Things continue to be, well, interesting in regards to that Marie Claire post. At first, I thought that the author's apology added at the end of the piece was a load of bs that she was forced to write, but it turns out that Maura Kelly really has had a long, documented history of anorexia. She was even hospitalized at one point at 70 pounds. Yikes.
That said, I'm still angry with the magazine for encouraging her to write the piece -- apparently her boss assigned it to Kelly after seeing an article on CNN about MIKE & MOLLY -- and am feeling sorry for Kelly. For one thing, what kind of crappy boss assigns an article fat prejudice to a recovering anorexic? And how much must Kelly b going through personally, if she got herself to the point where she was hospitalized for her weight issues? No wonder why overweight people disgust her -- she's seeing her greatest fear come alive right in front of her face!
I still don't agree with a word she said in her editorial, but I can at least understand what prompted her to write such a thing. Your world view can be extremely twisted when you fear something so much -- and fear that you can become said thing. It was definitely like that for me when I battled anorexia and bulimia (though I never got down to 70 pounds). I was definitely prejudiced against the overweight.
I still regret the fact that I made fat jokes against this chubby girl on our bus. To be fair, she was a total bitch and made Jewish jokes against me, but two wrongs didn't make a right here. But then there were the times I treated perfectly nice overweight people like crap. There was this girl in junior high -- let's just call her Evelyn -- who always wanted to sit with us at lunch and we'd let her; but my friends and I would make snide comments about her when she was out of earshot. She knew it, too, and was always trying to diet. All she wanted was for us to be her friends.
Part of this had to do with me being a stupid kid, but I know that a lot had to do with my own fears of gaining weight and being fat. I'd weigh myself obsessively and my mood would be predicated on what number appeared. No matter how good I looked in an outfit, I always noticed the "fat rolls" that popped out (which was ridiculous because I didn't have any!). Back then, I had the same stereotypes as everyone else -- that overweight people are lazy and ignorant. I wish I could go back in time and bitch slap the 13-year-old me!
The thing is, I didn't even like myself then. I HATED myself. I hesitate to share this, but I was 14 when I seriously considered committing suicide. So yeah, I wasn't fat, but I kinda thought I was anyway, and I was miserable with my own existence. What kind of life was that? No wonder I had so much prejudice -- it's difficult to feel love and compassion for others when you're dealing with your own shit.
What's interesting is that one of my best friends is gay and admits that when he was younger, he thought being gay was "disgusting." He's been out for 10 years now and has obviously changed his world view, but it was a similar thing in that he "hated" the thing that he feared himself being.
There are many things that I don't like about being obese, but in some ways, gaining weight has been good for me. I don't hate myself these days and think that I'm more compassionate toward others. I'm definitely less selfish than I was when I was younger and don't care quite as much about being perfect. Yes, I want to lose weight for health purposes, but I don't think that thinner equals better. For a one-time anorexic, that's a big deal.
It's pretty ironic that it took me becoming obese to become my best self so far. Hopefully, I'll take everything that I've learned during this time and continue to be who I am as the pounds come off.
Showing posts with label obesity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label obesity. Show all posts
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
A More Intelligent Response
Yikes! After rereading my last post, I can see how ANGRY I was about the Marie Claire debacle. That's me -- I generally don't blow up at things, but when I do, I get really, really pissed and let it all out. That's the great thing about having this blog; I can let it out here and not take it out on some poor, unsuspecting person.
Anyway, before I attempt to craft a more intelligent response about that article, let me give a brief update on myself. Things are going pretty well here. I'm finding it easier to walk and have been working on my eating. My big thing this past week has been to eat more vegetables, so I've been maing a point to have veggies and fruits each day. For lunch, I've been ordering in salads with spinach, carrots, eggs, onions, olives and cheese --and then having low-fat dressing on the side. Last night, I went to Jackson Hole in the city with Karen and ordered the veggie burrito, which was filled with broccoli, peppers, mushrooms, black beans, avocado and potatoes. It was seriously one of the best burritos I've ever had -- I was ready to marry this thing! But I figured that if I can stick with this one goal -- to eat more veggies -- than I can get back into doing other things I'm supposed to be doing: more exercise, drinking more water, doing a better job counting Points; losing more weight. Yes, there have been a lot of stops and starts on this journey, and I imagine that for my 10 or so followers of this blog that this is frustrating to read about, but I am trying and I'd rather keep TRYING than just giving up. I've been making an honest effort of losing serious weight for the past 10 years -- with some successes and A LOT of setbacks -- but that's better than doing nothing. I really do want to lose the weight. It's definitely the hardest thing I've ever had to do, so far.
Which brings me back to Maura Kelly's article and why it upset me so much. While I don't disagree with her about obesity being unhealthy, I feel like when people comment about the state of overweight people that many -- Kelly for certain -- consider fat people to be "less than." That our obesity isn't just a health issue for us, that the very idea of us being fat means that we're lazy, undisciplined, slovenly, undeserving of love, gross ... fill in the blank. That she's so disgusted by the idea of fat people being intimate -- or by them merely WALKING ACROSS A ROOM -- is hurtful and humiliating. I mean, was everyone disgusted when I, who was a fat bride, kissed my husband at our wedding? Should I not kiss my husband in a public place because it's too yucky for the skinny folks out there? Should I just hide until I become thin enough for her because the mere act of me walking, EXISTING, grosses her out? THIS is why what she wrote about angered me so much.
There's also the idea that she and many others have, that fat people aren't allowed to be happy. Because we have this health condition, our happiness means that we're PROMOTING obesity -- and if, God forbid, a smiling "fatty" is shown on TV in some kind of venue other than a weight-loss program, it's "bad" because people will think that being overweight is a pleasurable state of mind and follow suit. That's ridiculous. Yes, I am overweight, but I am not defined by it. And, in a well-written show, neither are the characters. One of my favorite sitcoms ever, ROSEANNE, involved two overweight characters, Roseanne and Dan, but the show wasn't about their size (though it did come up from time to time). It was about a typical blue-collar couple raising their kids. MIKE & MOLLY isn't as good a show, but it's about a couple embarking in a new relationship. And fat people do have relationships. We kiss. We have sex. We walk. We LIVE. Some overweight people are content with being large, which is fine; it's their prerogative. I'm not thrilled with being fat, but in the meantime, I don't want to hide -- and I don't want to have to explain away my happiness by adding the addendum each time, "But don't be happy like me because being fat is bad, folks!"
What also angered me about her article were the simplistic diet tips that she added in the middle of it (to eat less and exercise more; no SHIT, Sherlock) with the patronizing all-caps, YOU CAN DO IT! Uh, that's nice ... er, I guess ... but let me debunk a myth about most fat people. We've tried. Most of us have tried losing weight over and over and over again. Most of us can probably write books on the subject. We KNOW the basics and have sometimes even done extreme things to lose weight, but because obesity is such a pyschological thing in addition to being physiological, it sometimes doesn't work out.
Many, unfortunately, still equate obesity with laziness, and have this idea that we sit around eating all day. For me, that's definitely not true. In the past few years, I've completed several long-distance walks, included that 20 miler, I recorded an album, I've done a lot of traveling and am now making jewelry. I always like to have some kind of project going on and am rarely just sitting around. And guess what? Even when I did the 20-miler, I was obese. But I trained for it and did it. Kelly may be disgusted with the idea of me, a fat person, walking, but I managed to drag my jiggly ass 20 miles around the city!
Which brings me to my final point in this very long post. You never know WHAT an obese person is going through at any particular moment. To a person who saw me sweating and limping on the day I did my long walk, they may have just thought that I was some "fatty" struggling to make my way around Manhattan. The overweight woman on the corner could be recovering from an injury or a thyroid problem, or some kind of personal trauma that led her to eat her emotions away. The fat guy in the store perhaps has already lost 100 pounds, but still has 150 to go -- but is still obese as he continues his journey. Again, YOU JUST NEVER KNOW.
That said, what the heck is wrong with celebrating the accomplishments of obese people? Showing fat people who are successful at finding good jobs or love? People of all shapes and sizes deserve to be happy and we deserve to be represented.
Anyway, before I attempt to craft a more intelligent response about that article, let me give a brief update on myself. Things are going pretty well here. I'm finding it easier to walk and have been working on my eating. My big thing this past week has been to eat more vegetables, so I've been maing a point to have veggies and fruits each day. For lunch, I've been ordering in salads with spinach, carrots, eggs, onions, olives and cheese --and then having low-fat dressing on the side. Last night, I went to Jackson Hole in the city with Karen and ordered the veggie burrito, which was filled with broccoli, peppers, mushrooms, black beans, avocado and potatoes. It was seriously one of the best burritos I've ever had -- I was ready to marry this thing! But I figured that if I can stick with this one goal -- to eat more veggies -- than I can get back into doing other things I'm supposed to be doing: more exercise, drinking more water, doing a better job counting Points; losing more weight. Yes, there have been a lot of stops and starts on this journey, and I imagine that for my 10 or so followers of this blog that this is frustrating to read about, but I am trying and I'd rather keep TRYING than just giving up. I've been making an honest effort of losing serious weight for the past 10 years -- with some successes and A LOT of setbacks -- but that's better than doing nothing. I really do want to lose the weight. It's definitely the hardest thing I've ever had to do, so far.
