So due to the fact that I'm supposed to be doing strength training in addition to good things like running and cross training on my handy elliptical, I've found something to challenge myself. I do enjoy a good challenge.
Starting today I am going to be doing this.
100 push ups sound pretty much impossible. I like to prove that things aren't impossible, so here we go!
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
One hour and 4 minutes later...
I made that 10k my bitch.
Just look at my face in this photo. Is that not the face of someone seriously hardcore? And yes, that is sarcasm.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Hello Blogosphere!
So, as Leslie wrote, I am the magnificent Shawna and I shall be your blogger this evening. I'm not quite sure who the third reader is (Is it me?), but I will not disappoint. There will be intrigue, romance, soul-baring anecdotes!!! Oh boy!
I have have been proud to call Leslie a friend for over three years now, and I thank her for inviting me to be a contributor. I feel so official and important, and I think the power may be going to my head. I CAN WRITE ANYTHING I WANT RIGHT HERE---->Leslie is my poodle! I'll try my best to stay within the parameters of contributing etiquette, but honestly I don't really know what that means.
Here is one thing you should know about me. I am LAZY. I don't want to be and I can pretend that I am not, but that simple fact is undeniable. Leslie tells me about her running and soup-making adventures, and I think that nothing sounds so unappealing and hard as running and making soup. But still, she inspires me with her strength and initiative, and I want to be like her.
Recently, I attended a library conference for my job, and one of the workshops that I attended was called "Making friends with your food." The life coach (Yes, seriously) said that whenever we are tempted to use food as an escape or in another unhealthy way, we are to think of an alternative means of therapy. I think I have used food as an escape from boredom and, sadly, I seem to get bored a lot.
Instead of eating when I am bored, I thought that I could take my dog, Beesly, for a walk or read news on the internet. But I get kind of stuck after that. I need to find an exercise that I enjoy doing as much as Leslie enjoys running. I know that I like bicycling and walking, but I'd like more ideas. Leslie, what activities or exercises do you use when you need to relax or be entertained?
This entry is kind of rambly, so hopefully I will get into the groove of things as posts continue. P.S. I want my own personal life coach. Any volunteers? I enjoy being crafty and baking. Please incorporate these things into my sessions.
Also, I am very excited because I can apparently lose 18 lbs. in 4 days, and I'd trust Google Ads with the life of a baby chinchilla. Look out Oktoberfest, here I come!
CHINCHILLA!!!
I have have been proud to call Leslie a friend for over three years now, and I thank her for inviting me to be a contributor. I feel so official and important, and I think the power may be going to my head. I CAN WRITE ANYTHING I WANT RIGHT HERE---->Leslie is my poodle! I'll try my best to stay within the parameters of contributing etiquette, but honestly I don't really know what that means.
Here is one thing you should know about me. I am LAZY. I don't want to be and I can pretend that I am not, but that simple fact is undeniable. Leslie tells me about her running and soup-making adventures, and I think that nothing sounds so unappealing and hard as running and making soup. But still, she inspires me with her strength and initiative, and I want to be like her.
Recently, I attended a library conference for my job, and one of the workshops that I attended was called "Making friends with your food." The life coach (Yes, seriously) said that whenever we are tempted to use food as an escape or in another unhealthy way, we are to think of an alternative means of therapy. I think I have used food as an escape from boredom and, sadly, I seem to get bored a lot.
Instead of eating when I am bored, I thought that I could take my dog, Beesly, for a walk or read news on the internet. But I get kind of stuck after that. I need to find an exercise that I enjoy doing as much as Leslie enjoys running. I know that I like bicycling and walking, but I'd like more ideas. Leslie, what activities or exercises do you use when you need to relax or be entertained?
This entry is kind of rambly, so hopefully I will get into the groove of things as posts continue. P.S. I want my own personal life coach. Any volunteers? I enjoy being crafty and baking. Please incorporate these things into my sessions.
