Diary of a Fat Girl - Episode 12: My Love/Hate Relationship with Social Fitness

When I was 15 or so, I discovered a newsgroup that would become pretty central to my development into an adult.  Alt.Music.Tool (AMT, for those in the know) was a place where most of the people were funny, intellectual, interesting, and willing to have lengthy discussions on just about any topic.  With the installation of a sweet (read: terrible) PC in my bedroom and my family's new cable internet, I was free to debate, joke, and socialize to my heart's content.  It was a nice change for me, getting involved in a sizable community of like-minded peers who consistently challenged my views and respected my opinions.

At least, that's how I like to remember it.  The reality, as the Google Groups archives will tell you, was not always so rosy.  AMT did indeed foster my communication and debate skills, encourage me to continue writing (since all discussion in the newsgroup was, necessarily, in text form), and connect me with some extremely awesome people.  But considering the emotional and psychological place I was in at the time, it also helped me develop some rather unfortunate habits.  Being one of the few females in that sausage-fest meant that I got a great deal of attention simply for having a pair of X chromosomes.  I often encouraged this attention by alternating between rather crass and bawdy humor and overtly sexual discussion.  By demonstrating that "I wasn't like other girls" - in that I listened to Tool, laughed at (and made) dick & fart jokes, and could hang with the fellas - I felt that I was standing out and showing how special I was.  I took any and all attention from that newsgroup to be a confirmation of that very fact.  I even entered into a long-term relationship with someone from AMT, which somehow lasted two years.  Remember that post I made about communicating in a relationship, where I talked about that boyfriend I had the epic fights with?  Yup.

The word "pedant" would have been good to know in 2001.

The high of being loved and respected (okay, maybe liked and acknowledged) was addictive, and I was deeply wounded if I felt it start to wane.  If someone who wasn't one of my "fanboys" made a really good counter-argument to a post I had made, and clearly did not give a shit about hurting my feelings, I was not happy about it.  It was as close as I ever got to being one of those "mean girls" who needs others to suffer in order for her to feel any self worth.  I took great pleasure in either berating non-allies until they gave up (or made a fallacious argument) or seeing those who were five or ten years older than me swoop in and come to my rescue.  It was pretty fucked up.  I was pretty fucked up.  But I loved that newsgroup all the same, and still do, even though I haven't participated in almost a decade.  For all of its and my faults, I would not have developed into the woman I am today without it, and I think I'm doing alright.

One lasting effect of my years on AMT is that I am sensitive to the vibes of any online community.  If there are forums, boards, or threads, I only need to read a few posts before getting a sense of which kind of bullshit is going on.  Because let's be honest...there is not a single online community free of bullshit.  Sometimes it's the elitist circle-jerk (love you, AMT).  Sometimes it's a sea of n00bs with insufficient guidance to help them along, leading to answer-less threads and a handful of frustrated experts.  Sometimes, and this is perhaps the most delicious, it's a war between two factions who can hardly remember what the disagreement was but will fiercely defend the "right" side.  Even if a board or forum does somehow get to the positive feedback loop utopia of helpful, kind, and happy people, the moderators and OGs have to police that shit like crazy just to keep it the way it is.  Which, in itself, is its own kind of bullshit.

When I joined MyFitnessPal.com in July of 2011, I did not see it as a community.  It was a place to track calories in and out, use a few calculators or tools, and call it a day.  I had two friends on there, both of whom I knew in real life, and neither of whom were particularly active on the site.  We left each other alone and I was happy with that.  But eventually, I couldn't help myself.  The front page of the site has recent forum topics listed, and there is ALWAYS some insane/desperate subject line like "Is 700 calories a day enough?" or "WHY CAN'T I LOSE WEIGHT?!?"  At first, I would tell myself that I was just curious and wanted to "make sure" that someone had responded to the question sanely.  Eventually I realized that I felt truly compelled to give advice, particularly in cases when the OP seemed to be incredibly ignorant but genuinely seeking help.  After Christmas, a new wave of users joined the site for their New Years resolutions.  I immediately detested all of these people, even though I knew that it was for no good reason.  My old elitism had kicked in and I was unhappy to be lumped in with all of these fools who thought that starting on a certain day held some magical significance that would make it stick this time.  I felt the same way when I joined a gym in January.  I joined because their deal was excellent, but I also knew that I looked like that guy, and I hate being that guy.

