A common question I get asked is “what are you doing to lose the weight.”
I’d like to answer that question here. On my blawwwg.
The first thing I did was get proper medical care. I didn’t give up when Doctors told me to “work out harder” or “eat less.” I knew that there was something wrong with my body and I fought until I got the tests that I needed to get a diagnoses and treatment. It’s important to know that I was unable to lose any weight before I was on the proper medications.
When I first found out I was insulin resistant and that I’d have to take Metf*rmin, I pretty much stopped eating sugar and All Things White (bread, pastries, etc) I was terrified of developing diabetes (insulin resistance= pre-diabetic.) If the only option for breakfast was a muffin, I’d skip breakfast. That is no longer the case. I’ve learned to cut most sugar/White stuff out of my diet, but I will allow myself a dessert (CHEESECAKE!) or a scone every once in a while now.
Here’s the thing– I am not on a diet. In fact! I will not go on another diet for as long as I live. And here’s why– I never want to gain the weight back. I want to be able to maintain this loss, I want it to be forever. The reality is that simple sugars aren’t something I should eat and for the most part, I don’t. If I want a burrito, I use a whole wheat tortilla. If I want a piece of toast- it’s whole grain/wheat. I no longer choose sourdough bread for sandwiches, nor do I have a sugared up latte every morning. However, if I want a piece of cheesecake while out to dinner with friends, I’ll have a piece of cheesecake.
So, while I’m not “on a diet.” I most definitely have made some changes, but these changes are for the rest of my life. I am not going to go off of a diet and binge. It won’t happen. I may have a piece of sourdough bread sometime in the future, but I won’t be writing a blog post about what a failure I am for going “over my points” or “blowing it” ever again.
The most drastic change for me has been in the form of physical activity.
The first few months were difficult. Workouts had become complicated due to my thyroid condition going untreated for so long. Irregular heartbeats. Chest pains. Difficulty breathing. Nothing like a ride to the ER in the back of an ambulance and 2 shots of Nitro to make you live in fear of dying of a heart attack on the treadmill. The first few months of working out after that incident were rough. I was scared to push myself. Even after I was medicated properly and my heart was working as it should (according to two doctors)– I was terrified. I would stop and check my pulse every other minute. And if it got too high, I would stop.
That is why I said that I never imagined I’d be able to run 3 miles. I didn’t think I was capable. I was operating from a place of fear.
I’ve since conquered that fear. While I am still mindful of my heart rate and how my body feels, I no longer fear to control me. I push my body a little bit more each time. And I am constantly amazed at what it can do.
I try to work out at least 5 days a week. 30 minutes or more of cardio (usually running, sometimes elliptical and sometimes step, jump rope.) and alternating upper/lower body workouts with weights, squats, push ups each night. For instance: Last night I worked my arms with free weights and some machines. Tonight, I will do legs.)
The night before last night, I ran another 5k on the treadmill. I need to prove to myself that the first time wasn’t a fluke. That my body is truly capable of such things.
I not only did it again, but I improved my time by 2 minutes.
I don’t write about that to brag- there are millions of people who can run farther and faster than I can. I write about them because I am in awe of how far I have come on this journey towards a healthier, more efficient body.
The truth is I’m stuck in the weight loss department. I’m still holding steady at 186 pounds. (180’s are the new 200’s, apparently!) But that isn’t stressing me out because my body IS changing for the better. It’s stronger, faster, healthier and that is what this journey is all about for me.
(Although, I really do need to drop another 36 pounds so I can get off of this metf*rmin, which is still wreaking havoc on my body– more specifically, my digestive system. I’ll spare you the details, but HOLY NOT POOPING FOR 5 DAYS AND THEN FOR 4 HOURS STRAIGHT ON THE 6TH DAY.)
So that right there is what I’m doing to lose weight. Eating as healthy as possible for my body and exercising at least 4-5 days a week.
And because I’ve not posted photos in a while- here is a before and a current (taken today) photo of my progress. There is a very good reason my hand is covering my belly button and that is because my belly button is JACKED THE EFF UP. No one needs to see that. Gaining 100 pounds and losing 50 of that 100 can do that to a belly button, I guess. I cover it up because I care about you, is what I’m trying to tell you.