Also, I am very excited because I can apparently lose 18 lbs. in 4 days, and I'd trust Google Ads with the life of a baby chinchilla. Look out Oktoberfest, here I come!
CHINCHILLA!!!
And a sidenote...
Woo hoo, I have a contributor! Readers (all three of you), meet Shawna. Her name is listed over there on the side. She's fun.
I feel so official. Basically I'm totally on my way to internet super stardom.
I feel so official. Basically I'm totally on my way to internet super stardom.
Irony is a cold-hearted bitch.
I officially weigh the least I have ever weighed in my adult life. Also, this is a really long post because I just felt like typing today, apparently.
According to BMI standards, at my heaviest of 220 pounds I was just tipping the scale into morbid obesity. That scared me. I’ve always been heavy, and sometimes it bothered me and other times it didn’t. Obesity was just a fact of life. But the words “morbid obesity” at the age of 22 was not something I was okay with.
In the second grade we had a day where we all weighed ourselves and used the information for some project or another. I have absolutely no idea how this was of any scholastic value, nor do I know why the teacher thought it was acceptable for children to publicly weigh themselves. What I do know is that I was the heaviest girl in the class and my classmates made sure I knew that. That’s the first time I remember thinking I was fat.
I went on to believe I was a ginormous cow for most of middle and high school. In all actuality, I totally wasn’t. Throughout most of those years I was about a size 16. During my junior year of high school I travelled to northeastern Mexico for a year as an exchange student and it was there that my struggle with body image really escalated. Turns out there are no fat people in Mexico. Sure, there were a couple here and there, but all of my friends at school were itty bitty and found me to be rather abnormal. A fellow exchange student (who I later found out was bulimic… it explained a lot) decided it was appropriate to make frequent comments about my diet and exercise habits (which were poor and non-existent, granted, but I didn’t need her to tell me that). Halfway through the year I was required to switch host families. My new family, while very kind in some ways, proved very unkind in others. I had three host brothers, the oldest of which told me once that no one would ever want me in my current physical condition. My host mother often critiqued my eating habits and appearance. I began to eat as little as possible and leave the house every afternoon to walk around my neighborhood for hours. My poor nutrition caused my hair to start to fall out, but my weight plummeted and I began to hear from everyone how great I looked. When I arrived back home after my year was up, I weighed 159 pounds. My host mother gave me a letter in the airport explaining that she took her marital problems out on me. She also told me to make sure I didn’t gain the weight back. That was the last time we spoke.
I heard from everyone at home how great I looked as well, so you can imagine my dismay when the scale crept back up again because I dared to consume actual food. The frustration at the instant gain led me to gain back what I had lost (about 25 pounds) plus even more. When I graduated high school I weighed 200 pounds. I hovered in the 200-210 region for the next three years, except for a brief foray into the 180s while working at a mill for the summer. Turns out stacking boards all day burns crazy amounts of calories. It wasn’t until my third and final year of college (I graduated early) that my weight got up to 220, and I had basically given up.
I have tried every. single. diet. South Beach, Slim Fast, low carb, no carb, high protein, starvation, liquid, etc. Many of these were attempted during my first year of college because a friend needed a dieting buddy. For a very ridiculous 10 days I even did the Master Cleanse (shudder) though that was more of an experimental thing than a weight loss attempt. After I graduated and moved to BFE, I started exercising more and trying to eat sensibly. I lost 40 pounds. I credit a lot of this to the fact that I put myself through college and having to face mass amounts of debt and bills led to me not being able to afford to eat. Still, my overall tendency was to eat as little as possible regardless of my financial status.
About ten months ago I decided to do the Couch to 5k program. I had started to gain back a few pounds and really wanted to avoid seeing the 200 mark again. It was definitely slow going at first. Somehow I managed to complete both the program and my first 5k. From there I went on to continue running and discovered it was a hobby I loved. I read more and more about nutrition and health issues, and realized I’d been torturing myself for over 23 years.
