Thursday, October 28, 2010
We all hear about "sympathy weight." Husbands or partners or what have you gaining weight along side their pregnant counterparts.
Well, sympathy weight is very real and VERY real in situations unrelated to pregnancy.
I'm not pregnant, nor is my best friend, but the sympathy weight is attacking us.
My small 2 bedroom apartment, where I live alone, has been dubbed "Breakup Central" this year. I moved in in January, a newly single woman starting life over for the first time in a billion years. It is the first time I've had my own place. Just me. Only me. No boyfriends, no roommates, an awesome bedroom and an office with a futon. Four months later, friend #1 broke up with her LTR boyfriend. She moved in with me. I had become so accustomed to my new solo living life that I had to set the boundary that she leave... soon.
Fast forward 10 months and friend #2 breaks up with her LTR boyfriend. Friend #2, my best friend. She is living here now, sleeping on my futon, laying on my couch while I sit in my chair, while we watch TV drinking beer and eating pizza to cope. Not that friend #1 was not important, but friend #2 is the kind of friendship where you'd get out of bed at 2:00am on the coldest day of the year and drive to be by her side if you needed her. So she's here. And we're eating.
I am not being a good friend in this way. Offering up the pizza and the hoagies and the cake. In retrospect, this has only happened twice. I have cooked, I have provided healthy snacks and breakfasts, but sometimes... you have to splurge in the name of lost love.
And so this week, the first week, has been a bad one. We've had a pizza party. We've had beer (a lot of it) and we've had cake. We've even had cupcakes. But we have biked, and we have stayed up talking and we have slept... a lot.
I'm brainstorming now healthier ways to be supportive so we don't fall further into the sympathy weight trap.
What would you do for a best friend in need?
Monday, October 25, 2010
I carry a little cross to bare with my family. A veto-ed topic that I often want to bring up because it is a giant piece of the puzzle that is my journey.
I've made an executive decision to talk about it, mostly because it has to do with me. I'm often of the mindset that other people's stories are not mine to tell, but this one is. So I will.
Little known fact: All of the women in my family have had gastric bypass.
My mother, my sister, two cousins, an aunt. We are prone to obesity. It's in our genes.
The reason why this is so important to me is because I feel victorious that I have escaped medical interjection's grip. I did it myself.
It was hard.
And even though I'm regaining weight, I'm in control. I have the tools. Some of the women in my family who took the medical route have not been so lucky.
I have a gripe with gastric bypass. Simply because of the examples I know, and others of which I've read. Medical professionals TRY to give you the tools, but there's simply not enough follow through. There aren't enough follow-ups, nutritional advice, or instruction.
My own mother has completely gained back all of the weight and then some.
We aren't equipped. These habits run deep, like spores that have dug into your bloodline and taken over.
I take pride in the fact that I did it alone. Of course, I wasn't alone. Of course I had support. I had you, and you, and you. My readers, silent or commenting. I know you're there. You followed my struggles and celebrations and confusion. You related. We did it together.
It's important to remember what you're doing for yourself, but also to think about how many people you're inspiring along the way. One more person who can see "It's possible" when it feels everything but.
You can do this.
I know because I did.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
So, Jen over at priorfatgirl.com was holding digital auditions for a new member of the priorfatgirl family. Something sparked in me and I applied. I made it through to the second round.
I bet a lot of you applied to, and I wish you the best of luck.
The deadline for a blog post to show up on priorfatgirl.com was today, at 5pm. That's right now.
I literally had 20 minutes to write it.
I'm slightly disappointed with what I cranked out. I had to fit my whole weight loss journey into less than 800 words. I had to be convincing, because it will be voted on.
I wasn't funny.
I like to think I'm normally at least slightly humorous on this here blog. I try to entertain you. Share my humiliations. My triumphs. My struggles.
I told my story. I made promises. I was no nonsense, as per usual.
Something about this feels important. Like becoming a "formal" priorfatgirl makes it real. I am one. I lost the weight. I've gained some of it back, but I'm in control. I've always been the one in control. I think that's the biggest idea we bargain with. It's always someone or something else's fault. It's not, kids. It's us.
You have to believe in you.
You have to know that YOU are capable. (You are. Trust me.)
I'm capable. I'm going to do this. priorfatgirl or not.
Monday, October 18, 2010
Last year, around this time, I was running competitive 5ks. I identified as an athlete. I trained. I lifted weights. I was evening branching out and going to Bikram Yoga.
This year, I find myself making up every excuse in the book. I quit my gym 2 months ago because the cost had exceeded what I was getting from the membership; which is nothing, when you don't go.
I had good intentions to re-join the YWCA. I even stopped in this weekend, but my wallet was stolen (a sob story for another time) and my debit card hasn't shipped yet and I apparently need that information.
As SOON as I get that card, I'm going in to get another card. The membership one. You know, to the Y.
I'm conflicted now, as I still - in my mind - identify as an athlete even though I do nothing of the sort. I don't even really enjoy walking as exercise and I don't seek out opportunities to take my bikes on long rides. This needs to change.
I see the difference not only in my body, but my mindset, as I've fallen off the exercise track. I need to remember that each day is a choice. A choice to work out, or not to. Each has it's own set of consequences. Sure, if I work out I might miss sitting on my ass in front of the TV for an hour, but I also have the added bonus of getting to eat more! And losing weight! And firming up! And having less things to complain about!
It's a choice.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
I've been thinking a lot about how I'm going to pull this off lately.
I have become so accustomed to instant gratification, giving in for the sake of a brief moment of joy, even with the consequences.
I'm up another 2 pounds since I last weighed myself. I feel hopeless when I look in the mirror again. Not because I look terrible, or because I'm "disgusting" or any of those things we tell ourselves, but simply because I know what I am capable of and that I'm not doing it.
That just a year ago, I was 20 pounds less than I am now, in great shape and loving every minute of it.
I want to be back there.
I'm tracking this morning. I made myself eggs and cottage cheese even though I wanted to go out to brunch. I'd like to lay in bed all day but instead I'm taking the dog to the Minnehaha Dog Park and plan to walk and hike and climb with him for 2 hours.
My lunch and dinner plans are made. My day is planned out around points again, the way I need it to be. I'm tracking. I'm consciously thinking about what I need to do.
I WILL get back there. It's a decision, every day.