Here’s to losing another 50.
And By “Today” I mean “Yesterday.”
Man. Today.
Today was a bad day that involved bad news that led to more bad news that led to me hyperventilating into the phone asking me husband to talk me down from a panic attack.
Today had the potential to break me.
But it didn’t.
Because today I took all of the fear, frustration, negativity and used it as fuel to do something I’ve not yet been able to do.
Run 3.11 miles.
I ran 5k.
When I was 237 pounds I couldn’t walk for 5 minutes on the treadmill. Everything hurt. I couldn’t breathe. I felt so pathetic. I would cry, right there on the treadmill. Tears of frustration, of shame, of anger. I’d leave the gym feeling like a failure. I wanted to give up many times.
I’ve kept with it, even though the weight loss results have been painfully slow. I’ve kept going because with each workout, I felt a little stronger. With each new milestone, I felt more confident. I felt more energetic. I felt more… capable.
Of anything and everything.
I want to say this to anyone reading who is where I was a year ago.
You are capable. Capable of running. Capable of losing the weight. Capable of pushing your body to do amazing things.
I know from experience that when you’re overweight, people love to tell you how “you’re doing it wrong.” And most times, they are demeaning in their tone and cruel with their words.
I know what it feels like to be severely overweight. I understand how hard it is to get up and move. I understand why you want to give up. But please, don’t give up on yourself.
Start small. Start slow. Five minutes on the treadmill. And if you can go another five, then do it. Don’t beat yourself up for not doing more than you think you should be doing. Do what you can, but push yourself a little bit more each time. When you think you want to quit, push yourself for 15 more seconds.
When you’ve done what you can do, be proud of yourself for doing it. Don’t worry about what you *should* have or *could* have done. Revel in what you did. And promise yourself to do it again tomorrow.
One year ago, I would have never believed that I could run 3.1 miles. Hell, I wouldn’t have believed that I could run.
I can and I did.
And it feels better than I ever imagined.
Teacher Gifts: It’s the Thought That Counts, Not the Size or Spacing of the Writing. Right?
One thing that I have accepted about myself is that I am not a crafty/creative person.
It doesn’t keep me from trying every once in a while. My kids usually cringe in fear (embarrassment?) when I announce that I’m going to try to make a gift instead of buying a gift.
“Homemade gifts are special.” I say. And when I make them, they are “extra” “special.” If you know what I’m saying and I think that you do. (See: These creations for a reference.)
Today is my daughter’s last day of Kindergarten. I wanted to give her teacher something special. I decided to try to replicate a gift that we had made for The Teenager’s kindergarten teacher. I couldn’t find the picture of the one we had made eleven years ago, so we did the best we could based on what we could remember.
I was up until 1am last night putting the final touches on it.
This is what Gabby will be giving to her teacher today.
We tried. We really did.
Looking Up
So, About That Last Post…
I know all about depression.
Eight years ago it nearly destroyed me.
I was sad. I was crying all of the time. I didn’t leave the house much. I drank too much. I felt worthless. I felt ugly. I felt like the world would be a better place without me.
Getting out of bed was painful. Both physically and emotionally. But I did it, every day, because there were two beautiful little boys who needed for me to get out of bed.
Those were the worst days of my life.
I was sick. So very sick. And even though I was surrounded by people who loved me, I felt alone. I felt unworthy of love. I didn’t know where to turn for help. No one around me understood what I was going through. I had two beautiful children, a loving husband–why in the hell was I so sad? Didn’t I realize how lucky I was?
Unable to turn to the people closest to me, I began to write about what I was going through on my blog. In graphic detail. (I’ve since deleted a majority of those posts. They were too difficult to read and I was mortified at the thought of my children reading them.) I started receiving emails from people suggesting that I seek professional help. I knew that was what I needed to do. But I was afraid. Terrified, even. People Who Love Jesus don’t need psychiatric help. They just pray harder and trust in God. Because People Who Love Jesus don’t get depressed and they certainly DO NOT TAKE THE DEVIL PILLS CALLED ANTIDEPRESSANTS. I knew that going to a psychiatrist would be frowned upon by my family. I knew that they would tell me that satan was responsible for my depression and I just needed to draw closer to God.