Why bother starving myself or eating things I hated? That’s not something I can commit to for the rest of my life, obviously, or I would have done it already. So I started to eat more. I reintroduced things like fruit and even crazy items like bread and pasta into my diet (the low-carb habits die hard, let me tell you). I included all the food groups and figured out what all of the food groups actually were (I’m pretty sure I should have learned that in second grade instead of learning that I was a fatty). Balancing my intake of carbs, proteins and healthy fats proved to be less difficult than I would have thought and I found I can eat a wide variety of things and be happy at the same time. I even allow myself things like ice cream every so often. Shocker! Eventually, my running endurance increased. Now I’ve gone from struggling through my first 5k to training for my first half marathon. Which for me, is an actual shocker.
The interesting part of this is that when I stopped paying attention to my scale (we broke up, remember?) is exactly when the number started to go down. I hadn’t weighed myself in awhile and so today I thought, “Hmmm, I wonder where I’m at.” I like to check in often enough to not be obsessive, but also to keep myself in check. The scale told me 156. I replied to the scale with, “What the fuck? Really?”
So now I officially weigh less than I did when I was 17 (technically not even my adult life, but you get the picture). And it happened by changing my lifestyle instead of torturing myself. I still have all my hair, I still eat (a lot—I pretty much love cooking and food) and I have a new hobby that keeps me entertained.
I find this all very ironic. And I can’t decide if it should make me happy or a little sad.
According to BMI standards, at my heaviest of 220 pounds I was just tipping the scale into morbid obesity. That scared me. I’ve always been heavy, and sometimes it bothered me and other times it didn’t. Obesity was just a fact of life. But the words “morbid obesity” at the age of 22 was not something I was okay with.
In the second grade we had a day where we all weighed ourselves and used the information for some project or another. I have absolutely no idea how this was of any scholastic value, nor do I know why the teacher thought it was acceptable for children to publicly weigh themselves. What I do know is that I was the heaviest girl in the class and my classmates made sure I knew that. That’s the first time I remember thinking I was fat.
I went on to believe I was a ginormous cow for most of middle and high school. In all actuality, I totally wasn’t. Throughout most of those years I was about a size 16. During my junior year of high school I travelled to northeastern Mexico for a year as an exchange student and it was there that my struggle with body image really escalated. Turns out there are no fat people in Mexico. Sure, there were a couple here and there, but all of my friends at school were itty bitty and found me to be rather abnormal. A fellow exchange student (who I later found out was bulimic… it explained a lot) decided it was appropriate to make frequent comments about my diet and exercise habits (which were poor and non-existent, granted, but I didn’t need her to tell me that). Halfway through the year I was required to switch host families. My new family, while very kind in some ways, proved very unkind in others. I had three host brothers, the oldest of which told me once that no one would ever want me in my current physical condition. My host mother often critiqued my eating habits and appearance. I began to eat as little as possible and leave the house every afternoon to walk around my neighborhood for hours. My poor nutrition caused my hair to start to fall out, but my weight plummeted and I began to hear from everyone how great I looked. When I arrived back home after my year was up, I weighed 159 pounds. My host mother gave me a letter in the airport explaining that she took her marital problems out on me. She also told me to make sure I didn’t gain the weight back. That was the last time we spoke.
I heard from everyone at home how great I looked as well, so you can imagine my dismay when the scale crept back up again because I dared to consume actual food. The frustration at the instant gain led me to gain back what I had lost (about 25 pounds) plus even more. When I graduated high school I weighed 200 pounds. I hovered in the 200-210 region for the next three years, except for a brief foray into the 180s while working at a mill for the summer. Turns out stacking boards all day burns crazy amounts of calories. It wasn’t until my third and final year of college (I graduated early) that my weight got up to 220, and I had basically given up.
