Caterwauling

Weight loss efforts are shot. Shot, I tell you. 

I worked by the beach and even if I didn’t see it, I could smell it. I walked 10K steps a day. I wasn’t forbidden from leaving when I was hungry or thirsty. I could work from home or Starbucks as needed as long as it wasn’t excessive. I got taken out to lunch and didn’t have to keep an arsenal of snacks in my desk for when I couldn’t recaps at all. Because I always could. 

In any event, not here for a pity party but rather to say it out loud. 

My portion sizes have not shrunk as my activity diminished/evaporated. And nothing fucking fits right now because of it. 

I read a good insight that I need to let sink in. We WW types have trained ourselves to find the lowest-point option for every food. And we use that to totally overdo it with portions. 

I know this to be true. I practically gorge on salads. How do you get fatter by eating salads with no dressing, no cheese and no points except for starchy veggies like beans and corn and beets? 

  Well, yeah. 

Went out with friends and they asked how I lost all the weight I did. I joked that I eat vegetarian so I can have wine and cake. 

But that is no joke. I eat wine and cake and vegetables. It’s what I love. And Halo Top ice cream, which isn’t sweet and packs a lot of protein. 

Halo Top is also my enemy because I can eat a pint for 11-12 points. Which I’m fine with after an egg for breakfast (2 points), lentil chip snack (3-4) and salad (6). 

Oh and lentil chips. 12 points for the whole bag. Why not demolish it in one sitting, then?

Maybe I need to stop buying them. Although I did try to give up lentil chips for Lent. That didn’t go so well. I have too much rage. 

Mom begged me to eat them again because it calms me down. (Hence why I take a massive bag to work every day.) and finish it while the other 10 people on the team take their hour and I have to ba babysit the inbox. 

Anyway. It’s not the food’s fault. Or mine. I just need to make better choices. All around, really. 

May 25

33rd birthday / 43rd birthday 

+/- 100 lbs difference

#beforeandduring 

Ran into an old colleague I haven’t seen in five years.  I said hi and hugged him. He said hi and looked confused and went on his way. Strange because this was a close friend at one time. 

Couple hours later, he came back and apologized. He literally had no idea who I was because he knew me 50 pounds ago. Someone else had to tell him who I was. 

Chalk one up in the “things that don’t suck” column. 

Early this year, I took my measurements. Something I’d never done before. But it was time.

I thought, aha, now I know my “true size.” The numeric one. Great, so now I can order things from the Internet with some modicum of success. Or walk into the store and not have to take four different sizes into the dressing room. Right?

Not so much. But whatever. I have every size in the world at home for skinny days and fat days.

But while I haven’t been losing pounds per se this past month, apparently I lost a couple inches without realizing it.

Got dressed in the dark today. Was looking for something beige to wear with a blue shirt.

Grabbed a skirt. Huge. Hmm. Grabbed another. Better but enh. Sitting in the car for the commute would pound out the waist enough to irritate me all day. Grabbed a third … perfect!

Took a gander at the size later. It’s that so-called “true size” I’d identified three months ago. Hah. Go, me.

January -4.6
February -0.8
March +1.4
April ?

That’s my running tally on my little chalkboard with my little pink chalk of my so-called weight-loss odyssey.

Net-net, it’s a 4-pound loss for the first quarter. Which is good, given how much I shove into my pie hole.

But you wonder how many setbacks could have been prevented. Rather, how many emotional late-night eating/wine-drinking binges didn’t have to happen if people could realize that karma is going to be an even bigger bitch than they think Hillary Clinton is.

In any event, here’s to a stronger second quarter.

Best advice I heard this year on that front — you can’t cut things out that you love. You just can’t. You need to find a way to make them work for you.

For the girl who shared her story, it was that her leader said she had to make her homemade mac and cheese, a multigenerational family tradition, work for her. Starving herself while the family enjoyed it wasn’t going to be sustainable. Maybe skinny it up a bit. Or maybe figure out what a real portion size is and load up on salad with it. But treat it as a banned food and you’re dooming your success.

My success last year was truly based on not having it all. Yes, I said not. I was mostly vegetarian but when I was near the “banned” items, forget it. I was “Overboard” like Goldie Hawn. And then back on the “learn to love that celery, Tubbo” bandwagon the next day.

But it worked!

?
This year I’ve been more like hey I’ll have a few bites of that chocolate mousse cheesecake from Junior’s or that Vesuvius cake from Sal’s or that pitmaster combo from Hickory Sticks or 4 Rivers Smokehouse. And guess what, if I want to eat the whole tub of hummus tomorrow, I’ll do that too.

So, obviously that didn’t work out for me in February and certainly not in March. But now I just need to figure out how to make cheesecake and barbecue work for me. Maybe have it once a month instead of twice. Or only follow it up with half a tub of hummus the next day. Whatever.

It’s a “forever” learning curve. But then again, isn’t everything? But it’s nice to learn from people who “get it.” Much easier to take advice from those who practice what they preach and have therefore earned the right to do so. They tend to actually know what they are talking about, so it’s easier to make taking advice work for me.

Make it convenient to do the right thing.

This was the e-letter message from one of my favorite writers today. He never seems to post those articles online, so no link love. But much, much love.

