Buying In

Well, I bought in to Weight Watchers last Thursday. I had an extra $60 since my check was really good and all my bills were paid. I've known a few people that have lost a lot of weight on the program, and I need to try. I'm 100 pounds over weight, and I've got to start somewhere.
See, I have a problem with the follow through. Part of the reason I decided to sign up for the online program is because it's so easy and tech savvy. Meetings with strangers and weighing in and getting "support" really isn't my cup of tea. But being able to track all my points on my phone, it's really too easy to fuck up.
I started out at 279 pounds with 46 points. The deal is that I can eat whatever I want as long as I stick within my point allowance. There is a calculator that I can enter the fat, fiber, carbohydrates, and protein of whatever I want to eat, and the calculator will give me the points value. While doing my online research, I found a few websites that gave me the exact mathematical formula to figure the points on my own, but I'm not going to invest that much time working the math of every single thing I eat. The calculator really makes this program fool proof.
After a little research, I went to the store and stocked up on a bunch of low point foods to eat. All fruit and vegetables are free, and I found some great buys that I can eat all day long. There are soups and frozen dinners that are delicious and low on points, and recipes I'm excited to try out.
I feel like I'm selling out, but the truth is that I'm buying in. The diet industry makes millions every year on people like me, and it's not something I'm proud of. I'd like to think that I have more will power than I do, but I don't. If I don't have an easy plan there's no way I'm going to stick to it.
What's really great is that my man friend is totally supportive. He's not one to "waist money" on a website that he'll never use, but there's going to be changes with the way we eat dinner. I figured out he can have about 54 points a day, and although he won't be keeping track online, he's willing to keep track in a food journal and I can calculate the points for him.
And speaking of dinner, I went to applebees last night with a coworker, and I ordered the spicy shrimp and rice, and it was DELICIOUS and only 8 points! The downer: my long island iced tea was almost 30 points. I couldn't bring myself to finish it all and blow my points for the day, so I made my coworker help me finish it so I only had to claim 15 points.
Last week, I went to dinner with a friend at the same restaurant, but I had 5 long islands, and the appetizer platter...all by myself. Then I came home and ate an entire chocolate bar in bed while watching tv.

Paris and My Fat Ass

As much as I love love saying the words, "I'm going back to Paris this weekend," I always have have to follow with the drab truth that I am not going to France. There is a tiny town in north east Texas called Paris (near the border of Oklahoma), and my man friend and I have friends there. It's a nice little place out in the country about 2 hours from home, and just far enough out of the way to make it feel like a vacation. There are adorable little overpriced antique shops in the town square, and our friends have the most adorable little girl I've ever known. The funny (amazing) thing is, we don't really listen to the radio on those drives, we talk the entire time.
The reason this is relevant to this blog is because before we left, something really embarrassing happened to me. I shall start from the beginning:
It was my dad's birthday party, and it was marti gras themed. There were beads in the trees in the back yard, a fire pit, and candles scattered around the garden. People wore masks, and my mother made some amazing food. I was tempted to wear my $6 plastic boobs that I got for Halloween one year, but I was informed that they are tacky. The party was really nice, and I've come to enjoy the themes my family put together, no matter how random they seem. (example: my mothers 42nd birthday party was deemed a hot flash bash, and everything was pink and red and we all had hand fans).
Well, after the party wound down, I was saying my goodbyes around the fire pit. When I went to stand up to get out of my chair, I realized that my ass was stuck. I mean, I stood up and the chair came with me, quite literally clutching my hips like a monkey on it's mothers back. Needless to say, my family started laughing at me. I sat back down and made a depressing "awwwwww" sound that made everyone laugh harder. Because it was my family, I wasn't so much embarrassed as I would have been around strangers or friends. Thank god.
Well that started the ride out to Paris on a fat note. We started talking about dieting. The discussion very quickly jumped on my weight watchers smart ones that I take to lunch vs. his 3 sandwhiches ("But I'm using LOW FAT MAYONASE!"). This man is not impossible to argue with, but winning him over is absolutely futile. I mentioned that the weight watchers program works really well if we both got on it and stuck to it, we could loose a lot of weight. We could research online and find out exactly how many points each of us should get to avoid the meetings and membership fees. Then there were the pros and cons of counting calories vs. counting points vs. just eating healthy. The discussion dwindled down to the fact that no matter which way we went, we would have to keep count of things, and neither of us would realistically stick to that very long. Then the topic moved to gyms and their benefits. I pointed out that there is no way I'm going to work for 9 hours, then go WORK OUT every night (or every other night for that matter). I know myself. That membership will be waisted. We finally decided that a walk by the lake in the evenings wouldn't kill us.
We discussed what our options are for the entire 2 hours. There was no agreement on any type of program or routine that would work for both of us as a team. We concluded that we are going to have to go at our weight problems on our own.
When we got to Paris, we let it all go. We relaxed and watched movies and laughed and played with the kid and the dogs. Sunday night, I was in the bathroom washing my face and their 3 year old little girl came in behind me and said, "Woah! You have a REALLY BIG BUTT!" Have I mentioned that I don't like kids? We'll save that subject for another time.
As far as my weight loss progress has gone, it really hasn't. I haven't really dropped any significant weight since December. But I haven't gained any weight either, so I suppose that's a step in the right direction. Or at very least, not a backslide down the big fat hill.
For dinner tonight, I'm cutting up potatoes and chicken sausage and baking it in the oven with some rosemary. And I'm having a Shiner Light Blonde (that's only 99 calories of delicious Texas Shiner Bock goodness).
This is going to be a very long process.