Which brings me back to Maura Kelly's article and why it upset me so much. While I don't disagree with her about obesity being unhealthy, I feel like when people comment about the state of overweight people that many -- Kelly for certain -- consider fat people to be "less than." That our obesity isn't just a health issue for us, that the very idea of us being fat means that we're lazy, undisciplined, slovenly, undeserving of love, gross ... fill in the blank. That she's so disgusted by the idea of fat people being intimate -- or by them merely WALKING ACROSS A ROOM -- is hurtful and humiliating. I mean, was everyone disgusted when I, who was a fat bride, kissed my husband at our wedding? Should I not kiss my husband in a public place because it's too yucky for the skinny folks out there? Should I just hide until I become thin enough for her because the mere act of me walking, EXISTING, grosses her out? THIS is why what she wrote about angered me so much.
There's also the idea that she and many others have, that fat people aren't allowed to be happy. Because we have this health condition, our happiness means that we're PROMOTING obesity -- and if, God forbid, a smiling "fatty" is shown on TV in some kind of venue other than a weight-loss program, it's "bad" because people will think that being overweight is a pleasurable state of mind and follow suit. That's ridiculous. Yes, I am overweight, but I am not defined by it. And, in a well-written show, neither are the characters. One of my favorite sitcoms ever, ROSEANNE, involved two overweight characters, Roseanne and Dan, but the show wasn't about their size (though it did come up from time to time). It was about a typical blue-collar couple raising their kids. MIKE & MOLLY isn't as good a show, but it's about a couple embarking in a new relationship. And fat people do have relationships. We kiss. We have sex. We walk. We LIVE. Some overweight people are content with being large, which is fine; it's their prerogative. I'm not thrilled with being fat, but in the meantime, I don't want to hide -- and I don't want to have to explain away my happiness by adding the addendum each time, "But don't be happy like me because being fat is bad, folks!"
What also angered me about her article were the simplistic diet tips that she added in the middle of it (to eat less and exercise more; no SHIT, Sherlock) with the patronizing all-caps, YOU CAN DO IT! Uh, that's nice ... er, I guess ... but let me debunk a myth about most fat people. We've tried. Most of us have tried losing weight over and over and over again. Most of us can probably write books on the subject. We KNOW the basics and have sometimes even done extreme things to lose weight, but because obesity is such a pyschological thing in addition to being physiological, it sometimes doesn't work out.
Many, unfortunately, still equate obesity with laziness, and have this idea that we sit around eating all day. For me, that's definitely not true. In the past few years, I've completed several long-distance walks, included that 20 miler, I recorded an album, I've done a lot of traveling and am now making jewelry. I always like to have some kind of project going on and am rarely just sitting around. And guess what? Even when I did the 20-miler, I was obese. But I trained for it and did it. Kelly may be disgusted with the idea of me, a fat person, walking, but I managed to drag my jiggly ass 20 miles around the city!
Which brings me to my final point in this very long post. You never know WHAT an obese person is going through at any particular moment. To a person who saw me sweating and limping on the day I did my long walk, they may have just thought that I was some "fatty" struggling to make my way around Manhattan. The overweight woman on the corner could be recovering from an injury or a thyroid problem, or some kind of personal trauma that led her to eat her emotions away. The fat guy in the store perhaps has already lost 100 pounds, but still has 150 to go -- but is still obese as he continues his journey. Again, YOU JUST NEVER KNOW.
That said, what the heck is wrong with celebrating the accomplishments of obese people? Showing fat people who are successful at finding good jobs or love? People of all shapes and sizes deserve to be happy and we deserve to be represented.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Future Shock
When I was at PT this morning, a new patient came in around the same time that I arrived. She was a little larger than me in size and was recovering from a broken femur. As I was when I first started going to PT, she was in a wheelchair.
While I was waiting for my session, the doctor met with her, and because they were talking in the next room, I couldn't help overhearing their conversation (not that I was intentionally trying to eavesdrop). But I learned that this woman is 68 and suffers from diabetes and high blood pressure. The doctor was very insistent that she get to the point where she can walk again, but she wasn't eager to do the training; she just wanted to stay in her wheelchair and have hot packs put on her leg.
Seeing this unwell, older woman hammered home for me what MY future could be like if I don't continue to exercise and lose weight. I mean, she's about my parents' age, but my parents are, for the most part, youthful and healthy (knock on wood) and are still able to travel around the world. I joke with them about being old, but I don't really think of them in that way because they're so active. This woman, on the other hand, was OLD. I actually thought she was in her late 80s; even without the broken leg, it didn't seem like she was in any great shape.
That said, I really powered through my exercises today. I'm having a lot less back pain (that new bra is definitely helping!) and only took breaks because I was told to, not because my back was killing me. The therapist was really impressed, especially when I told him about my journey to the corner restaurant the other day -- and when I was walking from one room to the other, he told me to slow down. I actually wanted to do more and asked if I could ride the bike or do the stair climber for a few minutes, but he said that I'd still have to wait a few sessions. They're very conservative about letting me push ahead, but I understand that they want to make sure that their patients don't hurt themselves.
Still, I'm feeling good after my workout. I thought I'd hate going on Saturday mornings, and I do when I first wake up because I'm tired. But then once I begin exercising, I start to enjoy it.
Starting Monday, I'll have to do PT and my full-time job, with the commute. This ought to be interesting! Yet I'm kind of glad I still have PT because it'll force me work out several times a week as I adjust to my new schedule. Once PT is over, I don't know if I'll continue to get up early to exercise, but I'd like the workouts themselves to become a habit. I need to start training for the half marathon, so I'll put together a walking schedule when I'm actually able to conquer distances.
I hope that when I'm 68, I'm not in that woman's position, where I'm still obese and sick, to boot. I still have a lot of life ahead of me and I plan to live the rest of it a little better.
While I was waiting for my session, the doctor met with her, and because they were talking in the next room, I couldn't help overhearing their conversation (not that I was intentionally trying to eavesdrop). But I learned that this woman is 68 and suffers from diabetes and high blood pressure. The doctor was very insistent that she get to the point where she can walk again, but she wasn't eager to do the training; she just wanted to stay in her wheelchair and have hot packs put on her leg.
Seeing this unwell, older woman hammered home for me what MY future could be like if I don't continue to exercise and lose weight. I mean, she's about my parents' age, but my parents are, for the most part, youthful and healthy (knock on wood) and are still able to travel around the world. I joke with them about being old, but I don't really think of them in that way because they're so active. This woman, on the other hand, was OLD. I actually thought she was in her late 80s; even without the broken leg, it didn't seem like she was in any great shape.
That said, I really powered through my exercises today. I'm having a lot less back pain (that new bra is definitely helping!) and only took breaks because I was told to, not because my back was killing me. The therapist was really impressed, especially when I told him about my journey to the corner restaurant the other day -- and when I was walking from one room to the other, he told me to slow down. I actually wanted to do more and asked if I could ride the bike or do the stair climber for a few minutes, but he said that I'd still have to wait a few sessions. They're very conservative about letting me push ahead, but I understand that they want to make sure that their patients don't hurt themselves.
Still, I'm feeling good after my workout. I thought I'd hate going on Saturday mornings, and I do when I first wake up because I'm tired. But then once I begin exercising, I start to enjoy it.
Starting Monday, I'll have to do PT and my full-time job, with the commute. This ought to be interesting! Yet I'm kind of glad I still have PT because it'll force me work out several times a week as I adjust to my new schedule. Once PT is over, I don't know if I'll continue to get up early to exercise, but I'd like the workouts themselves to become a habit. I need to start training for the half marathon, so I'll put together a walking schedule when I'm actually able to conquer distances.
I hope that when I'm 68, I'm not in that woman's position, where I'm still obese and sick, to boot. I still have a lot of life ahead of me and I plan to live the rest of it a little better.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Anniversary
I made some huge strides today. I managed to walk a few feet without using the walker for balance. I then made it through my exercises at PT without "cheating" by leaning over the rail to relieve the pressure on my back. And then this evening, I walked (using the walker) from my apartment to the sidewalk in front of our building and even successfully made it down the flight of six stairs in our entranceway! Jon brought the wheelchair with him in case I needed a rest, but I never had to stop and sit down. By the end of my walk, my back was hurting and I was hunched over te walker to relieve the stress, but I reached my goal. Tomorrow, I plan to walk a few feet more up the sidewalk ... and I'll keep practicing until I can make it to the bus stop up the block.