His building makes recycling hard (so does mine). Finding a place to have a cigarette makes smoking a pain in the ass. Not signing up for a class at the gym makes it easier to stay in bed, but now you have to explain your absence to others if they don’t see you. Might as well go to the gym.

I got to thinking about regulation, since Cheeto Benito is so hellbent on it. He’s already got the House rolling back regs that keep our drinking water and our air clean. (Shit. For. Brains.) President Bannon finally admitted that he picked Cabinet members who hate their industries so they can destroy them from within. And the Enabler in Chief is going along with it.

(Politics will kill me, I tell you.)

In any event, regulations make it easier to do the right thing. Or at least illegal to do the wrong thing. In the purest sense, of course, and I’m not here to argue against the regs that I think are stupid. (And there are many.)

I got to thinking about my lack of wanting to write. Well, it’s not necessarily that I don’t want to. I just have an array of not- to half-working computers all around me. And finally breaking down and buying a new computer last weekend was like hearing the angels sing.

I’ve left this laptop in its cute hot-pink bag for the past week. And the whole idea of buying the damn thing was to make it easier to get to my music and my bookmarked sites and, gee, the thousands of pages of typed-out notes for the stories in my head.

I almost wonder too, if I should go back to Weight Watchers. I did so well when I went to meetings. This whole tracking food online and then hitting the lentil chips after I put the phone away is killing my scale game. But when I have to face the judgy eyes of a leader who’s been skinny for the last 50 years, well. Makes me want to put the Big Gulp down, Tubby.

I also don’t say things out loud, so as not to commit to them. There’s not a public speaking opportunity that I don’t dodge. Heck, I can’t even commit to lunch just in case I want to worm out of it. (And trust me, I will always want to worm out of it. Generally leaving my schedule open means peace of mind and harmony at home.)

I want to commit to making it easier to do the right thing, or at least harder to do the wrong thing. Am hoping Lent can provide that opportunity.

My plan was to swear off the lentil chips. But mom said i am pretty angry when I am not crunching on things. And I gave up the chips the past week and she’s right. What else will curb the rage? (I’ve been trying sugar. Because we always have it in the house and I can usually resist it IF I have things to crunch on. Not so much now. Bad Goddess.)

My next plan is to quit going over my daily/weekly points allotment. Not giving up meat or sugar or booze or, God forbid, lentil chips. And that means stuffing my face with King Cake on Tuesday, yes. But that’s so I don’t have the temptation to snarf in the leftovers Wednesday.

If i can stay in my daily points again, I can do anything. Truly. And I hope someone, anyone can help encourage me and not either try to excuse it or just shame me in their own special ways.

I was reading a piece in the Guardian this morning about a gal who’d lost 200-ish pounds freaking out on a guy who held the door for her.

She didn’t mean to lose it. But she was well-aware that two years ago, nobody would have held a door for her. She was a cool, fun, nice person her whole life. But it’s only now that she has a smaller ass that people are suddenly kind to HER.

Can I relate? You bet your shrinking ass I can. But I’d be thrilled if someone held a door for me. On the rare occasion it happens, it’s generally because it’s someone here on vacation rather than a native-ish Floridian.

I got to thinking how we suddenly can become someone else’s type when we lose weight. But even then, that’s not always enough.

A friend and I got to talking about “Girls” and I joked that he watches it to see Lena Dunham naked. And he very audibly reacted with horror. Which, whatever. I know that ain’t near his type.

But I look at her and see myself. In fact, about a 25-pound-lighter version. And I thought, welp, guess I’m still not attractive then since that’s kind of what I look like.

And of course, then I thought welp, for those who are interested and I don’t feel it back, maybe I can tell them to go watch “Girls” and whack off and pretend it’s me. That should get them over it right-quick.

Am genius, yes?

525,600 minutes between these photos. And 36 pounds’ difference. 

My secret? Veggies. Walking. Hair falling out in clumps from anxiety.  Not that I had it to spare. 

I should be back to birth weight by this time next year. 

Came close to a coherent string of thoughts today. 

No cigar. But getting there. 

That flaming fucktard who’s about to desecrate me favorite city and the democratic republic in general (and bigly) is going to get us all killed. I am sure of it. 

I figure why worry about (not) saving for retirement? Spend it. Buy booze. Make these agonizing days pass quickly. Fuck him and fuck it all. Let it all burn. 

I also (initially) figured, why diet? Not like I’m getting out of my 40s if fuckface gets us nuked. Eat the goddamned chocolate. All of it. 

But if this is all there is, it isn’t enough. It never was. But the whole deadline concept really kicked in today. 

And nothing brings out my creativity like the clock running out. 

But I realized something. 

My whole life, my appearance has been present and accounted for in my head. Since I got burned so badly at age 10 and every day after.

I went the wrong way for a long time. Let everything go rather than making the rest better. 

Figured I’d just make myself smarter. But idiocracy is at our doorstep. I always said the student loan company could never suck the knowledge out of my brain. But the nazis and russkies sure will. 

In any event, what if thinking about appearance were no longer a thing? How to eliminate it? 

Fix it. 

Wonder if that’s how I need to tackle all my problems. Less thinky, more fixy. 

I hate fixing problems because I just get a new set. But I’m really ready to part ways with the old ones. 

Anyway. Still thinking. Until I stop and just fucking do something already. 

Just fucking do it already. Nike ain’t got nothin’ on me.