I have tried every. single. diet. South Beach, Slim Fast, low carb, no carb, high protein, starvation, liquid, etc. Many of these were attempted during my first year of college because a friend needed a dieting buddy. For a very ridiculous 10 days I even did the Master Cleanse (shudder) though that was more of an experimental thing than a weight loss attempt. After I graduated and moved to BFE, I started exercising more and trying to eat sensibly. I lost 40 pounds. I credit a lot of this to the fact that I put myself through college and having to face mass amounts of debt and bills led to me not being able to afford to eat. Still, my overall tendency was to eat as little as possible regardless of my financial status.
About ten months ago I decided to do the Couch to 5k program. I had started to gain back a few pounds and really wanted to avoid seeing the 200 mark again. It was definitely slow going at first. Somehow I managed to complete both the program and my first 5k. From there I went on to continue running and discovered it was a hobby I loved. I read more and more about nutrition and health issues, and realized I’d been torturing myself for over 23 years.
Why bother starving myself or eating things I hated? That’s not something I can commit to for the rest of my life, obviously, or I would have done it already. So I started to eat more. I reintroduced things like fruit and even crazy items like bread and pasta into my diet (the low-carb habits die hard, let me tell you). I included all the food groups and figured out what all of the food groups actually were (I’m pretty sure I should have learned that in second grade instead of learning that I was a fatty). Balancing my intake of carbs, proteins and healthy fats proved to be less difficult than I would have thought and I found I can eat a wide variety of things and be happy at the same time. I even allow myself things like ice cream every so often. Shocker! Eventually, my running endurance increased. Now I’ve gone from struggling through my first 5k to training for my first half marathon. Which for me, is an actual shocker.
The interesting part of this is that when I stopped paying attention to my scale (we broke up, remember?) is exactly when the number started to go down. I hadn’t weighed myself in awhile and so today I thought, “Hmmm, I wonder where I’m at.” I like to check in often enough to not be obsessive, but also to keep myself in check. The scale told me 156. I replied to the scale with, “What the fuck? Really?”
So now I officially weigh less than I did when I was 17 (technically not even my adult life, but you get the picture). And it happened by changing my lifestyle instead of torturing myself. I still have all my hair, I still eat (a lot—I pretty much love cooking and food) and I have a new hobby that keeps me entertained.
I find this all very ironic. And I can’t decide if it should make me happy or a little sad.
I'm so old.
On Saturday I will be turning 24. When I was younger I always imagined I would be married by the time I hit my mid-20s. I was such a silly child… Being single rocks. I wish the 10-year-old Leslie knew that.
Anyway, I have just discovered that this week is Unmarried and Single Americans Week! Seriously, September 21 through September 27, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.
Check that out! According to their press release 54 percent of women 18 and older are single. I have so many fellow singletons! Here I thought I was the only one.
I think being single gives me a sense of accomplishment that I would be lacking otherwise. When I have a problem, I deal with it. Sure I have family and friends to lean on, but for the most part, I have myself. I’m okay with that. The bitter and cynical side of me tends to think that I can only rely on myself because other people will just disappoint you. But in the grand scheme of things, is it so bad to know that at least I am capable of taking care of myself?
I also tend to think that being single has made me a stronger woman. I know plenty of women who rely on their boyfriends or husbands to do certain things for them—fixing cars, moving heavy objects, opening jars, etc, etc, etc. Sure, there are exceptions to that rule. I would be doing some serious stereotyping if I thought otherwise. But in my case I know that if I don’t do something myself, it won’t get done. And I’m okay with that.
I’m at a very liberated point in my life right now. And I’m not just saying that because I mowed the lawn last night and decided it was okay not to rake afterward (it is cold as balls outside! The first day of fall arrived with a vengeance). What I mean is, I have a freedom in my life that attached people do not have. If I want to pick up and move, I can. If I want to stay in my pajamas all weekend and do nothing, I can (but probably won’t cause I get restless when I try to do that). If I want to take a random weekend getaway to Vegas and marry a stranger, I can. The only thing holding me down is the dog, and she’s a rock star, so really she isn’t a burden.
In addition to this lovely celebration of singlehood, it has also been pointed out to me that the local Oktoberfest celebration is on my birthday. The universe totally loves me!