At PT, my therapist was so happy to see me walking around. The other therapist who was working with me today was also pleased that I'd memorized my exercises and appreciated that I'm so motivated to work and get well. He told me that a lot of patients hate doing the exercises and end up leaving their practice to go to another one where all they do is give patients massages and have them relax with heat compresses. I admitted that when I'm doing the actual exercise moves that it sucks because I'm out of shape and it's painful, but that it felt really good afterward. He was very encouraging and cheered me on when I managed to complete 30 reps in a row without stopping or slouching over. What was really nice was that when I was finished, this other patient there -- who's overweight herself, but was further along in her therapy than I am --came over to give me a hug and said that I was doing a great job.
Next week, my therapist wants me to start doing balancing exercises and using the stair climber. I'm a little nervous about this and how it'll affect my back. The good news is, I've been working really hard to lose weight this week because I know that this is only way that I can get rid of my back pain. So far, it's working, at least somewhat. I've diligently returned to keeping a food journal and have been doing my PT workout every other day. I already feel a bit lighter and am finding it easier to stand for longer amounts of time. I know that as long as I keep this up, I'll get stronger and leaner. I can't say that I love working out because it's very tough for me right now, but I really like the therapists at PT and feel that they're pushing me just enough; they're encouraging and give me a lot to do, but they also understand that I have some limitations because of my leg and my weight. And yet they're never judgemental about it.
With so much going on, I almost didn't realize what today's date is: July 10. It's also the official 20th anniversary of my eating disorder.
For as long as I can remember, I've been obsessed with food. Don't get me wrong, my parents never starved me or anything; in fact, my mom is a great cook. But I did get a lot of "Nos" and "You've had enoughs" as a child. We didn't keep sweets or chips or sugary cereal in our home (which is a good thing, but I didn't see it that way back then) and whenever we went to a restaurant or a party, my mom would always give me a disapproving eye if I ate too much. Treats were saved for special occasions, like birthday parties or holidays; plus, whenever I got a good report card, we'd get ice cream sundaes at Friendly's. Whenever we went to a concert or movies, my parents would let me get one small bag of candy.
And yet, I was always hungry. I don't know why, exactly, but it seemed as if no matter how much good, healthy food I ate, I always wanted more. My parents tell me that when I was four or five, I actually went to my neighbors' homes and complained that my parents weren't feeding me so I could ask for food. I don't remember this, but I do recall judging my friends based on what kinds of foods they had in their homes. I used to love going to my friend, Michelle's, because she always had tons of junk in the house for us to snack on. But I didn't like spending time at Dina's because the food selection there was limited.
By the time I turned 11, my obsession went into overdrive. By now, I was a latch key kid and was staying home by myself a lot more. During these times while my parents were away, I'd gorge on bagels and low fat ice cream and anything good that I could find in my parents' kitchen. One time, my dad received a box of cookies as a holiday gift and hid them in the back of the pantry. I found them and ate the entire thing. Another time, I ate through all of the leftover frosting that we had from when I'd made birthday cupcakes. I even ate an entire jar of sprinkles. I think my preoccupation with food is best illustrated, though, by the time my parents took me to see a classical music concert and I freaked out because the candy stand didn't have M&Ms. I'd be so looking forward to having them that I actually broke down and cried. Over M&Ms! Can you imagine that?
I still haven't quite figured out why food meant (means) so much to me, so that'll have to be a post for another day. But I do know that by the time I was a sophomore in high school, I was no longer obsessed with food and had become more obsessed with being thin. To clarify things, I was NOT fat. Not even close. I was about 5'2" and weighed about 115 pounds -- pretty ideal, come to think of it.
But during my freshman year, I fell for this guy, who didn't know that I was alive. He, in turn, liked the skinniest girl in our class. Looking back, I'm not so sure how healthy she was, but at the time, I was envious of her 95-pound frame. I figured that if I could get to be that thin and lose my wide hips and big butt (they were not wide or big at all, but this is what I thought back then), that this boy would find me attractive, too.
Many other things were going on in my life, too, at the time. I was shy and didn't have many friends. My childhood friend, Lani, whom I'm still close with today, was a year ahead of me in school and popular, so we didn't see as much of each other. The friends I did have weren't exactly loyal toward me, so I didn't feel very connected to anyone. I was in a special advanced program in school, so I was drowning in homework and reports every night and weekend. Plus, I was played flute in band and was very competitive with it at the time, so I was battling with some other flute players for first chair. In other words, I was lonely, stressed and getting hardly any sleep.
During sophomore year, my life spiraled even more out of control. My grandmother broke her hip and was given medication that made her really depressed. My then 90-year-old grandfather got pneumonia and wasted away to 75 pounds in the hospital (he survived and lived to be 98 1/2, but that's another story) -- and then moved into a home for the eldery. And then my great uncle died.
All of this happened in the span of about two or three months and it was very overwhelming for me. That's when I began my extreme dieting. The first time I tried it was when we were helping my grandfather clean out his apartment so he could move to the home. We'd always go to a nearby diner for lunch and I decided to eat only half of my meal that day. I was pleased when I lost three pounds that week.
But my real diet didn't begin until July 10, 1990, 20 years ago. My parents, who were both teachers, usually took me to some exotic place each summer like China or Egypt, but because there was so much going on in our family, decided to take a tour of the South instead that year. This was fine with me because I'd decided to use the five weeks we were away to lose some weight. I was scheduled to get my braces off at the end of the summer and I wanted to enter my junior year with a "perfect" figure and perfect teeth.
My plan worked -- sort of. That summer, I stuck with salads and fruits, making sure to cut out "bad" foods like breads and snacks. I ended up losing 15 pounds and went down two sizes. But that wasn't enough for me.
When I came home, I promised my mom that I wouldn't get below 95 pounds (which was probably still underweight for me), but I didn't listen. I hardly ate anything so that my stomach grumbled loudly in school. I exercised for hours a day. I ended up getting down to about 90 pounds, way underweight for someone with my frame. I remember my grandfather telling me that I was too skinny, but I usually wore layered outfits so it was difficult for most people to tell just how thin I was. Yet I could see every bone in my torso sticking out and bruised easily because I had no cushioning on my body.
Of course, the guy I liked continued to show no interest in me and people started making comments about my weight. The turnaround came for me when I went to a friend's sweet 16 and wore a slinky dress, thinking I looked great. My friend's older brother, who was always very nice to me, told me point-blank that I was too skinny and now had chicken legs. Since I was at that age where a boy's opinion meant everything, I actually listened to him and put some weight back on. Then, I entered the bulimia phase of my life, which wasn't much better ... and here I am.
I didn't realize until health class in my senior year that I'd flirted with anorexia, but I was a classic textbook case: the "good girl" who tries to please everyone and starts to diet when her life spirals out of control. I wish I'd gotten help back then, but am glad that I found the strength to pull myself out of it before I became really ill.
Still, it's pretty sad that 20 years later, I'm dealing with the same eating disorder, albeit in another form. It never went away; it simply changed. I honestly don't know if I'll ever beat this thing entirely, but I'd like to be able to at least manage it. So here's hoping that 20 years from now, my problems with food will be a very distant memory.
At PT, my therapist was so happy to see me walking around. The other therapist who was working with me today was also pleased that I'd memorized my exercises and appreciated that I'm so motivated to work and get well. He told me that a lot of patients hate doing the exercises and end up leaving their practice to go to another one where all they do is give patients massages and have them relax with heat compresses. I admitted that when I'm doing the actual exercise moves that it sucks because I'm out of shape and it's painful, but that it felt really good afterward. He was very encouraging and cheered me on when I managed to complete 30 reps in a row without stopping or slouching over. What was really nice was that when I was finished, this other patient there -- who's overweight herself, but was further along in her therapy than I am --came over to give me a hug and said that I was doing a great job.
Next week, my therapist wants me to start doing balancing exercises and using the stair climber. I'm a little nervous about this and how it'll affect my back. The good news is, I've been working really hard to lose weight this week because I know that this is only way that I can get rid of my back pain. So far, it's working, at least somewhat. I've diligently returned to keeping a food journal and have been doing my PT workout every other day. I already feel a bit lighter and am finding it easier to stand for longer amounts of time. I know that as long as I keep this up, I'll get stronger and leaner. I can't say that I love working out because it's very tough for me right now, but I really like the therapists at PT and feel that they're pushing me just enough; they're encouraging and give me a lot to do, but they also understand that I have some limitations because of my leg and my weight. And yet they're never judgemental about it.
