year ago today, I went to a wedding. I looked like this:
Last week, I went to another wedding. I looked like this:
Today, I tried on the dress from the wedding I went to last year. I looked like this:
I’m looking forward to trying on both again on the one-year anniversary of starting my weight-loss mission. I think I’ll look like this:
I got back yesterday from a week-long trip to the highest, driest places in America: northern Colorado and Salt Lake City, Utah. It was a lot of fun seeing friends, dancing at a wedding and not caring that I am an abysmal dancer, and exploring new places. Along the way, I managed to not only hit the gym 3 times (which is hard to do when traveling with a friend!), but also to complete two different hikes. One hike was 3.4 miles, and the other was 1.3. At that altitude, I was really not sure of my comfort level with the activity, both in terms of huffing and puffing in front of other people and actual ability to complete the trails. I surprised myself on hike #1 (the longer one, which was 2 days before the other): not only was I NOT the slowest of the group, but I found I am in a lot better shape than I thought. The few times we stopped as a group to collect ourselves, I caught my breath pretty quickly compared to the others, and I wasn’t ready to stop as soon as they were. I couldn’t believe it; I was easily the largest person hiking, but still among the fittest. Riddle me that.
The second hike was just a friend and me, and she’s an avid and frequent hiker and rock climber, so she kindly adapted to my slower, less conditioned pace. Regardless, I was still happy with my showing on that endeavor. I should also add that I was doing both hikes essentially one-handed because I was carrying water and my camera. Totally worth it. Plus, I felt like a boss the rest of the day on both days. It’s so empowering to realize that 6 months ago, I would have barely been able to do this, and it would have been entirely out of the question at this time last year.
Between the Colorado and Utah adventures, I snuck up to Wyoming for a few hours to meet up with my brother, who happened to be there in the midst of his cross-country move to California with his girlfriend and dog. It took a lot of juggling, coordinating, and rearranging of itineraries to pull off that get-together — who meets up in Wyoming?! — but it was really important for me to see him. I don’t know how long they’ll be living on the West coast, but I know I have no money after all these trips (and one coming up next month), so it will be a long time before I’ll have the chance to see that part of my family again. I’m also strangely obsessed with my dog-niece and she’s super into me, too; I think my brother may have left questioning my motives for making him drive off course to see me, cuz the pup and I exchanged more hugs and kisses than any of the humans did. Anyway, the purpose of this aside is to share that when his girlfriend was away from the table at brunch, my brother just looked at me and abruptly asked, “So, you’ve lost a lot of weight, right?” I was a little taken aback by his directness, since, as I’ve said before, most guys beat around the bush and awkwardly tap dance around the subject. Also, my brother and I aren’t particularly close (though we have been getting better in the past year or so), so I didn’t expect him to bring it up. I managed to return his directness with a smile, a nod, and a “yeah.” He immediately followed up with, “How much?” Yeah, I abandoned the directness at that point and told him frankly that I didn’t feel comfortable announcing my number, but maybe I’d tell him in a few months, when it’s all (hopefully) over. He appreciated that and then asked a question no one else has ever asked me throughout this entire mission: “How do you feel?”
Only someone who really cares about me would ask that question, and I had no answer prepared for this question as I do for the standard battery of them that I usually get in this type of exchange. Of all the questions that the gamut of close friends to inconsequential co-workers have asked me over the past 6 months (!), not a single one has ever asked me that question. I myself never even realized it should be part of the package! How do I feel? I feel happy to have been asked that by someone who has always been healthy, and therefore knows this is less about the question I didn’t answer and more about the one no one ever asks. Guys, I think my brother loves me. That 60 seconds of conversation alone was worth the trip. 😉
Now, for the stumper. In spite of keeping my eating in check and logging some respectable physical activity that included hitting my miles EVERY DAY but one while I was away, the scale in Colorado showed that I had mysteriously gained six pounds since my last weigh-in, and the one in Utah showed a gain of four! What dark magic is this?! I thought that if anything, the high altitude would fudge the number in the other direction. I’m not sure whether it’s related somehow to the altitude (which I did research briefly, and showed that my original theory was actually the more likely scenario, so that’s not it) or water retention in an arid climate when my body is acclimated to the polar opposite of that, or something entirely different that I’m not thinking of. Of course, I also spent almost 4 days constipated (sorry, I don’t believe in TMI, so deal with it like a grown-up), so that is a likely factor. I was also running a massive sleep deficit from the go-go-go nature of my travels, and sleep is an inviolable tenet of my phil-LOSS-ophy.