Anyway, I have just discovered that this week is Unmarried and Single Americans Week! Seriously, September 21 through September 27, according to the U.S. Census Bureau.
Check that out! According to their press release 54 percent of women 18 and older are single. I have so many fellow singletons! Here I thought I was the only one.
I think being single gives me a sense of accomplishment that I would be lacking otherwise. When I have a problem, I deal with it. Sure I have family and friends to lean on, but for the most part, I have myself. I’m okay with that. The bitter and cynical side of me tends to think that I can only rely on myself because other people will just disappoint you. But in the grand scheme of things, is it so bad to know that at least I am capable of taking care of myself?
I also tend to think that being single has made me a stronger woman. I know plenty of women who rely on their boyfriends or husbands to do certain things for them—fixing cars, moving heavy objects, opening jars, etc, etc, etc. Sure, there are exceptions to that rule. I would be doing some serious stereotyping if I thought otherwise. But in my case I know that if I don’t do something myself, it won’t get done. And I’m okay with that.
I’m at a very liberated point in my life right now. And I’m not just saying that because I mowed the lawn last night and decided it was okay not to rake afterward (it is cold as balls outside! The first day of fall arrived with a vengeance). What I mean is, I have a freedom in my life that attached people do not have. If I want to pick up and move, I can. If I want to stay in my pajamas all weekend and do nothing, I can (but probably won’t cause I get restless when I try to do that). If I want to take a random weekend getaway to Vegas and marry a stranger, I can. The only thing holding me down is the dog, and she’s a rock star, so really she isn’t a burden.
In addition to this lovely celebration of singlehood, it has also been pointed out to me that the local Oktoberfest celebration is on my birthday. The universe totally loves me!
Monday, September 22, 2008
Titles are so bothersome.
I do not often have moments when I wish I wasn’t single. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Often I’ll be hearing about a friend’s boyfriend problems and think to myself, “My life is so uncomplicated as a single person.” I only have myself to worry about, and that’s how I like it. And that is not just because I am very, very bitter and cynical.
Last week, however, when I had 101 degree fever accompanied with chills and feelings of impending death (completely with a sensation that my head would soon fall off) I really wished I didn’t live alone so that I could send someone to go get me soup and something to shoot myself with. Sadly, I haven’t trained the dog to do such things. We’re working on it. When you’re not single does it mean you have someone to get you soup? So far that’s the only benefit I’m seeing. Maybe I just need a roommate. Or more friends who live close by.
Anyway, my half marathon training has been put slightly on hold because of the brief adventure into the world of antibiotics and mass amounts of Kleenex. But I plan to be back in fighting shape as of tomorrow. The half marathon training plans I found on Google still seem to think I can manage it in six weeks, so if they say so I suppose it must be true. Google does know everything, right? I’ll be slowly increasing my long runs from 7 miles (where I’m at now) to 11 miles by the time the half marathon rolls around, and training about 14 miles a week besides that. Really that’s what I’m doing now anyway, so as long as I keep going I should be in good shape. Also, the whole sickness thing better remove itself from my body ASAP. I have no patience for illness.
As a result of this lovely illness, I called in sick for only the second time in over two years at my current job. It led to me only working two days last week! Crazy. I watched a lot of daytime television in a feverish state and forced the dog to cuddle with me (she needs her alone time, usually, but I told her that doesn’t apply when I’m dying. Cause I talk to my dog).
Today I was sitting in my office when one of the local “crack heads” came in. I refer to him as a crack head because A) I’m pretty sure he literally is on crack and B) it just seems like a good descriptor. He comes in pretty frequently to visit with my boss, and he also annoys me to no end. I wish he would just go away. Today we had a lovely conversation when he chose to sit in my section of the office and drink coffee.
CrackHead: Do you have any sugar?
Me: No, we used it all and no one ever bought more.
CH: (looking at me like I was crazy) You don’t use sugar?
Me: Nope.
CH: (looking at me like I was crazy and a liar) You don’t eat sweets?