Unfortunately, my involvement in the social component of MFP combined with the influx of n00bs meant that I was suddenly exposed to hundreds of "bad juju" posts a day ranging from whining to panic to guilt to misplaced anger and self-satisfaction.  Dozens of people would post their plans and goals, some realistic and direct ("I'm going to eat sensible portions and go to the gym once a week"), some depressing and vague ("I'm going to show everyone that I can do this and I'm going to be perfect all the time from here on out!").  Worse yet, the responses to these goals, all meant to be encouraging and helpful, were helping even the least realistic people feel as though they had already accomplished something.  I have even seen people reply "Congratulations" when someone identifies their goals.  Congratulations for what?

Judgmental owl wonders the same thing.

 Yes, I know, just taking the first step towards a healthier lifestyle, deciding to actually do it, is a big deal.  But there are no participation trophies in this game.  When someone has a question, or is struggling through a personal issue that is making them evaluate their stress eating, or has been at a plateau for 2 months, I take no issue with the kindest and gentlest support.  That's what people need that website for.  But if you want people to give you digital hugs because you binged on Valentine's candy (after having binged on Halloween candy, post-Halloween sale candy, Christmas candy, post-Christmas sale candy, etc...) and you're looking to get talked out of your self-loathing...well, maybe that's what you need this website for, but I want no part of it.

When I joined Fitocracy in December of 2011, I was dismayed by the seemingly-uniform policy of "There's no crying in baseball!" - or rather, that consideration of emotions, effort, and psychology played absolutely NO role in any of the goings-on there.  I had swung from one side of the pendulum, where everyone was crying and hugging each other while sneaking chocolates, to the other side, where everyone seemed to get bonus points for being critical of each other.  Of course, both characterizations are grand exaggerations.  There are plenty of stable, normal people on both websites.  But stable, normal people don't stand out.  In fact, I have even found that I am completely surrounded on Fitocracy because even if I manage to get away from various dudebros, cultists, and aggressive advisors, the other side is still there: the Weight Loss group.  I had joined this group very early in my time on Fitocracy because the website is not at all designed for that specific goal.  If anything, it is designed for hardcore strength guys and bodybuilders.  And while I'm sure that I would look awesome with huuuuuge traps, that's not exactly me.  So I figured that supplementing the Fitocracy gameplay with some like-minded folk in the Weight Loss group would be perfect.  After all, the people on such a nerdy and weird website like Fitocracy couldn't be as unbearable as some of those MyFitnessPals, could they?

...could they?

They could.

While 70% or more of the posts in the group are asking for advice, telling funny anecdotes, or sharing successes, the other posts follow a pretty predictable pattern: "My scale says I am at (x) weight, which is unacceptable.  I did 15 hours of cardio yesterday so I should be at (x-5).  I'm having a crisis of faith.  Also, I ate a whole cheesecake while I was typing this."  Thankfully, most of the replies to this will be something like, "Stop weighing yourself everyday, lift some weights every once in a while, and put the goddamned cheesecake down."  Well, they're usually phrased more sweetly, but you get the idea. 