No matter the cause(s), that freak “gain” was super frustrating, and it made me not want to weigh myself at all at home. I did in spite of myself, though, and in a fashion that breaks my rule of only checking once a week: I have weighed myself 4 times in the past 24 hours since being back, and the weight has steadily been dropping from the Western numbers. As of last weigh-in, I was only 1.6 pounds over the weight I recorded just before leaving, so I’m relieved that the inflated numbers weren’t reflecting an actual gain. With any luck, I’ll even manage to post a loss by my regular Sunday weigh-in. I’d still like to understand what that was all about, though. Have any of you ever experienced this, or do you have any insight into that strange, unsettling phenomenon? Please enlighten me!
My C25K training has hit a bit of a snag. In Colorado, I did complete one of the week 5 workouts, but the next one was something ridiculous like “do a 5-minute warm-up, then go ahead and jog 2 miles.” I managed 1.3 before throwing in the towel. If I’m honest, yes, I could have kept going, but I don’t know for how much longer. I’m thinking/hoping the tougher haul had more to do with the toll of the altitude and my exhaustion than with my ability, but I’ll find out during tomorrow’s workout, I guess. I may have to invent my own workout as a stepping stone to that part of the C25K curriculum. If I could just jog 2 miles straight, I wouldn’t need a training program. (This is why this program is so frustrating! I like realistic goals, not ones like Day 1: jog for 60 seconds and then walk for 20 minutes; Day 2: run a marathon.)
On that note, I’m gonna hit the sheets. I have a series of 10-mile days ahead of me, so I need my delicious, delicious sleep. Whew!
I don’t really have enough content for a full blog post, but a lot of notable moments in my weight loss have happened just all of a sudden.
On August 30th, I signed up to run in a 4.01K (cute, huh?). This will be my first outdoor run event ever.
On September 2nd, I jogged on a treadmill for 5 minutes for the first time in 5 years.
On September 6th, I bought a shirt — that fits — in size L.
On Tuesday (September 8th), I wore a skirt to work.
Yesterday (September 9th), I jogged on a treadmill for a full mile without stopping (12 minutes) for the first time ever at that pace.
Today, I moved the closure of my ever-looser VivoFit band so that only one last notch is visible. After I make that final move, I’ll have to switch to the smaller band when this one becomes loose again.
All of these are HUGE milestones for me, and I have consistently surprised myself in the best possible ways as I’ve hit them. Oddly, the one I’m most stoked about is the VivoFit band. As I’ve mentioned several times, I am terrible at measuring myself. I do it once a month, and somehow, it doesn’t really reflect the changes I know are there through the losses on the scale, the way I look, the way I move, and the way my clothes (don’t) fit. One of the things I measure is my wrist, and since I started taking my measurements back when Vivo showed 4 notches, my incompetent measuring reflects only 1/4 inch lost. Clearly, that’s wrong; here’s the size the band was when I started:
Sooooo… not so much with the quarter inch. My ruler tells me the distance covered in the notches I moved over is actually close to 3/4 inch. My measuring tape tells me lies.
It’s nice to know that when I feel like my arms are slimming down, it’s because they are. Now, if only I had a VivoFit band for my calves, thighs, forearms, biceps, hips, waist, chest, butt, and neck.
Happy first day of football season to all, by the way! Can I interest you in one of the pumpkin oatmeal chocolate chip cookies I made and then brought to work like a good girl instead of devouring them all in the secrecy of my kitchen? 🙂
Cheers!
It can be really easy to lose sight of who you were once you’ve lost so much of yourself physically.
Sometimes, I’ll be in the middle of one of my hours-long cook-a-thons during meal prep for the week, and I’ll have a sudden flashback to what that was like when I first started. I would have to take a couple of breaks to sit down and give my muscles and joints a rest. If I stood in one position too long, my left leg would start to go a little numb around the knee area and I’d either have to walk it off for a bit or just deal with it until I was done. (I probably should have talked to my doctor about that, but it stopped after I lost about 30 pounds, so I assume it’s nothing I should worry about now.) After my few hours in the kitchen, I would be down for the count for the rest of the day, usually with swollen feet and sore hips. That’s just from standing there!
I also sometimes remember the feeling of first getting up in the morning, not really feeling rested, and the discomfort of those first few rigid steps after coaxing myself out of bed.