Me: Not usually.
CH: What is your diet like then?
Me: Um, lots of fruits and veggies… (wondering to myself why I was even answering this question)
CH: Well what do you do besides sit at the computer all day? All I ever see you do is run that machine!
Me: (starting to ignore him and thinking to myself, “Well, that is part of my job…”)
This all made me start to think that curling into a ball of sickness and misery on my couch and watching a lot of “Rachel Ray” is preferable to my office at times. How on earth do I end up attracting the crazies that think its okay to judge me and question my diet and exercise habits? Seriously, I do. Just cause I’m overweight is it impossible to believe that I don’t eat much sugar?
And so what if I do eat sugar? It’s my body. I don’t judge him for ingesting copious amounts of crack, do I?
Just remember kids, crack is whack. Nothing rhymes with sugar in that way, now does it?
Last week, however, when I had 101 degree fever accompanied with chills and feelings of impending death (completely with a sensation that my head would soon fall off) I really wished I didn’t live alone so that I could send someone to go get me soup and something to shoot myself with. Sadly, I haven’t trained the dog to do such things. We’re working on it. When you’re not single does it mean you have someone to get you soup? So far that’s the only benefit I’m seeing. Maybe I just need a roommate. Or more friends who live close by.
Anyway, my half marathon training has been put slightly on hold because of the brief adventure into the world of antibiotics and mass amounts of Kleenex. But I plan to be back in fighting shape as of tomorrow. The half marathon training plans I found on Google still seem to think I can manage it in six weeks, so if they say so I suppose it must be true. Google does know everything, right? I’ll be slowly increasing my long runs from 7 miles (where I’m at now) to 11 miles by the time the half marathon rolls around, and training about 14 miles a week besides that. Really that’s what I’m doing now anyway, so as long as I keep going I should be in good shape. Also, the whole sickness thing better remove itself from my body ASAP. I have no patience for illness.
As a result of this lovely illness, I called in sick for only the second time in over two years at my current job. It led to me only working two days last week! Crazy. I watched a lot of daytime television in a feverish state and forced the dog to cuddle with me (she needs her alone time, usually, but I told her that doesn’t apply when I’m dying. Cause I talk to my dog).
Today I was sitting in my office when one of the local “crack heads” came in. I refer to him as a crack head because A) I’m pretty sure he literally is on crack and B) it just seems like a good descriptor. He comes in pretty frequently to visit with my boss, and he also annoys me to no end. I wish he would just go away. Today we had a lovely conversation when he chose to sit in my section of the office and drink coffee.
CrackHead: Do you have any sugar?
Me: No, we used it all and no one ever bought more.
CH: (looking at me like I was crazy) You don’t use sugar?
Me: Nope.
CH: (looking at me like I was crazy and a liar) You don’t eat sweets?
Me: Not usually.
CH: What is your diet like then?
Me: Um, lots of fruits and veggies… (wondering to myself why I was even answering this question)
CH: Well what do you do besides sit at the computer all day? All I ever see you do is run that machine!
Me: (starting to ignore him and thinking to myself, “Well, that is part of my job…”)
This all made me start to think that curling into a ball of sickness and misery on my couch and watching a lot of “Rachel Ray” is preferable to my office at times. How on earth do I end up attracting the crazies that think its okay to judge me and question my diet and exercise habits? Seriously, I do. Just cause I’m overweight is it impossible to believe that I don’t eat much sugar?
And so what if I do eat sugar? It’s my body. I don’t judge him for ingesting copious amounts of crack, do I?
Just remember kids, crack is whack. Nothing rhymes with sugar in that way, now does it?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Ridiculous.
Today I signed up to run a half marathon on Nov. 1.
I must say, I never thought I would ever be the type of person that thought that was a good idea.
I blame the cold medicine. Because I have also caught the plague.
I must say, I never thought I would ever be the type of person that thought that was a good idea.
