Da da da da, feelin' bloaty!

I can't remember what week I'm on, and I've obviously fallen behind some. I didn't do great in California because it was way too easy to just do vacation eating. In my case, at least, that means eating junk whenever I feel like it.

Apparently, my idea of junk has changed quite a bit, because although I gained, it was only 2 pounds. Dan had warned me that airplane travel can totally make you retain water, so I wasn't too worried, especially since even with those 2 pounds, my fat percentage stayed the same. So it really was water weight.

Having people tell me they can see a difference is almost as cool as being able to wear my pre-extra fat clothing. I like my clothes for the most part, so having to put certain things away was kind of depressing. Not being able to go back to it after the pregnancies was worse. So wearing jeans I haven't worn in 3 years feels fantastic, but even more is having some extra room in the thighs. Same for extra room in the chest area with my shirts. Awesome.

I'd be lying if I said I was actually feeling baby hungry. I adore my babies, but I'm still fine waiting. I guess that's a good thing because if I really wanted another now I'd have a hard time waiting to lose another 50 pounds. And that's my goal. I really want to lose that much more before getting pregnant again. Pregnancy is really tough, but pregnancy while obese is just miserable.

So, here's to losing the weight. Here's to more babies. Here's to better health and more adventures.

Oh, one really happy note from my trip. I didn't have to use a seat belt extender on the airplane. I took a trip with the kidlet about 2 years ago when he was just 4 months old and I had to use one. Terrible and humiliating. I was tickled that I didn't need one.

Progress! Little, but visible.

Anyone want tips or tricks that might be especially suited to them, let me know. I'm happy to help, and Dan wants me to be able to help. I think it reinforces my own good behaviors enough that it makes me more likely to succeed. And Dan is all for that. He has even given me advice on behalf of others. And if you're interested in meeting with Dan - even long-distance, just let me know.

Help me to help you. We'll do this together, eh?

Cheater

On Friday I had a cupcake. And on Saturday I had an ice cream cone.

I guess I'm really getting into this program because last night I dreamed that I actually gained weight this week and I felt terrible about it. I was petrified that Dan would chastise me for not following the plan. heh He's not that kind of a person. Well, he'll give me a hard time for stuff, but he's not mean about it. His job is to tweak my program every single week so I don't plateau and I don't get hungry or too worn out. Why would I feel so bad about a single cupcake?

Rededication, dang it!

My clothes are fitting differently. I've always had giant thighs, and my pants now are loose around my legs. And I sat down in a chair that normally would have totally pinched my hips and it didn't hurt at all. I still squeeze out the sides a little, but it's noticeably less. It's a beautiful thing.

Truth is that I don't have that much appetite for super sweet things lately. Heck, I have to water down all my drinks because they're too sweet for me. And I only put one small scoop of ice cream on my cone. It was too sweet, but I ate it anyway. I should have just shared one with my kid, who ended up smearing his all over his face and shirt.

No more cupcakes. No more ice cream. It's okay, I like the thin more than I like the sweets.

How does one diet at a party?

When I was a kid I remember one "fast" Sunday in particular (once a month you donate the money you would have spent on food to the poor - you "fast" and get all sorts of spiritual benefits). I was probably 4 or 5 and some big person asked me if I had fasted. I said, "yes! I only ate one banana!" There was lots of laughter and I was embarrassed that I hadn't been 100% faithful to the idea of fasting.

Yesterday I went to two parties. I was good! I only ate 3 creampuffs!

I think the only way to make sure there's something at the party that you can eat is to take something that you can eat. Otherwise there's no guarantee.

No guarantee, but most people serve both proteins and carbs, and there's plenty of water next to that soda.

I took a fruit salad. Fresh cherries (picked yesterday morning even) and strawberries and pineapple in a fat-free, low-sugar cream sauce. Yum. I still ate too much, but it wasn't a bad day.

Week 2 - still losing

(I thought I was holding it in the same place, but maybe not)

You may look at that "still" and wonder how many diets I've tried in the past (seeing as how it's only been two weeks). Or you may wonder at my perseverance. Yeah, I don't have much. And this week has been tough.

There has been eating out and dinners in with lots of people. There has been very little sleep and lots of appointments out. There have been lots of people around and little money in the bank.

All of this combined means it's hard to stick to an eating schedule. The exercise is easier, not that I've done much of that. Gah. And I still lost 2 more pounds.

My calories have been bumped up to almost 1600 per day. For any of you who diet, you'll know that's a lot. How can someone lose significant weight while eating lots of calories?, you might ask. It's simpler than you might think.

Our bodies need calories for energy. In today's society, we often go long periods of time between meals and then eat till we are very full. That translates into our bodies not having the energy and then having too much (calories anyway). So basically, we need to eat only enough to sustain ourselves till the next meal. And eating every 2 to 3 hours teaches our bodies not to "save" the calories for later.

Dan has been teaching me the gospel of Elmo. Oh wait, that's E.L.M.O.

Eat Less, More Often. As much as I'm following it, I'm losing. I just need to do more ELMO. Right?

So, I'm fat

The time has come to "say goodbye, fatty!"

No seriously, I'm fat. I've been fat for a very long time, and for long before that I just thought I was fat. That means that in my mind, I have essentially been fat since I was like 12.

Like most women, I have a terrible opinion of my body. I hope that it's a realistic opinion. I've learned over the years to like myself despite a severe dislike for my shape, but that was a really difficult task. From a young age, I took my cues from the general world about my self-worth, so even though my family told me I was a good person, I figured I was never good enough because I wasn't shaped right. Or I didn't wear the right clothes. Or I was the wrong religion. Or I talked too much. Or something.