So I continued to live with and in Depression out of fear. Fear of being judged. Of being scolded. Of being the subject of Friday night prayer meetings.
But then, one afternoon, something happened. Something awful.
I had a mental breakdown. In front of my children.
My husband called me a bad mother.
“I know you love your kids and you take care of their basic needs.” He said. “You make sure they’re clean and dressed and fed, but you don’t show them love beyond that. You don’t go that extra mile for you kids anymore.”
(He was angry that I hadn’t done the dishes again.)
In that moment, all of the sadness, loneliness, worthlessness that I had been experiencing came out of my body. I won’t go into detail, but I will tell you that it was horrifying. My husband had to refrain me from injuring myself. All while my precious little E watched in horror while hiding underneath the kitchen table. (A memory I wish I could forget, but can’t erase from my mind.) It was in that moment that I knew I had to get help. It didn’t matter at that point what other people thought about my decision. I had to get well. For myself, but especially for my children.
Taking the step to get help was the best decision I ever made. I now have a deep understanding of depression, of how my brain works. I am no longer ashamed to seek help from a mental health professional or afraid of taking anti-depressants. If I hadn’t done that, I don’t know that I’d be around, typing this.
I know that I’ll always struggle with feelings of depression. But now I am better equipped to deal with them. I know when I need to make an appointment with my psychiatrist, when I need to allow myself to feel the sadness. I know when I need to be quiet and when I need to speak up and give my feelings a voice. I know when I need to pull away from people but more importantly, when I need to surround myself with people that I love.
I’m not as sad as I was when I wrote my last post. I’m able to talk about things now.
I guess this is a really long, drawn out way of saying I’m feeling better and I’m going to be just fine. Really.
Reaching Out.
My husband just walked into the room and noticed the tears forming in my eyes. “Why are you crying?” He asked. I snapped at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just having a bad day. Please, don’t ask me again.”
That wasn’t the truth. It’s not just a bad day. It’s a familiar, dark cloud that has been looming over me for the past few weeks. I don’t want to give a voice to that cloud. (But I will give it a name. Asshole.)
I’ve struggled with severe depression in the past, so any time I deal with these feelings, I wonder– could it be? Maybe it is.
Or maybe it’s just PMS.
While I can’t deny they exist, I don’t want to give these feelings power over me. Which is why I just don’t want to talk about it.
What I do want is to be surrounded my family and friends– to laugh, to go to dueling pianos bars and sing and dance. And also? Eat cheesecake.
I want to eat lots and lots of cheesecake.
(Because that’s better than drinking lots and lots of wine, yes?)
This is about as deep as I want to reach into my Feelings at the moment. Thank you for understanding. And for the hugs and kisses I hope you will shower me with.
Another Excuse to Avoid Writing About My “Feelings”- A Giveaway!
This morning, I was going to sit down and write.
It’s been a while. And there are reasons. Reasons I’ve not wanted to talk about, but probably need to talk about.
I sat down on my laptop and tried to login to MT.
My internet was down.
I called my cable company where I was greeted with a Very Important Message.
“We’re doing some upgrades in your area. Your internet, phone and cable will be down until 3pm.”
Oh hell no. My blog can wait. One more day without an update here won’t hurt anyone.
However, I have a job that requires me to be online. So, I knew I’d have to drive my ass to Barnes and Noble for the free wifi hookup.
I walked into Barnes and Noble looking for free wifi, but in the back of my mind, I knew that today was the day that Jay Mohr’s new book came out.
I sought it out (it was in the Father’s Day display) just to get a sneak peek (I’ve already pre-ordered from Amazon. Am expecting it any day now.) I read the intro.
I expected to laugh. I did not expected to get choked up.
But I did. I got all teary eyed and kind of wanted to punch Jay in the neck for making me cry while standing in the middle Barnes and Noble.
Most of you know that I absolutely adore Jay. I consider him a friend. Naturally, I want his book to do well.
