I haven’t always been fat.
I had a few rare years of dramatic theatre time when I was svelte. But one tends to remember being fat, more than not. Especially when fat is the current state.
Those are the hardest times.
I can already hear my sister and my coach Taylor, screaming at their screens. “You are NOT fat! You HAVE fat”, it’s a mindset I’d love to have, and that I’ve vowed to try and adapt, however, for now, I am fat.
I am aware of it, every single minute, or every single day.
I see it every time I look I the mirror, or catch my fat ass reflection in a window, or see my rotund shadow when it’s sunny (which is a lot in Houston).
I see it, always.
I hate it, always.
I’ve written blogs like this, at least once a year. New beginning, new me. It trails off. It flops. I quit. And I’m normally not a quitter. I HATE to quit.
This time it’s different, this time it’s for real.
It never is. I stay fat.
Since Lewis was born, I’ve lost 33lbs and counting. It hasn’t been easy, or quick (he’s nearly a year old). Breastfeeding seems to be hindering, rather than helping and, since January 5th, I’ve been working so hard that I almost expected the weight to fall off me. But I’ve been here before, I know the drill, sometimes you just have to put your faith in the science. Eat less, move more and it will happen. It WILL.
But it’s hard.
I’m trying so hard to eat cleaner, high protein, low carbs, low sugar, and as of this week, no carbs after 3pm. I’m doing my best, for once, I’m giving it my all. I really am. No kidding myself this time. It’s a struggle every time I open my mouth to eat. At every meal. It’s a conscious choice to self improve, to make the better choice, and to inch just a little closer to my goal.
What’s my goal? Well, I started at 268lbs, my first major goal is 180, and I’ll reevaluate the next one, when I get there. My first interim goal, however, is to lose 30lbs by our wedding anniversary cruise in October. I want to be 213lbs, (which is the weight I was on my wedding day), for my anniversary. It’s an achievable goal, theoretically, and bet your ass I’m going to give it my all.
I have an inspirational chart taped to my pantry (aka the infamous pantry penis) that I color in with my Crayola markers every time I lose 1lb. I have photos from my wedding taped to it, to constantly remind me of my goal. Where I want to be. Who I want to be. So every time I go in to that cupboard for food, I have a choice to make.
What do I want more? The chocolate, or to color in the chart.
What’s my food plan? Like I said above, high protein (lean meats), low carb (100g rice/potato or a tortilla wrap), low sugar (berries rather than citrus). Three meals (I’m not a breakfast person so this is tough) two to three snacks (nuts, Greek yoghurt, rice cracker, small Apple with peanut butter) and prayers. ‘Cause, I love my food, I hate any sniff of feeling deprived. I’m doing my best to feel satisfied and occasionally allowing myself a ‘treat’, cause while although I’m not a dog, it needs to be sustainable for this to work for me. The odd pizza, or the wings, I still indulge in my diet coke and I’m trying to keep it reasonable, sustainable. A lifetime thing.
What are my activities? I went back to Body Attack 2-3 times a week for a few weeks, put my back out, got the flu, and got really weak. So started walking with my boys, and C25K last week, to try and ease back in to working out. I’ve signed up for not one, but TWO 5k walks/jogs this summer, both at night (oy vey! I couldn’t handle the day time heat!!) with my girl Taylor and I hope to do them in a ‘respectable’ time, but I’ve not yet set a goal, because snails are currently faster than I am.
I’ve stuck to it for fifty days. 5-0.
That’s a record.
What’s my secret weapon? My secret weapon is three-fold.
Firstly, my crazy sister, she has this knack of ‘bigging me up’ *right* when I need ‘bigging’, sending food suggestions, meal ideas, encouragement and most importantly, she’s always there to kick my ass when I’ve found my way to the wrong side of the tracks, or, often more importantly, to keep me from straying before it happens. I talk to her daily, not always about food, but she’s there, like a strong silent, rock, waiting to hit me in the face if I go near a pizza
Secondly I have a great ‘coach’, she helps me set realistic goals, she helps me learn about food, she encourages me when I am feeling weak, she cheers me when I do good and she bucks me up when the scales don’t move. She gives me exercises to do at home when I can’t get out, or one of us is sick. She guilts me into taking Lewis for a walk when the weather is glorious and she’s stuck in an office – oh, yeah, did I not mention she has a full time job?
She is nothing short of amazing.
Her name is Taylor, I met her by accident a few years ago when I needed a door prize donation for an SSA event and she is FAB. I send her photos of all my food, she texts at least once every single day, if I’m wavering, I’ll text her and say ‘I want to eat crap’ and she’ll have a come to Jesus meeting. She keeps me focused, asks about the progress of my pantry penis and pushes me. Pushes my limits. I need it, cause some days I’d be like ‘f*ck it!’ but she reminds me of my goal, and helps me get there.
My most important secret weapon, is my eleven month old little boy – I almost wrote baby – but he’s no longer a baby. He’s transitioning into ‘toddler mode’ and he’s doing it quickly. He’s crawling, sure, but he’s also pulling himself up, walking with a walker, moving between objects and as of today, he’s started to stand up solo for a few seconds – this kid will rule the world.
He will soon be running, chasing, kicking a football, playing sports – and I don’t want to be the lard-ass trudging mother who can’t keep up with her toddler (and beyond). I don’t want to have to watch him play in the park, wondering why mama can’t chase him, or why she needs to sit down every few minutes.
I want to be healthy, for my boy. I want to be active for my boy. I want to be FUN, for my boy.
8lbs down, 22lbs to go by October 30th.
This time I won’t quit. I can’t quit. I won’t let my son follow the same path as me, I want to teach him healthy choices, healthy activities and I want him to enjoy family time, walking, cycling, swimming…I want him to have a healthy relationship with food, understand its purpose and eat the right things. I can’t expect him to do it, if I don’t do it.
The buck stops here.
It’s on, like Donkey Kong*…
…*and if I fall down, Taylor (and a few other people) will drag my ass up off the dirt and help me dust myself off, and start again. Cause that’s what badasses do.