The one thing that the world told me was right bothered me. I, um, developed very early. By the age of 12 I was wearing a real bra. In fact, I never wore any kind of a training bra. I was ogled and objectified. Funny thing is that nobody told me I was beautiful except for my family. But guys - especially those a few years older than me - really liked my boobs. And I hated them. The boobs and the guys.

Since I knew that my body wasn't right, how could I possibly trust the affection of guys professing interest?

I was in my 30s before I got over that.

When I got to college I gained a lot of weight. I remember telling myself as a teenager that I would never let myself weigh 200 pounds. Yeah right. I hit 200 in college, but was so insecure that it came out as anger and bitterness.

When I was 21 I went to Italy to be a missionary for my church. You might think that, like most of the people who went to Italy for a long time (a year and a half for me), I'd gain weight. But the physical demands were so grueling that I lost 45 pounds in the first 2 months I was there. I had to safety pin all my clothes so they wouldn't fall off. The nice part was that I was eating a ton. Carbs galore! I had a large bowl of cereal for breakfast, a giant bowl of pasta for lunch, and usually a whole pizza for dinner (pizza in Italy is different from here, I promise) - plate size. Yum. And I still lost weight!

After the initial weight loss, I weighed about 180. I didn't keep losing, but I didn't gain either. I kept it off for over a year - till I came home. Then, I got a job working terrible hours (often day and night hours), started eating terribly, drove everywhere (instead of walking or biking), and within a year I was up to 280.

As you might guess, it was depressing. I blamed the shallowness of guys for my lack of dates and ended up alienating any who might have braved the fat. My bitterness and self-disgust pushed all away, but it was always their fault, not mine.

Over the next 7 or 8 years I gained about 20 more pounds, had a few relationships that broke my heart, went on a few adventures, and came to accept myself. I decided that without a great body and without a relationship, I could still enjoy my life and like who I was. I could have a fantastic personality, accepting everyone and learning from all my experiences. The process of acceptance - of myself and my life - took about 3 years. It wasn't like I could just blink and make it all better. It was a huge process.

Four years ago I was in the best place of my life, both figuratively and literally. I was living in my dream location, had a dream job, some of the best friends anyone could want. Then I had an epiphany. The purpose of life is to progress in family relationships - either the ones we're born into or the ones we create. It actually made me sad because I knew I needed to go home.

Now, home for me was not some beloved place. Sure I loved my family, but they had moved to Utah after I graduated from high school and I felt no connection to the state at all. I thought it was dry and kind of ugly (I was living in Alaska, so the comparison was pretty drastic). The people were pretty generic. The opportunities, especially with dating, were limited.

But then I got a phone call. My sister was having a difficult pregnancy and had four little kids at home who needed more attention. Would I consider coming home for a month to help out? I was the only unattached and available member of the family left. Instead of going for a month, I packed up everything and moved back to Utah.

Being generally happy with my life, I decided to do some internet dating. I didn't take it seriously, and I dated more than I had in the previous 16 years. It still took 6 months, but eventually my cousin introduced me to the man who would become my husband. He didn't care about my size because he loved me for me. It was wonderful.

Having hovered around 300 pounds for at least 5 years by then, I was a bit worried when I gained 54 pounds with my first pregnancy. It was a difficult pregnancy, and I'm sure it was a lot harder because of my weight. After WeWe (his name for himself) was born I lost about 35 pounds very quickly. And then over the next year I gained about 20 back. What the...?!

Pregnancy #2 was also very uncomfortable and I gained about 40 pounds. And again I gained. Or at least it felt that way. Baby Mia is now almost 7 months old, and I weigh 338 pounds. I feel and look terrible and I'm ashamed of myself. I have no motivation and I blame my bad habits on circumstance. Yeah, there are lots of bad influences surrounding me. Yeah, my genetics aren't really in my favor for weight. Yeah, I have little kids at home. Yeah, I can't afford any kind of a gym. Yeah, it's too hot outside to do serious exercise.

But seriously, I'm sick of being fat. I'm sick of being in pain all the time. I'm sick of sleeping terribly because I'm so big. I'm sick of asking for seat belt extenders on airplanes. I'm sick of the almost-permanent bruise on my hip from the seat belt in my car. I'm sick of having to wedge myself into movie theater seats. I'm sick of shopping in the fat sections of stores (or in specialty shops!) and not finding anything that fits anyway. I'm sick of asking people to give me special seating because my butt is too wide for normal chairs. I'm sick of worrying if I'm too heavy for furniture (sorry, Tawna, about your patio chair!). I'm sick of getting winded when I'm just a little bit active. I'm sick of having to move my fat out of the way for sex.

So here we are. I'm 5'6" and I weigh almost 340 pounds. My bra size is 44J. I am 54% body fat. How do I know? Well, yesterday I met with Dan. Dan's some kind of crazy, but I like him. He's going to whip me into shape. He promises results as long as I do what he says.

The results? I'm glad you asked. The goal is 100 pounds in 24 weeks. That's down over 18% body fat. The eventual goal is to drop over 150 pounds, but Dan promised that by the end of 24 weeks (during which we'll meet once a week) I'll know my body well enough to keep going on my own. And he'll meet with me once a month to help me get the rest of the way. This is me. Feel free to commiserate. I'll be posting my journey here, including pics. I'm sure I'll be terribly embarrassed, but I figure that will just mean more motivation. Right?