With so much going on, I almost didn't realize what today's date is: July 10. It's also the official 20th anniversary of my eating disorder.
For as long as I can remember, I've been obsessed with food. Don't get me wrong, my parents never starved me or anything; in fact, my mom is a great cook. But I did get a lot of "Nos" and "You've had enoughs" as a child. We didn't keep sweets or chips or sugary cereal in our home (which is a good thing, but I didn't see it that way back then) and whenever we went to a restaurant or a party, my mom would always give me a disapproving eye if I ate too much. Treats were saved for special occasions, like birthday parties or holidays; plus, whenever I got a good report card, we'd get ice cream sundaes at Friendly's. Whenever we went to a concert or movies, my parents would let me get one small bag of candy.
And yet, I was always hungry. I don't know why, exactly, but it seemed as if no matter how much good, healthy food I ate, I always wanted more. My parents tell me that when I was four or five, I actually went to my neighbors' homes and complained that my parents weren't feeding me so I could ask for food. I don't remember this, but I do recall judging my friends based on what kinds of foods they had in their homes. I used to love going to my friend, Michelle's, because she always had tons of junk in the house for us to snack on. But I didn't like spending time at Dina's because the food selection there was limited.
By the time I turned 11, my obsession went into overdrive. By now, I was a latch key kid and was staying home by myself a lot more. During these times while my parents were away, I'd gorge on bagels and low fat ice cream and anything good that I could find in my parents' kitchen. One time, my dad received a box of cookies as a holiday gift and hid them in the back of the pantry. I found them and ate the entire thing. Another time, I ate through all of the leftover frosting that we had from when I'd made birthday cupcakes. I even ate an entire jar of sprinkles. I think my preoccupation with food is best illustrated, though, by the time my parents took me to see a classical music concert and I freaked out because the candy stand didn't have M&Ms. I'd be so looking forward to having them that I actually broke down and cried. Over M&Ms! Can you imagine that?
I still haven't quite figured out why food meant (means) so much to me, so that'll have to be a post for another day. But I do know that by the time I was a sophomore in high school, I was no longer obsessed with food and had become more obsessed with being thin. To clarify things, I was NOT fat. Not even close. I was about 5'2" and weighed about 115 pounds -- pretty ideal, come to think of it.
But during my freshman year, I fell for this guy, who didn't know that I was alive. He, in turn, liked the skinniest girl in our class. Looking back, I'm not so sure how healthy she was, but at the time, I was envious of her 95-pound frame. I figured that if I could get to be that thin and lose my wide hips and big butt (they were not wide or big at all, but this is what I thought back then), that this boy would find me attractive, too.
Many other things were going on in my life, too, at the time. I was shy and didn't have many friends. My childhood friend, Lani, whom I'm still close with today, was a year ahead of me in school and popular, so we didn't see as much of each other. The friends I did have weren't exactly loyal toward me, so I didn't feel very connected to anyone. I was in a special advanced program in school, so I was drowning in homework and reports every night and weekend. Plus, I was played flute in band and was very competitive with it at the time, so I was battling with some other flute players for first chair. In other words, I was lonely, stressed and getting hardly any sleep.
During sophomore year, my life spiraled even more out of control. My grandmother broke her hip and was given medication that made her really depressed. My then 90-year-old grandfather got pneumonia and wasted away to 75 pounds in the hospital (he survived and lived to be 98 1/2, but that's another story) -- and then moved into a home for the eldery. And then my great uncle died.
All of this happened in the span of about two or three months and it was very overwhelming for me. That's when I began my extreme dieting. The first time I tried it was when we were helping my grandfather clean out his apartment so he could move to the home. We'd always go to a nearby diner for lunch and I decided to eat only half of my meal that day. I was pleased when I lost three pounds that week.
But my real diet didn't begin until July 10, 1990, 20 years ago. My parents, who were both teachers, usually took me to some exotic place each summer like China or Egypt, but because there was so much going on in our family, decided to take a tour of the South instead that year. This was fine with me because I'd decided to use the five weeks we were away to lose some weight. I was scheduled to get my braces off at the end of the summer and I wanted to enter my junior year with a "perfect" figure and perfect teeth.
My plan worked -- sort of. That summer, I stuck with salads and fruits, making sure to cut out "bad" foods like breads and snacks. I ended up losing 15 pounds and went down two sizes. But that wasn't enough for me.
When I came home, I promised my mom that I wouldn't get below 95 pounds (which was probably still underweight for me), but I didn't listen. I hardly ate anything so that my stomach grumbled loudly in school. I exercised for hours a day. I ended up getting down to about 90 pounds, way underweight for someone with my frame. I remember my grandfather telling me that I was too skinny, but I usually wore layered outfits so it was difficult for most people to tell just how thin I was. Yet I could see every bone in my torso sticking out and bruised easily because I had no cushioning on my body.
Of course, the guy I liked continued to show no interest in me and people started making comments about my weight. The turnaround came for me when I went to a friend's sweet 16 and wore a slinky dress, thinking I looked great. My friend's older brother, who was always very nice to me, told me point-blank that I was too skinny and now had chicken legs. Since I was at that age where a boy's opinion meant everything, I actually listened to him and put some weight back on. Then, I entered the bulimia phase of my life, which wasn't much better ... and here I am.
I didn't realize until health class in my senior year that I'd flirted with anorexia, but I was a classic textbook case: the "good girl" who tries to please everyone and starts to diet when her life spirals out of control. I wish I'd gotten help back then, but am glad that I found the strength to pull myself out of it before I became really ill.
Still, it's pretty sad that 20 years later, I'm dealing with the same eating disorder, albeit in another form. It never went away; it simply changed. I honestly don't know if I'll ever beat this thing entirely, but I'd like to be able to at least manage it. So here's hoping that 20 years from now, my problems with food will be a very distant memory.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Let's Get Physical (Therapy)
Today was my first real day of physical therapy (as opposed to the last time, which was just a consulatation). It wasn't too bad, though the session lasted longer than I thought at 90 minutes. I didn't think that there would be much I could do since I'm still non-weight bearing, but the therapist, Abigail, really gave my foot a workout.
First, she had me put heat on it for 20 minutes and the massaged it for 10 (this was my favorite part). After, I had to move my foot in every way possible -- curl the toes, flex and point, rotate my ankle. None of these exercises hurt, but my foot felt very stiff and it was shaking a bit because it's still so weak. She then had me do some movements where I actually put my foot on the floor (while sitting) and THAT felt strange. She had me rest my toes on the floor while I did calf raises with my heel and then rest my heel on the floor while I raised my toes. The calf raises hurt! I wasn't in agony or anything, but my muscles were quite sore. This makes me even more nervous about what it will feel like when I actually stand on my foot again, but the therapist told me if I do these exercises twice a day, I'll build up my muscles and the swelling will go down. I sure as hell hope so. I'm not intending to half-ass anything, though. I'll do these exercises daily.
I also picked up a mini ultrasound machine that's supposed to help my fracture heal. I haven't used it yet so I don't know what it'll feel like, but I have to keep it on my leg for 20 minutes a day, as well. So between this and the therapy, a good chunk of my day is filled.
I'm grateful that I've had my parents to drive me around to these various appointments. I was afraid that we'd kill each other, because we tend to argue when we spend a lot of time together -- especially when I'm alone and without my husband -- but so far (knock on wood, knock on wood), it's been okay. They still annoy me; for instance, my dad refused to listen when I told him to back the wheelchair out at a certain point because this is how Jon does it ... and sure enough the chair got stuck. And he still keeps asking me questions about my medical history (have you seen this type of doctor? Why are you listed as being pre-diabetic -- what does that mean?) whenever my mom goes out for a cigarette (yeah, I get the irony, too). But I'm trying to keep my cool and not flip out at him, even though I wish he wouldn't ask me this stuff.
We actually had a very civil conversation today about my weight. He said that he saw an interview with Al Roker who'd shared that even though he'd gotten a gastric bypass, he'd gained weight back -- and that no matter how thin he got, he'd always be a fat person inside, kind of like an alcoholic always is an alcoholic, even if he's sober. I explained that yes, this is exactly how it is for me -- that I want to be thin and have succeeded before but it's just been so difficult for me to stay on track. That even though I know what to eat, that I'm often overtaken by a compulsion to binge, and that I have to think about every bite I eat. I also revealed that I've been speaking with a therapist about my eating disorder and my dad was happy to hear that. I think maybe he's beginning to understand how complex obesity and how me being fat doesn't mean that I'm lazy or "misbehaving" because I ate "bad" food. I think that maybe Roker's interview hit a nerve or something and he saw how even someone who went to great extremes to lose weight has had a difficult time fighting his food addiction.