Instead of continuing to perseverate on all my harsh judgments of these people, I'm now turning the lens inward, as they say.  I think my feelings on this issue are so strong because of a combination of things.  First, ignorance drives me crazy.  Especially willful ignorance.  People being stupid about something is familiar - I deal with it every day with my students.  But so MANY people being the same kind of stupid can be very tiring, and it's far worse when they don't seem to want to listen to any advice.  So that's one thing.  On the other hand, though, I do think that I see parts of my subconscious reflected in the weaknesses I'm identifying in others, which bothers me.  When I see someone complain about how hard it is to stay within your calorie budget for the day when you're having a company lunch at work and then dinner out with the family, I respond in my head with something like, "oh, bitch bitch bitch, just do what you know you're supposed to do and ignore anyone who gives you shit about it."  And then I think about all the times I have rued the social plans that involve cooperative meals, felt serious anxiety about sticking to long-term plans given that my friends seem unable to imagine a hang-out not centered on food, or been annoyed when my co-workers bring in cookies for our staff meetings.  The criticisms I (silently) make of others are often things I have unconsciously said to myself - essentialy, STFU and get down to business.  I have indeed told myself about how much crying there is in baseball, and let me tell you, it is a very small amount.

Sigh...seriously though, this is our problem?

Maybe my eye-rolling and "Oh, FFS"-ing has a lot more to do with my concerns about how I'm perceived than I had initially thought.  God knows I'm paranoid about being a whiner or a blubbering heap of awful.  And trust me, I do whine, and I'm aware of it.  But I don't want to come off as worse than I am.  I don't really know why I care.  I don't know why it should matter to me if internet strangers roll their eyes and cuss about my weaknesses.  If I know that I'm there to do real work and that I've already lost a bunch of weight, why should it matter if it "looks like" I'm a New Years resolution person at the gym?  Why should I give a shit about what anyone thinks about my weight, looks, or efforts, ever?

The short answer is, I shouldn't.  It doesn't mean I don't - I certainly spend enough time picking out my hilarious, obscure-reference gym t-shirts.  But maybe if I spent a little less time judging other people, I wouldn't be so worried about getting judged myself.  This whole process becomes a lot simpler when you divide all concerns into two categories: things that will help me reach my goals and things that won't.  Worrying about other people's thoughts?  Won't.  Thinking badly of others?  Won't.  Being aware of my psychological processes and trying to maintain only the healthy ones?  Will.  Getting off my ass and finally cleaning the house because I kept saying "I'll do that on vacation" but it's already Thursday?  Definitely will.  Maybe instead of just getting up and doing the work, I should go to the forums and say how bad I feel about not doing the work...

[Okay, I still have some work to do on this whole judgmental thing.]

Diary of a Fat Girl - Episode 11: "Ambuh, you lookin' skinnier erry time I see you!"

Here it is: the retrospective/progress post.

I wish I could say that I'm doing this post now because it represents some sort of amazing milestone (sorta, not really) or it's a nice round number from when I started losing weight, like 6 months or a year.  Really, there was no big a-ha! moment for me when I decided to get my ass in gear.  I think it might be more accurate to say that there were several small moments, a couple of tough mental decisions, and lots and lots of modified habits.  It was not all at once, not by a long shot.  I didn't step on the scale, become horrified, and then instantly change my life.  Oh, there was horror, believe me...there was horror.  But I was pretty used to the simultaneous depression, anger, impotence, and doubt that come with seeing a new all-time high number on the scale.

A year ago, on Superbowl Sunday in 2011, my brother and I weighed in for a weight loss contest.  The rules were simple: whoever lost the greatest percentage of body fat between then and the first day of our August cruise would win $100 from the loser.  No psychotic methods (eating disorders, drugs, surgery, etc.) were to be employed.  Exercise and diet, full stop.  Both of us were significantly overweight, with our BMIs in the obese range (I'll rant about how stupid the BMI scale is later).  I weighed in that day at the same number I had been for about two months: 197 pounds.  For many people who struggle with their weight, 197 is actually a goal weight, not a nightmare.  But for me, in my 5'4" frame, I was distraught.  Reaching 200 pounds had always been a fear of mine; maybe, I thought, if I reach 200 pounds then that will be it for me...I won't ever be able to get to a healthy weight.  For years before this, I had been maintaining in the 160s, then maintaining in the 170s, and for a long time I was in the 180s.  Approaching the double deuce was scary for me.