I blame the cold medicine. Because I have also caught the plague.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
The Break Up
My scale and I have broken up, over the course of the past few months, about five or six times. We have a love-hate relationship for sure. When I first bought a digital scale I was fascinated by it, and would do crazy things like weigh myself and then weigh myself again five minutes later to see if it had changed. Or weigh myself before and after dinner to see the effects of eating. Really, this was a messed up habit. It was like inserting two AA batteries into a box of crack.
So I switched to weighing myself once a week and thus far that has worked for me. I ignore the scale for the rest of the week and we typically are okay with each other come Monday (or Tuesday, depending on how I’m feeling) morning. Except sometimes that evil whore likes to screw with my head. Really, I am completely aware that sometimes I just don’t lose weight that week, or sometimes I have my period and gain five pounds of water weight (no, really… well, sometimes it is part chocolate). But that doesn’t mean that I can’t be pissed off at the scale. It’s way easier than being pissed off at myself.
After the evil scale tells me a number I don’t like, we usually break up. It involves me putting the scale in the closet and deciding not to weigh myself for a few weeks. It’s just a number, right? It shouldn’t matter to me what the scale says?
The thing is that is DOES matter to me sometimes. And oh how I wish it didn’t. I’ve always struggled with poor body image and an unhealthy relationship with food, so I’m glad to be at a point now where I’m consistently losing weight because I’m adopting healthier habits. I eat a balanced diet and exercise regularly, and that’s what I’m supposed to do, yes? So I shouldn’t feel badly when the scale doesn’t go down, because a stupid number shouldn’t affect my mood that much. I tell myself this all the time. That doesn’t mean its easy to remember.
The weirder thing is that I feel like I shouldn’t be proud of losing 60 pounds. I’m proud that I can run seven miles and that I’m strong enough to do things for myself, but I don’t know how to deal with going from a size 20 to a size 12. (And that, my friends, is a bigger difference than I thought it would be.) Obviously, I am proud, but I sometimes feel that being proud of myself is somehow rejecting the person I was before and just another way of thinking more positively about myself because of my weight. I wish I could just be proud of myself for winning a Nobel Prize or something. But that involves winning a Nobel Prize and seems pretty difficult.
I would never want someone in my life to think badly about themselves because of the number the scale tells them. For some reason I’m afraid that by losing weight I will send the message that being overweight isn’t okay. At 220 pounds I was still the same person I am now, but when I look at pictures of myself from two years ago I can remember feeling so different about myself. I have had so many experiences where people judged me because of my weight or they pushed it into my head that I needed to be thin in order to be a worthwhile individual. Maybe by not taking care of myself, I was rebelling against that idea in a way. Overall I know that there is nothing wrong with wanting to be healthier, and I need to tell myself that. I don’t have to feel guilty about losing weight. I have a family with a history of obesity, heart problems and diabetes and that’s not where I want to find myself as I grow older. It’s not the number on the scale that I’m necessarily after—it’s a need to lead a healthy lifestyle.
And I seriously hope that my inner fat girl sticks around because people who grew up thin just do not get it. I don’t want to be one of those people. If I ever am, someone please punch me in the face.
Even more, I hope that I remember these things when the scale and I reconcile.
So I switched to weighing myself once a week and thus far that has worked for me. I ignore the scale for the rest of the week and we typically are okay with each other come Monday (or Tuesday, depending on how I’m feeling) morning. Except sometimes that evil whore likes to screw with my head. Really, I am completely aware that sometimes I just don’t lose weight that week, or sometimes I have my period and gain five pounds of water weight (no, really… well, sometimes it is part chocolate). But that doesn’t mean that I can’t be pissed off at the scale. It’s way easier than being pissed off at myself.
After the evil scale tells me a number I don’t like, we usually break up. It involves me putting the scale in the closet and deciding not to weigh myself for a few weeks. It’s just a number, right? It shouldn’t matter to me what the scale says?