I remember my walk to the metro taking 8-10 minutes longer in the morning because I had to stop and catch my breath at the top of those stairs on my route, and because I moved so much more slowly in general.
I remember trying to hide being winded while walking down the hall with anyone at work, and avoiding walking any more than down a hall with someone at work because it was too hard to hide being winded.
I remember getting out of the car after even just a short time driving and having to take the first several steps very, very slowly.
I remember always sticking to the shower curtain because there was no way to be in the shower without a part of me touching it.
I remember never untying my shoes because it was too much effort to get into a position to retie them.
I remember hating going shopping because nothing fit except the most horrendously ugly articles of clothing ever created.
I remember getting irritated when people would stop and hold the door open for me if I wasn’t that close to the door, because it made me feel like I had to rush to get to there, which made me lose my breath and feel embarrassed.
I remember driving to the grocery store two blocks away because walking was too exhausting.
I remember not wanting to go out on weekends because I only owned one pair of pants that fit, and I washed them on weekends so I could wear them to work again all week.
I remember not taking pictures when I really wanted to, because I didn’t want to see myself in them.
I remember avoiding travel, which is something that makes me happy, because it was too uncomfortable to sit on a plane or train.
I remember not wanting to go to the movies with anyone because I NEEDED both arm rests unless I wanted to twist myself up and feel the pain for hours afterwards.
I remember coming up with excuses not to see my friends or family whom I don’t often see because I was too ashamed of the weight, even though it would have made me happy to see them.
I remember hiding from the world because I had failed and therefore didn’t deserve to be happy.
I remember feeling guilty for not being happy. I had everything set up right so I could be, and I ruined it.
I remember feeling hopeless, like someone looking back on a life she hadn’t even lived yet.
I remember I never wanted to die, but I didn’t want to live.
—
I’ve only been at this for shy of 6 months, and I’m sure there are already things in this vein that I’ve forgotten. After all, none of this was pleasant to experience; who would want to remember it? I can’t believe I got myself into a situation where the above was my daily experience of life. Of course I was miserable.
Now, I’m replacing the bad memories with good ones.
—
I remember the first time I felt my bath towel close the whole way around my body.
I remember the first time a pair of workout pants became loose, then entirely too big for me.
I remember the first time I cracked 3 miles on the weight loss setting of the elliptical.
I remember the first time I flipped my mattress and changed my sheets, and realized I hadn’t changed my breathing at all.
I remember the looks on various people’s faces when they saw me for the first time since before I started losing weight.
I remember the first time I painted my toenails without straining. They were bold blue.
I remember the first time I rocked a dress at work. It was bold yellow.
I remember the first time I donated BAGS of old fat-girl clothes to charity. And now, the second.
I remember the first time I was walking with a co-worker outside of the office to get coffee, and I had to slow down.
I remember the first time I up and jogged for 5 minutes.
I remember the first time I felt capable of participating in an outdoor race. So I signed up for one.
I remember the first time I recognized myself in the mirror after all this time.
I remember the person I always was who’s been desperate to come out.
I remember she’s worth it.
Every time I see an article like this, I get a little self-congratulatory satisfaction. I kicked the sauce 15 years ago.
As you can tell from the link, I’m not talking about liquor. Luckily, I’ve never had much of a taste for most alcohol, so that hasn’t been a source of weight gain or an impediment to weight loss for me. What I’m talking about is the equally dangerous, harmful, and addictive substance known as the soft drink (which I will refer to primarily as pop, because I grew up in a part of the country that calls it that).
For background, let me go on record and say I used to drink a TON of Coke. We always had it in the house, and I would have 1-2 glasses with dinner every night as a kid. Over summer vacations when school was out, I would come in from outside and pour myself a refreshing glass of not water, not lemonade, but Coke. When my family would go to a restaurant for meals, I got endless refills of Coke. I never. Stopped. With. The. Coke. No one ever told me I should. So, for my entire childhood, it was Coke everywhere. Coke constantly. Always Coca-Cola.
I was one of those kids who really trusted everything authority figures told me, especially my parents and my teachers. Sadly, this means that if someone had told me when I was younger and impressionable that Coke was actually terribly bad for me — and probably if I hadn’t had such regular, easy access to it — I would not have been a pop guzzler during those development years. When I finally did get un-hooked, it was kind of a happy byproduct of a different lesson I learned from an adult.