That being said, it wasn't quite scary enough to really get my ass in gear.  In fact, I put in a rather pathetic amount of effort for another 6 weeks after that weigh-in, then pretty much stopped doing anything.  I was incredibly stressed by the double whammy of graduate school and the absolute worst year of teaching I had ever endured (you know the kid in your class - or person at your job - who is just an absolute garbage dump of a human being...on the express train to Hell and determined to take everyone with him/her?  90% of my students were that kid.).  The changes I would have to make in order to make a real go of this weight-loss thing seemed so far out of my reach that even trying was too much to handle.  I stopped tracking my calories in March, and didn't do much about my health until school was over at the very end of June.

When July hit, I realized that I had made negligible progress towards wringing $100 out of my brother's wallet.  I went from 197 to 193 over those few months, and I'm pretty sure that most of those 4 pounds were because the second weigh-in was first thing in the morning.  I had always held on to this ideal of The Summer, as in "I will finally have time to exercise over The Summer" or "I will finally have time to read these 800 novels over The Summer."  In reality, I often spent most of my vacation screwing around on the internet, watching movies on Netflix, occasionally reading outside, playing with my dogs, and sometimes working.  Although exercise had always been a staple of my summer routine, its frequency and place in my life ranged from "meh" to "pfffft".

But around mid-July, I started writing.  I wrote my first Diary of a Fat Girl entry about 3 weeks into summer vacation.  This was around the time when it occurred to me that I really ought to take care of my body and at least try to make the changes I had always wanted to see in myself.  My short-term (and, perhaps, short-sighted) goals were all cruise-related.  Dan and I were shipping out a month from then and I wanted to look better in a bathing suit.  I signed up for a new calorie-tracking website, MyFitnessPal, and stopped using the more annoying and less helpful CalorieCounter.  I bought several used workout DVDs, some odds and ends (a jump rope, thingies that keep your glasses strapped to your head, and so on), and a book on emotional overeating.  I also bought size 10 shorts.  The shorts were probably the best source of humor for me, home alone on a summer day.  I tried them on for shit and giggles when I got them (I was comfortably a size 16) and could actually get them on and buttoned, but my god.  "Sausage casing" does not even begin to explain the fantastic reality of 190 pounds of Amber shoved into way-way-way-way-too-small jean shorts.

The cruise vacation came and went, I won the bet (by losing 5 pounds...yay?), and I was happy to discover that I really hadn't gained weight on the cruise.  I think walking for 10 hours a day has a way of off-setting eating chicken fingers and french fries twice a day every day.  [Side note: it also has a way of ruining your bad knee for the next 3 weeks.]  When we arrived home, there was only a short amount of vacation left before the school year started.  The next month was a blur until a friend of ours e-mailed with the link to Run For Your Lives, a zombie-themed obstacle 5k.  Immediately upon reading the info on the website, I became hopelessly giddy.  Not just excited.  Not just gleefully happy.  No.  I'm talking grinning-like-a-fucking-idiot-can't-sit-still-might-jump-out-of-my-skin giddy.  I was at work when I got the e-mail and I practically frolicked home to get to work.  I exercised that night.  And the next night.  And the next night.  Okay, after that I didn't work out every day, but it did get me started.

Around this same time, two important purchases were made: Dan bought a food scale and I bought a heart rate monitor.  Although I had been counting calories in and out before this, I was using estimates to do so.  I found that I was severely underestimating how much I was eating (portion-wise) and I was underestimating how many calories I was burning.  All the website averages were too low because, well, I'm fat, so I burn more calories than a skinny person.  Once I got my numbers sorted out, I was able to see the differences between some of my standard meals, in terms of nutritional value and calories overall.  It turns out that, given my standard activity level, every ten chicken finger plates was adding about a pound of fat to my frame.  Considering I was eating at least that many every month, it was a bad scene.  It was also around this time that I finally completed the switch from full-calorie soda to diet soda.  At first I was making a concoction of 80% Pepsi Max and 20% Pepsi, but after a while I discovered that Pepsi One was sweetened with Splenda, and just started drinking that.  In fact, I'm drinking one right now.  It tastes kind of like Pepsi.  Close enough, and certainly worth it for the whole "one calorie" thing.