The thing is that is DOES matter to me sometimes. And oh how I wish it didn’t. I’ve always struggled with poor body image and an unhealthy relationship with food, so I’m glad to be at a point now where I’m consistently losing weight because I’m adopting healthier habits. I eat a balanced diet and exercise regularly, and that’s what I’m supposed to do, yes? So I shouldn’t feel badly when the scale doesn’t go down, because a stupid number shouldn’t affect my mood that much. I tell myself this all the time. That doesn’t mean its easy to remember.
The weirder thing is that I feel like I shouldn’t be proud of losing 60 pounds. I’m proud that I can run seven miles and that I’m strong enough to do things for myself, but I don’t know how to deal with going from a size 20 to a size 12. (And that, my friends, is a bigger difference than I thought it would be.) Obviously, I am proud, but I sometimes feel that being proud of myself is somehow rejecting the person I was before and just another way of thinking more positively about myself because of my weight. I wish I could just be proud of myself for winning a Nobel Prize or something. But that involves winning a Nobel Prize and seems pretty difficult.
I would never want someone in my life to think badly about themselves because of the number the scale tells them. For some reason I’m afraid that by losing weight I will send the message that being overweight isn’t okay. At 220 pounds I was still the same person I am now, but when I look at pictures of myself from two years ago I can remember feeling so different about myself. I have had so many experiences where people judged me because of my weight or they pushed it into my head that I needed to be thin in order to be a worthwhile individual. Maybe by not taking care of myself, I was rebelling against that idea in a way. Overall I know that there is nothing wrong with wanting to be healthier, and I need to tell myself that. I don’t have to feel guilty about losing weight. I have a family with a history of obesity, heart problems and diabetes and that’s not where I want to find myself as I grow older. It’s not the number on the scale that I’m necessarily after—it’s a need to lead a healthy lifestyle.
And I seriously hope that my inner fat girl sticks around because people who grew up thin just do not get it. I don’t want to be one of those people. If I ever am, someone please punch me in the face.
Even more, I hope that I remember these things when the scale and I reconcile.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Man, I'm all about the blogging today.
A photo from a little over two years ago:
And a photo from this summer, about sixty pounds later:
I tend to not realize there is a difference until I put photos side by side. I don't think the photo of me from this summer is particularly attractive, by the way, but its the one that made a few people comment for the first time on my weight loss... so since I was grabbing one to stick on here, that one worked.
Its a strange thing, this weight loss. And yes, yes I am trailer park fabulous.
And a photo from this summer, about sixty pounds later:
I tend to not realize there is a difference until I put photos side by side. I don't think the photo of me from this summer is particularly attractive, by the way, but its the one that made a few people comment for the first time on my weight loss... so since I was grabbing one to stick on here, that one worked.
Its a strange thing, this weight loss. And yes, yes I am trailer park fabulous.
Furthermore...
I hate when I meet someone and remember exactly where I met them and their name and all kinds of things about them and then later see them again and they have no clue they've ever seen me before. This happens a lot.
I must be exceptionally forgettable.
I must be exceptionally forgettable.
Disaster strikes...
I am ridiculously accident prone lately. In only the past few days I have done the following:
1. Went for a run and faceplanted into a ditch.
2. Nearly been eaten by my neighbor's evil dog.
3. Sliced my hand open (the part that wasn't already sliced open from the faceplanting) while doing dishes.
4. Spilled red wine at a wedding... all over a very understanding bridesmaid as well as the BRIDE. WHO DOES THAT?
5. Nearly killed an owl (and myself and my passengers) cause it freaked me out and was strolling across the road while I was driving at night.
I'm thinking I should never leave the house again.
1. Went for a run and faceplanted into a ditch.
2. Nearly been eaten by my neighbor's evil dog.
3. Sliced my hand open (the part that wasn't already sliced open from the faceplanting) while doing dishes.
4. Spilled red wine at a wedding... all over a very understanding bridesmaid as well as the BRIDE. WHO DOES THAT?
5. Nearly killed an owl (and myself and my passengers) cause it freaked me out and was strolling across the road while I was driving at night.
I'm thinking I should never leave the house again.
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