In my mandatory 9th-grade health class, it was the first time a teacher explained the benefits behind the then-recommended 8 8-ounce glasses of water per day tenet. I decided I wanted to challenge myself to try and drink those 64 ounces of water a day, so I bought a 20-ounce bottle of Aquafina from the vending machine in the cafeteria one day and carried it around with me to classes. I refilled it during the day from the water fountains in the hallway and aimed for 3 bottles a day, figuring that 60 ounces was just as good as 64. I would make it through about 2 bottles in school and do the third bottle in the evening at home. Boy, did I pee a lot all of a sudden. I instantly became the girl asking for the hall pass in every period. And my pee was no longer yellow, but clear. I had never known that was a sign of good hydration.
When I first began that little experiment, I still went straight for the fridge for a glass of Coke when I got home from school. Pretty early on, though — about 2 weeks in — I discovered I actually wasn’t thirsty for Coke; I was thirsty for more water. (I now know that I was never thirsty for Coke; I was chemically craving it.) I gradually, unintentionally, eliminated Coke from my diet. Before long, I started learning how toxic pop is, and became intentional about my decision. I avoided Coke almost entirely and drank exclusively water. Not purely coincidentally, I was the only one of my friends who never had acne problems. I was also the only one of my friends who didn’t have stained teeth when my braces got removed. After a while, I didn’t even miss or think about Coke, even though it was still always in the fridge at home. My little experiment that was supposed to be a short-term thing has turned into a permanent life style practice that I have carried on throughout my entire adult life. In my early twenties, I graduated to a 32-ounce BPA-free bottle that I fill at least 4 times per day. I take it with me everywhere. I am never thirsty.
Almost everyone I know still drinks the fizz. There are some who think it’s cute to constantly refer to their Diet Pepsi addictions, as if they don’t believe that’s actually a thing while they trumpet their dependency on that shit. My friends, it ain’t cute. I know I kind of got off that crap by happenstance, but I am thankful to my teenage self for that every day. Giving up pop was the best thing I ever did for my health.
I’m not saying I’m better than anyone — I don’t believe that and I certainly don’t mean to imply it. What I am saying is, that stuff IS addictive, and that’s the goal of soft drink manufacturers. Our dependency on their product keeps them in business. I believe that the reason Coke’s recipe is locked away in a vault guarded by dragons and rabid dogs is not because the Coca-Cola company is afraid of replication or corporate espionage, but because if the full list of ingredients were ever revealed BY the company, they would be admitting to guilt of willful and knowing participation in contributing to a public health epidemic. If the series of links I shared at the beginning of this blog post didn’t illustrate the point finely enough, maybe this will: soda is extremely fucking bad for you. That these companies are able to profit from marketing poison to the masses in an age where we know how terribly unhealthy this product is, is unconscionable.
I really hope that in the future, we will look back on the days of Coke and Pepsi with as much horror and condemnation as we look at tobacco companies now. They’ll probably never go away completely, but they can be shamed and stigmatized into regulation the way cigarette companies largely have been. Just as tobacco products are only available for purchase by consenting adults and labeled with warnings reminding you that what you’re consuming is killing you, so should pop be. If that sounds extreme, I don’t care. That shit is unhealthy, addictive, unnatural, a body pollutant, a contributor to disease and obesity, and pure trash. Should that be in the bodies of children? Should that be in the body of anybody?
I guess I’m feeling a little angry today about this. I see people chugging carbonated sugar like it’s no big deal, and it worries me. Diet-branded drinks do not make it better; in fact, they are likely even worse. As I’ve mentioned previously, learning about food addiction has been a revelation for me. In that light, I see the beverage addiction even more harshly. I can’t believe we willingly put this stuff into our bodies.
That’s what this is all about, though, isn’t it? We have to have that set of realizations that make us say, “Hang on a sec — what am I doing to myself?” Whether that realization comes after a heart-to-heart with a loved one, through self-education, or by a complete accident, it has to come if you want to be healthy. You are the only one who can make these choices for yourself. You are in control. You decide what goes into your body. You. That’s what I’ve always heard, and what I finally understand.
Funny, for all my youthful reverence of adult authority figures, it’s grown-up me who learned from my teenage self. Seriously, high-school me: thank you.
Latest News updates
A collection of opinions, reviews and musings of a mother daughter duo.
The Journey of a Girl Who Has Been Overweight All Her Life...
Journey to a better self
Follow my journey to qualify for a sleeve gastrectomy
It's time to DTR
Being an adult even though I don't wanna.
Life Can't Weight 