This conversation was important to me because I feel as if my weight has created a barrier between my parents and me. When I began to gain in college, it understandably frustrated them, but I don't think they handled it well. They'd lecture me as if I were a naughty child, attempted to use negative reinforcement ("You'll never get a boyfriend, job, etc.") and actually threatened to take me out of school if I didn't lose. Then when I did lose a little, they'd remind me that I had more to go. When I was a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, I looked GREAT and a lot of people complimented me -- but then my mom replied, "She still has to lose some more."
I get that they were concerned, but I wished that they'd taken a different approach. I don't think that they meant to make me feel badly about myself, but they did. Not only was I upset about gaining the weight, but now I was disappointing them, as well. That's what really got to me, that I let them down so much. The thing is, I TRIED to lose the weight, as I am now. But they didn't seem to understand that or understand how hard it was for me.
Eventually the pressure got to me and I just stopped coming home during holidays whenever it was possible for me to find another place to stay. During our long spring break, I went home with my now sister-in-law and spent Passover with my now in-laws (on a sidenote, this is how I got to know my husband). And during Thanksgiving of senior year, I chose to spend the weekend in our house by myself rather than come home. I lied that I had to do a shift at the newspaper where I was working at the time, but I just didn't feel like dealing with them. So while everyone else was enjoying Thanksgiving with their families, I was all by myself for four days. It sucked. But it was better than going home and getting in an argument.
These days, I have a decent relationship with my folks, but we don't see each other much. They travel often and I've made a point to only see them when Jon is with me to act as a buffer. I would like to be closer, though. I think that they could handle things better, but then again, I probably can, too.
Now that I'm older, I can see their side of things a little better. I'm not sure what I'd do if I had a daughter and she became obese as an adult. I don't know what I'd say or how I could help her without hurting her feelings. I guess I can see how it would be a tough thing to deal with. I don't think that my parents are bad people at all, but they (unintentionally) made ME feel like a bad person.
I think that there are too many bad memories tied in with my parents and my weight for me to ever fully let them in on my weight loss struggles; as of now, they don't know that I spent some time bingeing and purging. But if I can let them in at least a little, maybe we can find some peace.
First, she had me put heat on it for 20 minutes and the massaged it for 10 (this was my favorite part). After, I had to move my foot in every way possible -- curl the toes, flex and point, rotate my ankle. None of these exercises hurt, but my foot felt very stiff and it was shaking a bit because it's still so weak. She then had me do some movements where I actually put my foot on the floor (while sitting) and THAT felt strange. She had me rest my toes on the floor while I did calf raises with my heel and then rest my heel on the floor while I raised my toes. The calf raises hurt! I wasn't in agony or anything, but my muscles were quite sore. This makes me even more nervous about what it will feel like when I actually stand on my foot again, but the therapist told me if I do these exercises twice a day, I'll build up my muscles and the swelling will go down. I sure as hell hope so. I'm not intending to half-ass anything, though. I'll do these exercises daily.
I also picked up a mini ultrasound machine that's supposed to help my fracture heal. I haven't used it yet so I don't know what it'll feel like, but I have to keep it on my leg for 20 minutes a day, as well. So between this and the therapy, a good chunk of my day is filled.
I'm grateful that I've had my parents to drive me around to these various appointments. I was afraid that we'd kill each other, because we tend to argue when we spend a lot of time together -- especially when I'm alone and without my husband -- but so far (knock on wood, knock on wood), it's been okay. They still annoy me; for instance, my dad refused to listen when I told him to back the wheelchair out at a certain point because this is how Jon does it ... and sure enough the chair got stuck. And he still keeps asking me questions about my medical history (have you seen this type of doctor? Why are you listed as being pre-diabetic -- what does that mean?) whenever my mom goes out for a cigarette (yeah, I get the irony, too). But I'm trying to keep my cool and not flip out at him, even though I wish he wouldn't ask me this stuff.
We actually had a very civil conversation today about my weight. He said that he saw an interview with Al Roker who'd shared that even though he'd gotten a gastric bypass, he'd gained weight back -- and that no matter how thin he got, he'd always be a fat person inside, kind of like an alcoholic always is an alcoholic, even if he's sober. I explained that yes, this is exactly how it is for me -- that I want to be thin and have succeeded before but it's just been so difficult for me to stay on track. That even though I know what to eat, that I'm often overtaken by a compulsion to binge, and that I have to think about every bite I eat. I also revealed that I've been speaking with a therapist about my eating disorder and my dad was happy to hear that. I think maybe he's beginning to understand how complex obesity and how me being fat doesn't mean that I'm lazy or "misbehaving" because I ate "bad" food. I think that maybe Roker's interview hit a nerve or something and he saw how even someone who went to great extremes to lose weight has had a difficult time fighting his food addiction.
This conversation was important to me because I feel as if my weight has created a barrier between my parents and me. When I began to gain in college, it understandably frustrated them, but I don't think they handled it well. They'd lecture me as if I were a naughty child, attempted to use negative reinforcement ("You'll never get a boyfriend, job, etc.") and actually threatened to take me out of school if I didn't lose. Then when I did lose a little, they'd remind me that I had more to go. When I was a bridesmaid in my friend's wedding, I looked GREAT and a lot of people complimented me -- but then my mom replied, "She still has to lose some more."
I get that they were concerned, but I wished that they'd taken a different approach. I don't think that they meant to make me feel badly about myself, but they did. Not only was I upset about gaining the weight, but now I was disappointing them, as well. That's what really got to me, that I let them down so much. The thing is, I TRIED to lose the weight, as I am now. But they didn't seem to understand that or understand how hard it was for me.
Eventually the pressure got to me and I just stopped coming home during holidays whenever it was possible for me to find another place to stay. During our long spring break, I went home with my now sister-in-law and spent Passover with my now in-laws (on a sidenote, this is how I got to know my husband). And during Thanksgiving of senior year, I chose to spend the weekend in our house by myself rather than come home. I lied that I had to do a shift at the newspaper where I was working at the time, but I just didn't feel like dealing with them. So while everyone else was enjoying Thanksgiving with their families, I was all by myself for four days. It sucked. But it was better than going home and getting in an argument.
These days, I have a decent relationship with my folks, but we don't see each other much. They travel often and I've made a point to only see them when Jon is with me to act as a buffer. I would like to be closer, though. I think that they could handle things better, but then again, I probably can, too.
Now that I'm older, I can see their side of things a little better. I'm not sure what I'd do if I had a daughter and she became obese as an adult. I don't know what I'd say or how I could help her without hurting her feelings. I guess I can see how it would be a tough thing to deal with. I don't think that my parents are bad people at all, but they (unintentionally) made ME feel like a bad person.
I think that there are too many bad memories tied in with my parents and my weight for me to ever fully let them in on my weight loss struggles; as of now, they don't know that I spent some time bingeing and purging. But if I can let them in at least a little, maybe we can find some peace.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Karaoke Night
I stayed home from work today, and while I'm feeling a little better, I'm definitely not 100 percent. I had what I thought was a hot flash this afternoon and realized that it was a fever. So I holed up in the living room watching movies (The Time Traveler's Wife -- eh, too many plot holes and Night At The Museum 2 -- silly, but fun) and relaxing.
With all this time on my hands, I've been thinking a lot about the cruise and the best moments. I enjoyed seeing Key West and Cozumel, and being with my husband and friends, but for me, probably the best time was when we did karaoke in the ship's Xanadu lounge (and no, I did not sing anything by Olivia Newton-John, though I was tempted).
Though I'm an accomplished flute player, I love singing. I sing in the shower, sing along to the radio and especially love singing along to TV themes. I'm not a great singer, by any means, but I have a decent voice and can carry a tune. I've considered taking voice lessons because I think I could probably turn my above-average voice into a good voice, but I feel that singing is for fun while the flute is something I take more seriously. So while my impossible dream is to star in a Broadway show, I realize that won't happen because I can't dance or act, and don't sing well enough, I can live out that dream by singing show tunes.
For this reason, I looove karaoke. I love performing in general, but with the flute, tthere's a certain amount of pressure on me because people expect me to be good. People don't invite me to play at their weddings or with their bands so that I can goof around. But with karaoke, I can do that. I can sing whatever I want and be as crazy and uninhibited as I want ... and people will still cheer for me and treat me like a rock star -- even if I suck.
I really don't suck, though, if I pick the right type of song for my voice, which is a really low song. I am an alto with a voice that's deep enough to almost be a male tenor. I always enjoyed hearing Dorothy sing on The Golden Girls because portrayer Bea Arthur's voice was similar to mine -- deep and kind of raspy. While I don't have the chops to belt out Broadway tunes that span five octaves, I sound pretty good singing smoky jazz tunes or other songs that go low enough.