Inches

I got a measuring tape the other day. On my WiiFitPlus, I can keep track of my waist measurements, and my first one clocked in at 53.5 inches. That's more than 4 feet around, and just a little depressing. If you stretch out the 53.5 inches in one long line, it's kindof baffling. That's how ROUND my waist is, and stretched out strait like that is a sortof visual kick in the ass. It hasn't made me retaliate on myself in a negative way. I still do the same things I always do. It's just a new number to think about.
Speaking of numbers, my mother and I went out to lunch the other day. We had some pretty crappy (and terribly unhealthy) mexican food, and we talked about our weight almost the entire time. I told her about how that 1oo pounds I had lost crept back up on me over 4 years, and she's just as baffled as I am. I told her I don't really believe in the all mighty BMI while she is a firm believer in it, even though we're both at the top of the charts. I told her that it's not the NUMBERS I'm worried about, it's the CLOTHES i want to fit in to. And I'll do it my way.
I've been doing pretty good at checking in on Wii. 16 days out of 30 isn't half bad. My weight graft is slowly declining, although there are spikes when I mistakenly weighed in right after I had a late dinner and a few drinks. I'll be happy at the end of the year if the graft showed moderately steady weight loss, and not a drastic decline. I'd say I'm doing a pretty good job keeping it up. I've gone about 20 miles on my exercise bike since I got it set up in my living room. I won't lie and say it's an every day battle, because it's not. but I'm proud of what I've been doing, because it's more healthy than doing nothing.

Camping For Christmas and Plans For The New Year

This year I went on a family Christmas camping trip with my father's side. on the way there, I got lost not once, not twice, but three times (and a total of 5 hours) until my dad met up with me and escorted me to the campgrounds. Frustration doesn't even begin to define what I was feeling.

Thankfully, once I arrived, I was greeted warmly and I was able to make jokes on myself for not being able to find my way out of a paper bag. We sat around a fire and told lies, my dad and uncle smoked meats on the grill, my cousin caught numerous catfish, and I taught my tipsy aunts how to line dance. Needless to say, it was a very country Christmas, and I'll definitely be going next year.

I couldn't help but notice how out of shape I am while I was there. I was trudging down to the lake in mud boots, following my aunt to where my cousin and sisters were fishing. It was mostly down hill, which wasn't a problem. I held my adult beverage and cigarette the whole time without slipping on my ass or my face. But that walk back up the hill caused me to put out my cigarette and gulp for air. It was less than a quarter of a mile, both ways. I blamed my smoking habit, but I know it was my lack of exercise over the last 3 years. The whole time I was struggling to breathe, I kept telling myself how ridiculous this is. I should be able to do this!

A little background: I moved to Montana in 2007 with the (empty) promise of a new job in the corporate world of financing and loans. I passed all the tests, was qualified, and waited around for 6 months, and still didn't hear back from anyone with a specific start date. While I was waiting, I took advantage of the scenery. Montana doesn't have a whole lot going for it if you crave a city life. But those mountains and ancient trails are incredible. I hiked part of the Lewis and Clark trails, and hiked up a very steep plateau called Buffalo Jump. I walked through big fields and got chased by a heard of black cattle (terrifying, but the point is, I could out RUN them!), and discovered a love for Pilate's.