Over the next three or so months, there wasn't much to write home about.  I exercised about 3 days a week, counted every single calorie every single day, and continuously fiddled with my fitness routines to try to find something I really liked (in addition to Turbo Jam, which I already liked).  I took advantage of a BU Fitness & Recreation Center alumni open house and tried a few new gym machines.  I ignored Halloween candy, then the immediately-following Christmas candy.  All told for both holidays, I think I ate probably 1000 calories of candy total - that may sound like a lot, but in a typical post-Halloween candy binge, I could easily put that away in a sitting without even thinking about it.  What worked for me with chocolate, and continues to work, is allowing myself to have it if I really want it.  In the past, I tried to deny myself "bad" food in perpetuity; this always triggered my fear/guilt/negativity responses, and I ended up eating more junk than I wanted in the first place.  These days, I eat what I can afford with my calories that day, log everything, and hold myself accountable.  It's working out okay.  Sometimes people even notice that I'm thinner.  The title of this very blog post is a direct quote from one of my students.  And she's not one to mince words or blow smoke up one's butt.  So I take it seriously.

In early January, Gymit ran a low-fee joining special that piqued my interest.  I had seen this place many times before, given that it was on my way home from work and was directly across from BU's FitRec.  I had started using Fitocracy to log workouts in early December, and found myself limited by what I had access to at home; if I wanted the barbell quests and big point gains, I would need access to a weight room.  Despite my reluctance to be one of those January joiners, the deal was too good to pass up.  I had already decided that I was done letting stupid negative feelings get in the way of my health, and not wanting to be that guy wasn't good enough to dissuade me from joining.  Although it's a small, bare-bones gym, I've been going for a month now with no regrets.

Most recently, I have started doing the Couch-to-5k beginners' running program.  I'm doing the treadmill version because, well, it's Boston in the dead of winter.  Just because it's been light on snow doesn't mean I want to trek my ass outside after dark 3x a week.  I also have a really tough time running on asphalt for any real amount of time, so the treadmill is my best way into running.  I'm only on week 3, but so far I really like it.  I have also signed up for a 5k race in June, a month after the zombie one, so I don't just give up the day afterward.  I have learned, through doing C25K, something surprising about myself.  No, it's not that I'm capable of far more than I ever thought and that I can do anything I put my mind to.  I learned that, while angry music gets me motivated on the elliptical, I perform my best running to dance pop hits.  Yes, I admit it: I fucking love Lady Gaga.

There are plenty of things I have learned/changed/decided/done in the last year, with most of the changes taking place in the last six months.  In the interest of breaking up this rather lengthy entry, we'll do this as a numbered list:

1. I no longer get mad at myself or feel guilty about the foods I eat.
2. I no longer rely on food to manage my emotions.
3. I do not blame myself for all the mistakes I've made in the past with my body, but I hold myself responsible for the choices I make now.
4. I view my issues with food and fitness as an addiction.  One day at a time.
5. I do not think of my fitness routine and diet as temporary; they are the norm.
6. I welcome external motivations (websites, 5k races) but I feed off of internal motivation.
7. I engage only in behavior that serves a positive purpose, whether it is for fitness, weight loss, stress relief, or plain ol' happiness.
8. I fucking love Lady Gaga.  Just in case you missed this from up there.

Okay, let's be honest, I could write about this shit for many more pages.  But I have to go to sleep.  I managed to pull some muscles pretty impressively a few days ago and my survival right now is based almost entirely on Advil PM.  I wish I could say that these strains and injuries are a drawback of working out all the time, but honestly...I have always hurt myself, and when I was less healthy, it was just in daily activities rather than by doing some sweet lat pulldowns or something of that ilk. For now, let me leave you with a pictures of the 25 pairs of pants (and a couple sweaters) I'm having to give away because they don't fit anymore.  Standard sizes FTW!