Luckily, my travel companions also like karaoke so we went for two nights in a row. The first night, I did songs with Jon and then Scott, and then the three of us sang. However, the guys wouldn't really agree with me on songs so we didn't exactly do ones that were great for my range. Jon and I sang Africa and then Scott and I did Obla-di Obla-da (though I wanted to do I Wanna Hold Your Hand because I do a kick-ass harmony on it, but Scott refused). The three of us then did Scenes From An Italian Restaurant, which was a little too long and nearly put the audience in a coma. Still, we had a great time and it was fun listening to everyone else.
However, the next night I chose to go solo. My first pick, Upside Down, was okay, but a little shaky on the high notes because I hadn't warmed up my voice enough. But the next two I did -- These Boots Were Made For Walking and Fever -- I, dare I say without sounding conceited, nailed. They were just in the right octave and key for me, my nasal passages were clear, my voice was warmed up and I was feeling confident, so I managed to hit all of the notes. On those two songs, I actually sounded like an experienced singer. Everyone was looking at me and cheered me loudly when I finished, but the attention was welcome. I was being regarded because the crowd admired me -- not because I was the largest woman in the room.
I suppose you're wondering what on earth this has to do with my weight-loss journey, but I guess what I want to get out of this whole thing is that *feeling* I had while doing karaoke that night -- that confidence, that ease at being who I am, that sense of being able to let everything go and have fun and not care what people think ... but then feeling successful, anyway. I want to feel as free as I did that evening -- even when I'm not on the stage.
With all this time on my hands, I've been thinking a lot about the cruise and the best moments. I enjoyed seeing Key West and Cozumel, and being with my husband and friends, but for me, probably the best time was when we did karaoke in the ship's Xanadu lounge (and no, I did not sing anything by Olivia Newton-John, though I was tempted).
Though I'm an accomplished flute player, I love singing. I sing in the shower, sing along to the radio and especially love singing along to TV themes. I'm not a great singer, by any means, but I have a decent voice and can carry a tune. I've considered taking voice lessons because I think I could probably turn my above-average voice into a good voice, but I feel that singing is for fun while the flute is something I take more seriously. So while my impossible dream is to star in a Broadway show, I realize that won't happen because I can't dance or act, and don't sing well enough, I can live out that dream by singing show tunes.
For this reason, I looove karaoke. I love performing in general, but with the flute, tthere's a certain amount of pressure on me because people expect me to be good. People don't invite me to play at their weddings or with their bands so that I can goof around. But with karaoke, I can do that. I can sing whatever I want and be as crazy and uninhibited as I want ... and people will still cheer for me and treat me like a rock star -- even if I suck.
I really don't suck, though, if I pick the right type of song for my voice, which is a really low song. I am an alto with a voice that's deep enough to almost be a male tenor. I always enjoyed hearing Dorothy sing on The Golden Girls because portrayer Bea Arthur's voice was similar to mine -- deep and kind of raspy. While I don't have the chops to belt out Broadway tunes that span five octaves, I sound pretty good singing smoky jazz tunes or other songs that go low enough.
Luckily, my travel companions also like karaoke so we went for two nights in a row. The first night, I did songs with Jon and then Scott, and then the three of us sang. However, the guys wouldn't really agree with me on songs so we didn't exactly do ones that were great for my range. Jon and I sang Africa and then Scott and I did Obla-di Obla-da (though I wanted to do I Wanna Hold Your Hand because I do a kick-ass harmony on it, but Scott refused). The three of us then did Scenes From An Italian Restaurant, which was a little too long and nearly put the audience in a coma. Still, we had a great time and it was fun listening to everyone else.
However, the next night I chose to go solo. My first pick, Upside Down, was okay, but a little shaky on the high notes because I hadn't warmed up my voice enough. But the next two I did -- These Boots Were Made For Walking and Fever -- I, dare I say without sounding conceited, nailed. They were just in the right octave and key for me, my nasal passages were clear, my voice was warmed up and I was feeling confident, so I managed to hit all of the notes. On those two songs, I actually sounded like an experienced singer. Everyone was looking at me and cheered me loudly when I finished, but the attention was welcome. I was being regarded because the crowd admired me -- not because I was the largest woman in the room.
I suppose you're wondering what on earth this has to do with my weight-loss journey, but I guess what I want to get out of this whole thing is that *feeling* I had while doing karaoke that night -- that confidence, that ease at being who I am, that sense of being able to let everything go and have fun and not care what people think ... but then feeling successful, anyway. I want to feel as free as I did that evening -- even when I'm not on the stage.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Home, Sweet, Home
Well, I'm back from the cruise and I'm happy to say that I had a really nice time. It wasn't quite as relaxing as I'd hoped because it was cold for the Caribbean, but I still enjoyed it.
In terms of eating, I did pretty well and while I didn't lose any weight during the week, I did maintain. You can easily eat 24/7 on a cruise -- there are midnight buffets, all-night pizza stands, treats around every corner -- but I really worked hard to watch portions. I stayed away from any of these midnight offerings and stuck to three decent-sized meals -- and that was it. I drank more than usual, but having one alcoholic beverage per day wasn't too bad compared to a lot of other people on that ship.
One thing I liked about the food at dinner was that the portions were reasonable. I expected huge bowls of pasta and giant steaks, but it wasn't like that at all. Instead, the portions were moderate -- enough to fill you up, but not make you feel stuffed -- and on each menu, there were low-calorie "spa" options. Each night, I ordered a soup with vegetables (my favorites were the gazpacho and the chill asparagus soups) and then usually chicken for my main entry. After, I had some dessert, but tried to incorporate fruit into it. For instance, one night I had a small scoop of vanilla ice cream with a fruit plate. On the day that I ordered the souffle, the waiters suddenly decided to celebrate my birthday (which had been two weeks before; I guess they celebrate all February birthdays this month no matter when they are), so I also ended up with a slice of black forrest cake that I didn't ask for. But I took a few bites and then left the rest over. By the way, I've learned that I really don't like souffle.
I was also much more active on this trip than I've been in a while. Though I've been BowFlex-ing, I haven't done miles of walking. I got to do that here. It was hard -- my back hurt and I had to stop frequently, which I'm sure annoyed my travel companions (though they never complained). But we walked all around South Beach on Sunday, all over Key West on Tuesday and then explored some ruins in Cozumel on Thursday. So I got in three good days of exercise.
One other thing I'm proud of is that I got into the pool. I was a little self-conscious about wearing a bathing suit in public, but no one seemed to care about how I looked. I then wanted to actually swim, but because my center of gravity is off (this is what happens when you have a huge stomach pulling all your weight forward), going down steps and ladders often feels uncomfortable. That said, I was afraid I'd slip into the pool and hit my head. But I managed to get in and then later get out without incident. I realize this doesn't sound like a big accomplishment, but it was for me.
Now that we're home, I've been battling a horrible cold, one of the worst I've had in a long time. I've had a fever on and off and am now developing a cough. Needless to say, my eating has been spotty this week -- lots of soup, toast and low-fat frozen yogurt. The meal of a champion!
But after doing all of that walking, I'm realizing that I miss taking walks with my husband. I'm hoping that I'll feel up to taking a short one around the neighborhood this weekend.
Which brings me to my next goal: Passover. It's in a month so this is as good a time as any to plan for losing another 10 pounds. This way, I can buy myself a nice, new outfit for the holiday and won't feel too guilty if I have an extra matzoh ball...
In terms of eating, I did pretty well and while I didn't lose any weight during the week, I did maintain. You can easily eat 24/7 on a cruise -- there are midnight buffets, all-night pizza stands, treats around every corner -- but I really worked hard to watch portions. I stayed away from any of these midnight offerings and stuck to three decent-sized meals -- and that was it. I drank more than usual, but having one alcoholic beverage per day wasn't too bad compared to a lot of other people on that ship.
One thing I liked about the food at dinner was that the portions were reasonable. I expected huge bowls of pasta and giant steaks, but it wasn't like that at all. Instead, the portions were moderate -- enough to fill you up, but not make you feel stuffed -- and on each menu, there were low-calorie "spa" options. Each night, I ordered a soup with vegetables (my favorites were the gazpacho and the chill asparagus soups) and then usually chicken for my main entry. After, I had some dessert, but tried to incorporate fruit into it. For instance, one night I had a small scoop of vanilla ice cream with a fruit plate. On the day that I ordered the souffle, the waiters suddenly decided to celebrate my birthday (which had been two weeks before; I guess they celebrate all February birthdays this month no matter when they are), so I also ended up with a slice of black forrest cake that I didn't ask for. But I took a few bites and then left the rest over. By the way, I've learned that I really don't like souffle.