In Montana, I lost a lot of weight. I didn't put myself on a diet, I didn't set myself a goal. I did things that I liked to do, without putting any mental strain on myself. I drank beer and liqueur and wine and smoked cigarettes. I ate whatever I wanted to.

Since I've been back home in Texas, I let myself go again. I'm not nearly the 330 I was in high school, but I'm inching my way back up there. I don't work out at all, and I eat terribly. My body aches, and it's a struggle for me to stretch. I don't want to set myself a weight loss goal, or put myself on another crash diet. I don't want to try just to fail and gain even more weight.

Instead, I'll consider the advice that I got from an amazing blogger: 30 minutes of movement, 5 times a week. And to accomplish this, I have an exercise bike in my living room. It's not put together yet (my man friend is helping me with that) but between that, and playing Wii, I'll be happy with whatever results I get. After a month, I'll increase my time, and take it up to another level. Maybe by this time next year I'll splurge and join a gym (very unlikely)!

First, I want to stretch my stamina and flexibility. I'll start with 30 minutes on the bike 3 times a week, and 30 minutes on Wii Fit the other 2 days. This is a realistic minimum for me. If I'm sitting on my ass watching TV, why can't I bike on my ass while watching TV? I just got a used Wii and the balance board for $60. I haven't owned a game console since Nintendo 64, so this is a major upgrade for me. There's no reason at all why I CAN'T.

Then, I want to fit comfortably into my clothes. I'll start with the ones I have now, and I won't buy any more jeans until I have absolutely nothing to cover my ass at all during this process. I have my old size 14 jeans in my closet, with adorable deer on the back pocket, and they will stay there until they can be worn again. No pressure. They're not going anywhere.

The numbers game doesn't interest me much, because I don't strive to be any particular weight. I just want my clothes to fit. I learned a long time ago that those 3 numbers on the scale can break you down and make you loose your sense of well being, no matter how you FEEL. Sure, I'll keep track of the numbers, but with my amazing new scale that measures water weight, muscle and bones, and total weight. I'll even share them, because I am not ashamed, and those 3 numbers will not make or break me.

For now, I'll keep my goals small, take it slow, and keep it very realistic. I'll celebrate my success, and I'll share my setbacks. I know loosing weight is the most cliche resolution in the world, but that's not what this is about. This is about getting myself healthy again. This is about getting myself moving, not striving to be someone I'm not.

TO DO:

1. put my exercise bike together

2. make a workout play list

3. get a 2012 calender

Pale as Porcelain & Pleasantly Plump

"Fat looks good tan." That's what I used to say. And believe me, the proof is in my pudding like legs.
A few years ago, I got over the fear of tanning beds collapsing under my weight, thus trapping me inside a glass coffin of UV rays and death. I would put my ear buds in, listen to something nice, and zone out for up to 15 minutes. Within a week or two, an amazing optical allusion had accrued. My chunky monkey legs seemed to thin out, and my cellulite was not nearly as visible. I admired my strong, thick thighs, although they were by no means smaller. I liked the way I looked, but the facts of melanoma are strong deterrents. I don't tan anymore for many reasons. Partly because of the financial burden, partly because oompa loompa orange is not my color. Mostly, because tan doesn't equal beautiful.
I am a very pale girl, almost translucent, with all my veins in my arms and hands blue and quite visible. I like to joke that I glow in the dark, especially naked. I don't have any deep seeded issues with this, thanks in part to my wonderful man friend who likes how milky white my complexion is. I like it too, especially next to his light brown skin.
Despite his support, for some reason, I feel more confident with a tan. My family tree is chronically caucasian, except for a smidgen of American Indian on my mothers side. I'm not very athletic or outdoorsy, so there's no reason I would be tanned "naturally." There's no way in hell I'd be caught on the beach in a bikini without some color on my skin, and the most I get makes my tiny white stretchmarks pink. But that little kiss of UV rays makes me feel better. It makes me want to work out more, to wear sleeveless shirts and shorts. My mother would gladly pay for a membership to a tanning salon, but that's not what I want. I don't want to have to rely on a fake bake tan to feel better about myself.

