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:
- I no longer get mad at myself or feel guilty about the foods I eat.
- I no longer rely on food to manage my emotions.
- 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.
- I view my issues with food and fitness as an addiction. One day at a time.
- I do not think of my fitness routine and diet as temporary; they are the norm.
- I welcome external motivations (websites, 5k races) but I feed off of internal motivation.
- I engage only in behavior that serves a positive purpose, whether it is for fitness, weight loss, stress relief, or plain ol' happiness.
- I fucking love Lady Gaga. Just in case you missed this from up there.
1 comment:
Wooo Amber! 25 pairs of pants- I am totally impressed. You are seriously inspiring :)
xo
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