I was also much more active on this trip than I've been in a while. Though I've been BowFlex-ing, I haven't done miles of walking. I got to do that here. It was hard -- my back hurt and I had to stop frequently, which I'm sure annoyed my travel companions (though they never complained). But we walked all around South Beach on Sunday, all over Key West on Tuesday and then explored some ruins in Cozumel on Thursday. So I got in three good days of exercise.
One other thing I'm proud of is that I got into the pool. I was a little self-conscious about wearing a bathing suit in public, but no one seemed to care about how I looked. I then wanted to actually swim, but because my center of gravity is off (this is what happens when you have a huge stomach pulling all your weight forward), going down steps and ladders often feels uncomfortable. That said, I was afraid I'd slip into the pool and hit my head. But I managed to get in and then later get out without incident. I realize this doesn't sound like a big accomplishment, but it was for me.
Now that we're home, I've been battling a horrible cold, one of the worst I've had in a long time. I've had a fever on and off and am now developing a cough. Needless to say, my eating has been spotty this week -- lots of soup, toast and low-fat frozen yogurt. The meal of a champion!
But after doing all of that walking, I'm realizing that I miss taking walks with my husband. I'm hoping that I'll feel up to taking a short one around the neighborhood this weekend.
Which brings me to my next goal: Passover. It's in a month so this is as good a time as any to plan for losing another 10 pounds. This way, I can buy myself a nice, new outfit for the holiday and won't feel too guilty if I have an extra matzoh ball...
Thursday, January 21, 2010
And Now For Some Good News...
Well, I lost another two pounds this week. This means that I'm more than halfway to my goal of losing 12 pounds in time for our cruise vacation (which is in three weeks and two days). Of course, I wish that I'd lose the weight more quickly, but I'll take anything I can get!
Meanwhile, I'm already beginning to experience some very subtle changes in my body. I've been trying to work out every other day and already I'm feeling stronger, especially when I walk. My back still hurts from the weight, but it's not as bad as it was even a few weeks ago. I can walk faster now and have less pressure on my back and legs.
I'm also sleeping better -- well, for me, anyway. I've always suffered from insomnia because it runs in my family and my head is often too filled with thoughts to sleep soundly. But a couple of months ago, I began having some frightening sleep apnea episodes where I'd wake up gasping for air. Happily, I haven't had one of those -- knock on wood -- in a few weeks. There have even been a few times where I've slept through the night and actually, well, felt energized and refreshed. I'm not sure I'm ever going to totally beat my insomnia, unless I take something like Ambien, which I really don't want to do, but at least things are better than they were.
A third positive change than I'm noticing is that my circulation is improving. A few weeks ago, my extremities were falling asleep quite easily, which was really annoying -- especially when I was writing or playing my flute. This is still happening to some extent, but far less than it was. My hands didn't fall asleep at all during work today, even though I was doing a lot of typing.
Finally, I'm getting full much more easily now. Last night, for example, I ordered a mini personal pizza and calculated that half of it would be a sufficient dinner at 9 WW POINTS. However, I only ended up eating about a third and was stuffed.
So that's the good news for today. No dramatic changes -- yet -- but I'm getting there. And though my appearance is basically the same (realistically, I'll need to lose about 75 pounds before there's a big difference), I'm pleased that my health already seems to be turning around.
Meanwhile, I'm already beginning to experience some very subtle changes in my body. I've been trying to work out every other day and already I'm feeling stronger, especially when I walk. My back still hurts from the weight, but it's not as bad as it was even a few weeks ago. I can walk faster now and have less pressure on my back and legs.
I'm also sleeping better -- well, for me, anyway. I've always suffered from insomnia because it runs in my family and my head is often too filled with thoughts to sleep soundly. But a couple of months ago, I began having some frightening sleep apnea episodes where I'd wake up gasping for air. Happily, I haven't had one of those -- knock on wood -- in a few weeks. There have even been a few times where I've slept through the night and actually, well, felt energized and refreshed. I'm not sure I'm ever going to totally beat my insomnia, unless I take something like Ambien, which I really don't want to do, but at least things are better than they were.
A third positive change than I'm noticing is that my circulation is improving. A few weeks ago, my extremities were falling asleep quite easily, which was really annoying -- especially when I was writing or playing my flute. This is still happening to some extent, but far less than it was. My hands didn't fall asleep at all during work today, even though I was doing a lot of typing.
Finally, I'm getting full much more easily now. Last night, for example, I ordered a mini personal pizza and calculated that half of it would be a sufficient dinner at 9 WW POINTS. However, I only ended up eating about a third and was stuffed.
So that's the good news for today. No dramatic changes -- yet -- but I'm getting there. And though my appearance is basically the same (realistically, I'll need to lose about 75 pounds before there's a big difference), I'm pleased that my health already seems to be turning around.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The Good, The Bad And The Jiggly
Tonight I worked on abs and chest. That's three days in a row, people! My muscles are a bit sore from the workouts, even with switching muscle groups, but I don't mind. It's a satisfying soreness that lets me know I'm doing something right.
I've been thinking a lot about my weight and why I've chosen to stay obese for all of these years. And yes, it's absolutely my choice because I've never been force fed cookies or pizza. Still, I'm hoping this blog will help me figure out why I've made this choice and how I can move beyond it.
I have to admit that there are some things about being obese that are well, positive for me. And no, I don't think that being overweight is healthy at all, but as in any abusive relationship, there are reasons why I've had a hard time leaving my fat self in the dust.
For one thing, being large has forced me to become more outgoing. Until I was about 19, I was very thin and very shy, especially when it came to dealing with things like parties. But when you're overweight, you can end up becoming invisible, too, despite your size. It's unfortunate, but happens often; go into a store, for instance, and the clerk will be unfriendly, or even worse, ignore you altogether. Over the years, though, I've become much more assertive, making the first move in a positive way. I'll smile and make eye contact with a cashier or a bus driver ... and you know what? They're usually friendly back. As for parties, I'm now much more comfortable going up to strangers and introducing myself. It's partially a defense in getting people to see past my appearance, but it's a change that I like and plan to take with me if -- no when -- I eventually become a normal-sized person.
Another "positive" is that I feel less pressure about overeating. While many obese people have been overweight for their entire lives, I was actually bullemic and borderline anorexic in high school. Food was "bad" to me and I spent a lot of time avoiding it. I've since learned to enjoy food (albeit wayyy too much), and despite needing to lose weight, no longer feel guilty about going out to eat with friends. I think I also have a better understanding of what a healthy size is. I no longer wish to be 90 pounds, but would settle for being able to wear regular-sized clothing.
That said, there is a certain comfort in knowing that I've already let myself go. Back when I was starving myself, I thought that my life would be over if I gained weight. In some respects that's certainly true, given all of the potential health problems I currently face. But in the figurative sense, life really hasn't been that bad. When I was skinny, I never thought a fat person could find love (I did); or a job (check!); or friends, or gain any respect (check and check). I've encountered plenty of schmucks along the way, but I've also learned that there are many good people who just don't care about your appearance. Having a husband and friends who've stuck by me through thick and thin -- literally -- makes me appreciate what great people I have in my life.
I think I've gotten too comfortable, though. Whenever I binge it doesn't bother me as much as it should because well, I'm already fat. I'm already at my worse-case scenario so scarfing an extra donut isn't going to change much. Contrast that to my slender friends who fret over everything they order at a restaurant. Plus, after starving myself for so many years, there's that voice in my head that says, "More, more, more!" and likes being quelled.
But I know that I can't hang onto these crutches forever. I need to find a way to make peace with food, my body and myself. Because at the rate I'm going, my idea of rock bottom is getting lower and lower.
I've been thinking a lot about my weight and why I've chosen to stay obese for all of these years. And yes, it's absolutely my choice because I've never been force fed cookies or pizza. Still, I'm hoping this blog will help me figure out why I've made this choice and how I can move beyond it.
I have to admit that there are some things about being obese that are well, positive for me. And no, I don't think that being overweight is healthy at all, but as in any abusive relationship, there are reasons why I've had a hard time leaving my fat self in the dust.
For one thing, being large has forced me to become more outgoing. Until I was about 19, I was very thin and very shy, especially when it came to dealing with things like parties. But when you're overweight, you can end up becoming invisible, too, despite your size. It's unfortunate, but happens often; go into a store, for instance, and the clerk will be unfriendly, or even worse, ignore you altogether. Over the years, though, I've become much more assertive, making the first move in a positive way. I'll smile and make eye contact with a cashier or a bus driver ... and you know what? They're usually friendly back. As for parties, I'm now much more comfortable going up to strangers and introducing myself. It's partially a defense in getting people to see past my appearance, but it's a change that I like and plan to take with me if -- no when -- I eventually become a normal-sized person.