I also adore my readers. With the exception of the One Woman Who Hates Me and Thinks My Kids Are Fat But Continues to Read My Anyway, You have always been so good to me. I feel incredibly lucky.
So– I went ahead and bought a copy of the book anyway. And I want to give it away to one of you.
All you need to do is leave a comment here. I’ll choose a winner at random tomorrow evening.
If you don’t win, I hope you’ll consider buying a copy for yourself. You can order it here.
Am a dumbass who forgot to take the sticker off. Taken in the Barnes and Noble bathroom. Because I’m Class-ay.
You can read my interview with Jay here.
(Disclaimer- I purchased the book with my own money and was not asked by Jay to do this giveaway.)
**Comments are now closed. I’ll choose a winner shortly**
And the winner is… maggie, dammit!
Our Secrets
“I want to tell you a secret, mommy.” She says, with the huge grin on her face.
“Tell me!” I say.
“But you have to come closer, Mommy!”
I scoot closer to her. She places one hand on my shoulder. With her other hand, she carefully pushes my hair behind my ear. Her tiny little fingers work hard to make sure each and every strand of hair is carefully tucked away just right.
“I can’t wait to hear your secret!” I say, while softly clapping my hands. “I have a feeling I’m going to LOVE it!”
She giggles. Then she presses her lips up against my ear. She begins to whisper.
“You are the best Mommy in the whole wide world and I love your beautiful face and hair and you are my best friend.”
I turn my face to look at hers. “Thank you, baby girl.”
I kiss her forehead.
“Now, mommy wants to tell you a secret!” I say.
She giggles sweetly as she sits down.
I gently sweep her dark brown hair behind her adorable little ears.
I begin to whisper.
“You are the best daughter and I love your sweet face, your laugh and the way you hug me. I love you with all of my heart, Chunky Head.”
She smiles from ear to ear, reaches up and throws her arms around my neck. She squeezes my neck tightly and I squeeze her right back. I close my eyes and take it all in.
Just another moment of many in a day of my life. But one that takes my breath away.
“Your life isn’t perfect, but it is good.” My heart whispers. “Because it is full of love. So much love.”
And I write it down, because I never want to forget.
Deflate That Bat!
It’s no secret that I love Conan O’Brien.
I once stood out in the pouring rain to express my love for that sexy beast of an ass-less man. (THAAAAT’S RIGHT. I SAID S-E-X-Y.)
On Sunday night, I had a chance to express my love for Conan yet again, by shelling out $70 to see him perform live at the Gibson Ampitheatre in Los Angeles.
I had no idea what to expect. A live Conan show? WHAT?
Let me just say. The show? It was incredible–worth every penny I spent on the ticket. I was going to do a recap of the night, but then things got all complicated in my marriage and I’m feeling kind of weird about life and so instead, I give you The Highlights.
Conan talking about the 8 Stages of Grief After Losing a Talk Show.
Chuck Norris Rural Policeman Handle with celebrity guests, Sarah Silverman, Seth Green, Aziz Ansari, Jack MacBrayer and Jonah Hill.
Conan’s duet with Jim Carrey.
Dancing with Heather.
Hanging out with Mr. Drummond.
Conan wearing pink, leather, paisley pants.
There was more. So much more. But really all you need to know is Conan was SO good, that I only got up to go pee ONE TIME. And I had a bladder infection. I held it for Conan, you guys. And it was more than worth the pain.
You thought I was lying about Mr.Drummond.
Team COCO! (With orange gum, even!)
We love Conan long time. Or something?
Aaaand, we’re done.
Grief
Tonight I watched my sons stand in front of a casket, looking down at their childhood friend’s lifeless body. tonight, I watched my boys break down and sob over losing their friend to senseless violence. I’ve never seen The Teenager that broken. In the 17 years that I’ve been a mother, I’ve never felt so helpless. My boys were in pain and I couldn’t take that pain away. All I could do was hug them, wipe the tears away. They need to grieve, they need to feel this. And I hate it. I hate that they have to deal with this in their youth. I am so angry with the monster who caused this pain. My children shouldn’t have to say good bye to a beloved friend at such a young age.