Stuffin' Shuffle

This entire week has been both busy and unlucky, but I'm thankful for the pelasent family downtime. I got in a car accident (it was his fault, not mine), so I'm dealing with the unpleasantness of insurance claims. My favorite uncle came to visit from Florida with his wife and new baby, which made the estrogen levels in my family hit an all time high (they are suffering from baby fever). My little sister and her army husband are staying in town before they are both transferred to Korea before Christmas. My 26th birthday is next week, and I'm excited to see what I'm going to get. Yesterday, I got stung in the finger by a bee and the swelling is slowing the process of my home made Christmas cards. There are a lot of friends and family coming and going this year, so it's almost time to make the rounds.

Last week I went outlet shopping with my baby fevered family, and I found a $60 pair of Lane Bryant jeans for $29. I bought a size 20 long, thinking this is going to be the last pair of fat pants I purchase and I need a nice pair for holiday togetherness (aka: pictures). I didn't try them on because I'm confident that 20's will be fine since my 18's are a little too tight, and my thighs felt sweaty from shopping. I tried the jeans on the next day, and they're too fucking small. I mean, I can zip them up, but they are by no means flattering. I'm considering exchanging them for a larger size, but that makes me want to kick myself in the ass for being in a size 22 jeans again. I never feel as fat as I am until I go shopping for new clothes.

Until 2011 ends, I'm going to stuff myself with turkey and cheesecakes and lemon bars and sweet potatoes, and I'm not going to feel the least bit guilty. This is the stuffin' shuffle. Or stuffing shovel. There's really no difference. My sister and I constantly joke with our chins pressed to our chests about eating our feelings, and that's exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to eat every feeling I have. I'm going to mix my adult beverages with real sodas, not diet, and I'm going to enjoy full flavored beers before I trade them in for bottles of wine. This is my last big fat hurrah before the new year starts, and some of my bad habits come to an end, yet again.

A Fat Family History

I was raised on biscuits, grits, fried eggs and bacon on a country culdesac in east Texas. It was a couple of acres of land roaming with dogs and chickens, and I love my memories of growing up in the same house my mother did. I inherited my green eyes and curly hair from my mother, and my knack for hands on creativity from my grandmother. My younger sisters and I were loved equally and frequently. We were raised to mind our manners, and we were not to leave the kitchen table until we finished what was on our plates. We were all comforted by the softness of my grandmothers underarm, and the warmness of my mothers embrace. Their big soft bodies never registered with me as grotesque, but rather comforting. By the time I hit 16, I was as big as, and eventually bigger than, they were. It didn't register as a health problem because the most influential women in my life were fat, and they were wonderful. To love and be loved is to be blissfully blind to a lot of things.

It's easy, and false, to assume that if your parents are fat, than you're destined to be fat too. It is true that if a parent is plump, there is a 50% chance that the child will be also. Most important are that there are environmental effects that change that outcome (diet and exercise...duh). Although there are some very rare and extreme cases that can be blamed on a genetic mutation, that's not the case for most of us. If you're more interested in the link between genetics and obesity, the centers for disease control and prevention have an interesting article here: http://www.cdc.gov/Features/Obesity/

My family does not have a history of diabetes or heart disease. I have regular blood pressure and blood sugar, and I happen to know that my iron count is excellent (whatever the hell that meas). In those areas, I'm very lucky, but I do struggle with weight loss. This is because of unhealthy habits and lists of excuses, not because of any major medical setback.

Hello, My Name Is Kristin, And I'm Fat.

I'm pretty smart, pretty funny, pretty awesome, and I'm pretty fat. I'm a pretty fat white girl. If you like numbers, I'm 25 years old, 5'10", 270lbs. Size 20 jeans. I wear an impossible bra size 40B, XXL shirts to hide my belly. I have stretch marks on almost every part of my body: white, pink, and red. This is not the most I've ever weighed: I topped out at a very round 330lbs.

There are some people who would say "that's disgusting, how could you let yourself get like that?" These people have never struggled with obesity. The people that fret about gaining, loosing, or maintaining the same dreaded 10 pounds that everybody struggles with.

Then there are people almost or around 100 pounds or more overweight. These people gain and loose 50 or more pounds like it ain't no thang. These are my people. These are the weighty warriors. We fight constantly, a battle we wage on ourselves. Win or loose, it's a fascinating process.

A few summers ago, I dropped a bunch of weight and got down to a blissful 180, and a perfect (for me) size 14 jeans. The weight was lost naturally, through diet and exercise: the good ole' fashioned way. 4 years passed and I find myself quickly approaching that dreaded 300 pounds again, something I said I would never let happen. I've lost the weight before, and I'm about to do it again. Any questions?