Another "positive" is that I feel less pressure about overeating. While many obese people have been overweight for their entire lives, I was actually bullemic and borderline anorexic in high school. Food was "bad" to me and I spent a lot of time avoiding it. I've since learned to enjoy food (albeit wayyy too much), and despite needing to lose weight, no longer feel guilty about going out to eat with friends. I think I also have a better understanding of what a healthy size is. I no longer wish to be 90 pounds, but would settle for being able to wear regular-sized clothing.
That said, there is a certain comfort in knowing that I've already let myself go. Back when I was starving myself, I thought that my life would be over if I gained weight. In some respects that's certainly true, given all of the potential health problems I currently face. But in the figurative sense, life really hasn't been that bad. When I was skinny, I never thought a fat person could find love (I did); or a job (check!); or friends, or gain any respect (check and check). I've encountered plenty of schmucks along the way, but I've also learned that there are many good people who just don't care about your appearance. Having a husband and friends who've stuck by me through thick and thin -- literally -- makes me appreciate what great people I have in my life.
I think I've gotten too comfortable, though. Whenever I binge it doesn't bother me as much as it should because well, I'm already fat. I'm already at my worse-case scenario so scarfing an extra donut isn't going to change much. Contrast that to my slender friends who fret over everything they order at a restaurant. Plus, after starving myself for so many years, there's that voice in my head that says, "More, more, more!" and likes being quelled.
But I know that I can't hang onto these crutches forever. I need to find a way to make peace with food, my body and myself. Because at the rate I'm going, my idea of rock bottom is getting lower and lower.
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
The Best Personal Trainer In The World
I did another 20 minutes on the BowFlex tonight. Hey, don't knock it -- two days in a row is a good start! I mean, how many days do they say it takes before something becomes a habit, 21? Only 19 more days and I'm there.
What's nice is that I'm never alone when I work out ... but it's not my husband who's keeping me company. It's our cat, Maya. I swear, I think she thinks that she's my personal trainer because she's obsessed with the BowFlex. She especially loves it when we put it on an incline to do sit-ups. She'll run up and down the ramp and then try to jump up to the top of the machine (sorry, Maya, it's not happening).
If I happen to be using it in the incline position, she'll climb up around me and sit on top of my head. But if I keep the bench flat as I have for the past few nights, she'll perch on the end of the seat right next to me. Tonight as I was straining to get the last two reps out on a move, she began to meow at me. I really do believe that she was telling me, "You can do it, Mommy!"
Sometimes I envy Maya because she's in such good shape. She runs up and down our hallway just for the fun of it and can easily leap up to the top of our TV hutch. Plus, she's flexible enough to curl into a ball. I'll bet that if she were to take the Presidential Physical Fitness Test, she'd pass with flying colors (though I don't recall it including a "chasing your tail" segment). In many ways, though, my cat is an inspiration. She's at her ideal weight and thus has plenty of energy to spare. And she gets to nap whenever she wants.
I don't know if I want to sprout fur anytime soon, but it would be nice if someday I had enough energy to run someplace for no reason.
What's nice is that I'm never alone when I work out ... but it's not my husband who's keeping me company. It's our cat, Maya. I swear, I think she thinks that she's my personal trainer because she's obsessed with the BowFlex. She especially loves it when we put it on an incline to do sit-ups. She'll run up and down the ramp and then try to jump up to the top of the machine (sorry, Maya, it's not happening).
If I happen to be using it in the incline position, she'll climb up around me and sit on top of my head. But if I keep the bench flat as I have for the past few nights, she'll perch on the end of the seat right next to me. Tonight as I was straining to get the last two reps out on a move, she began to meow at me. I really do believe that she was telling me, "You can do it, Mommy!"
Sometimes I envy Maya because she's in such good shape. She runs up and down our hallway just for the fun of it and can easily leap up to the top of our TV hutch. Plus, she's flexible enough to curl into a ball. I'll bet that if she were to take the Presidential Physical Fitness Test, she'd pass with flying colors (though I don't recall it including a "chasing your tail" segment). In many ways, though, my cat is an inspiration. She's at her ideal weight and thus has plenty of energy to spare. And she gets to nap whenever she wants.
I don't know if I want to sprout fur anytime soon, but it would be nice if someday I had enough energy to run someplace for no reason.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
A New Year, A New Me?
A quick warning to anyone who's come to this blog expecting a sexy site. It's not. This is a blog following the adventures of an extremely obese woman whose thighs resemble mighty sequoias and ripple like a bowl of lime Jell-O. (Mmmm... Jell-O). Not exactly a turn on, huh? So unless you're into that sort of thing (no judgment here) and are angling to star on the next edition of MORE TO LOVE, back away.
For the rest of you wondering who on earth "Mrs. Thighs" is, allow me to introduce myself. I'm a 35-year-old writer/musician, who's happily married, has an awesome cat, a good family (I even like my in-laws!) and terrific friends. Yet when it comes to losing weight and getting into shape, I just can't seem to get my act together. In fact, this is actually my second attempt at keeping a weight-loss blog. I briefly wrote one in the fall of 2008 shortly after my in-shape father had an unexpected heart attack, and managed to lose a few pounds. But then I did what I always seem to do and suddenly stopped ... and now I'm write (sorry for the pun; couldn't resist) back where I started.
I realize it's rather cliche to begin a new weight-loss plan at the start of the new year, but there's something to be said for the plethora of diet programs offering New Year's deals. I like the idea of it being a new year and a new decade to boot. Yeah, I realize that it's just another day and that hanging up a new calendar doesn't automatically make everything shiny and new (okay, so I'm overusing the adjective "new" here), but there IS a certain energy in the air, at least here in NYC, when the new year hits. And if I'm going to begin a different lifestyle (I'm hesistant to say "diet" because that means that there's an ending and this needs to be for life), I might as well do it when I'm well-rested from a lengthy holiday break.
Besides, I don't really have a choice anymore because things have gotten pretty bad for me, as far as my weight goes. Two years ago, I completed a 20-mile charity walk, but these days I can barely walk a block without having to stop because my back and legs ache. I always feel tired. My wedding rings are getting dangerously tight. My husband and I are going on a cruise with friends in about six weeks and I'm not nearly as excited as I should be because I'm afraid that I won't have enough stamina to participate in the many excursions they offer at port.
That said, my goals for now are modest and realistic. I want to lose enough weight in the next six weeks (ideally about 12 pounds, 2 lbs. per week, but I won't object to more!) so that I can walk more comfortably and be able to have a good time on this trip. I intend to do this by following Weight Watchers and by doing low-impact workouts three times a week.
I also plan to write in this blog often so that I can document my progress (or lack thereof).
But I need to do this if I have any hope of making it to 40. So let the games begin!
For the rest of you wondering who on earth "Mrs. Thighs" is, allow me to introduce myself. I'm a 35-year-old writer/musician, who's happily married, has an awesome cat, a good family (I even like my in-laws!) and terrific friends. Yet when it comes to losing weight and getting into shape, I just can't seem to get my act together. In fact, this is actually my second attempt at keeping a weight-loss blog. I briefly wrote one in the fall of 2008 shortly after my in-shape father had an unexpected heart attack, and managed to lose a few pounds. But then I did what I always seem to do and suddenly stopped ... and now I'm write (sorry for the pun; couldn't resist) back where I started.
I realize it's rather cliche to begin a new weight-loss plan at the start of the new year, but there's something to be said for the plethora of diet programs offering New Year's deals. I like the idea of it being a new year and a new decade to boot. Yeah, I realize that it's just another day and that hanging up a new calendar doesn't automatically make everything shiny and new (okay, so I'm overusing the adjective "new" here), but there IS a certain energy in the air, at least here in NYC, when the new year hits. And if I'm going to begin a different lifestyle (I'm hesistant to say "diet" because that means that there's an ending and this needs to be for life), I might as well do it when I'm well-rested from a lengthy holiday break.
Besides, I don't really have a choice anymore because things have gotten pretty bad for me, as far as my weight goes. Two years ago, I completed a 20-mile charity walk, but these days I can barely walk a block without having to stop because my back and legs ache. I always feel tired. My wedding rings are getting dangerously tight. My husband and I are going on a cruise with friends in about six weeks and I'm not nearly as excited as I should be because I'm afraid that I won't have enough stamina to participate in the many excursions they offer at port.
That said, my goals for now are modest and realistic. I want to lose enough weight in the next six weeks (ideally about 12 pounds, 2 lbs. per week, but I won't object to more!) so that I can walk more comfortably and be able to have a good time on this trip. I intend to do this by following Weight Watchers and by doing low-impact workouts three times a week.
I also plan to write in this blog often so that I can document my progress (or lack thereof).
But I need to do this if I have any hope of making it to 40. So let the games begin!
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