You're righteous...so righteous...You're always so right...

I hear "Last Stop" by David Matthews playing in my head as I realize that I am the living example of the obnoxious reformed.  Well, internally, anyway.  I think in judgmental terms, because of course, I am doing something important – I’m changing my ways, eating better, exercising.  I’m living it, baby!

So when I see a morbidly overweight person (like me) sitting down with a greasy fast-food burger, salty fries and supersized coke, I think, “Unh huh.  Mmmm hmmmmm.”  Upon the heels of that wordless judgment come other less shameful thoughts, like, maybe they’ve spent a week or a month eating sticks and twigs in fat-free milk and have already lost 100 pounds and this is their reward.  Or like, maybe no one ever taught them about good nutrition.  Or like, maybe they’re just having a bad day and this is their crutch…Maybe they’re just not in a place to take the reigns of their own health just yet -- you know, like me!  Look at me!  I’m so damn good!  (Forget the fact that I’ve taken the reigns numerous times and then fallen on my face in the mud and under the horse just weeks later….)

And finally, that little bud of empathy (that I try so vigilantly and virtuously to nurture) breaks through, and I remember that whenever I indulged in anything, anything other than the healthiest meals, my guilty conscious filled me with shame and I ate it anyway (and then some more.  Sometimes double).  Sometimes that shame has to do with unresolved memories/issues with my long deceased mother and my father’s current disappointment in my weight (the fact that he says, “but you were such a beautiful girl” is supposed to key me in on how much he really does love me, even though my being fat makes it harder for him).  And then, of course, my own horror at how far I’ve come from the “tiny thing” an old boyfriend once called me in college to what I am now – almost exactly 100 pounds heavier.  Or rather was almost exactly.  Since I started this Biggest Loser Challenge, I am now down a few pounds, you know.  (Aren’t I enviable?  Don’t you want to be like me?  'Cause I'm so damn strong!) 

But I digress.

Anyway, after my mind skips over a litany of condemnations for the poor souls stuffing their faces and arteries with crap nonfood, or overly rich food, or simply waaaay too much of it, I recognize that I am conscious of these judgments, and remind myself again of my own shame.  I remind myself that shame hurts.  I remind myself, much too late of course, that their weight is not the sum total of their worth, of their talents, of who they are.  In fact, it has very little to do with it.  It is a physical attribute, nothing more.  It may be a symptom even.  But it is not who they are.  And more importantly, it is not my bizniz to try to figure out why it is that they are fat, if it’s their own fault, or to give it a value of any kind.  And if I’m going to feel anything, it should be sympathy – oh wait, but isn’t that also a judgment that is not mine to make?

I remind myself that I have experienced behind-my-back derision from coworkers, acquaintances, false friends, and strangers, and in-my-face derision as well.  I remind myself that any of my own judgmental thinking, though seemingly involuntary, is just as bad and narrow minded as theirs. 

This tendency is clearly ingrained in me.  And it is something I recognize, I acknowledge, I am owning, and I am fighting to change.  Because -- I know deep down that these judgments I am making are not really toward this other person.  They are a direct reflection of how I feel about myself.  And I know that until I can accept myself, flaws, inadequacies, flab and all, I will never really change.  Being skinny isn’t really the goal.  The goal is to treat myself with love, understanding, and kindness.  (Good luck with that one, dork!)  And that includes but is not limited to making good choices for myself.  (Including not insulting yourself, stupid!)  It includes but is not limited to empathy and compassion for myself and others.  It includes but is not limited to living life as an active participant instead of sitting on my ass and watching it go by until I die. 

Oh lord, I’m still sounding pretty effin’ righteous, ain’t I?  Crap! 

Ahhhh...

There is sometimes such a relaxed inner peace when my stomach is empty.  I'm not talking hunger.  I mean when things are mostly empty and quiet and my body is not having to process anything big.  It's a comfortable feeling I have forgotten because I had gotten used to being overly full—something always seemed wrong or missing if I wasn't.  I'm trying to learn that the slightly hungry feeling is okay, the food is still there if I want it.  I'm trying to relearn to eat only when I am truly hungry. 

Ma'am, assume the position!

Step away from the roast chicken!  Put your hands on the refrigerator door, push it closed, back away slowly, and no one will get hurt.

"Nothing changes if nothing changes, and if I keep doing what I've always done, I'll keep getting what I've always got, and will keep feeling what I always felt." ~author unknown

Night time is the worst time. 

Most workdays I can get through without overeating if prepared with healthy snacks.  I can set up my workstation with a pitcher of green tea, raw veggies, fruit bowl, raw nuts, oatmeal. At work I have determination and I love heading out for a walk at breaks and lunch – it’s better than sitting at work. 

But at night after a long day, my dinner portions are insensibly large, and once I start eating, I can’t seem to stop --  it’s such an ingrained habit. 

In my young adult days--my thin days--what was so different?  Well, I was younger with a better metabolism.  But so were all my friends who are still thin now.  So what are the differences between me and them now?

Frankly, my own habits.  I have steadily gained weight over the years, and the things I loved to do have fallen by the wayside.  I come home, sit, and watch TV or surf the net.  That sums up my activities on any given weeknight.  I used to love to write, but I can’t sit down at the computer without checking my email and Facebook, and without playing a game or several of backgammon.  Backgammon, of course, does not make me break a sweat, and I can easily eat while I’m doing it.  This damn computer sucks away my time, my attention, my ambition, my life, and deposits it all into my fat cells.

When I was younger, I was busy.  By day I worked in theatre building sets or in the front office of a general contractor and ran shows at night.  I went out.  I had fun.  I danced.  I romanced.  I DID stuff.  This kept me off my ass.  I don’t do that now.  In fact, since moving to this town two decades ago, I have not worked in theatre at all.  I used to love to do just about anything creative. 

I have made several feeble attempts over the years to get back into creative things.  Stocked my shelves with paintbrushes, paper, and an easel; bought creative writing books, etc. 

So what stops me?  When I walk through that front door, why do I head for the chair (or the refrigerator first)?  I have plenty I could be doing.  Even if not creatively, I could be making my own living space a better place – paint the walls or even vacuum for god’s sake.  But there is something that triggers in me the lazy desire to just kick back and rest, and most detrimentally, stop thinking, planning, desiring. 

So the easy answer is, go do something!  But almost anything you do costs money.  Go bowling?  Prepare to drop $25.  Take a class? Prepare to drop $10-30.  Go swimming at the community pool?  Prepare to drop $4.  Okay, $4 doesn’t seem like much, but then you take the kids and that’s $12.  Some of you are thinking that still isn’t all that much, but maybe you aren’t living paycheck to paycheck.  I could go for a walk, but at this time of year, it’s too dark when I get home from work and I live in an area with no sidewalks and few streetlights. 

Also, if I book something to do every night just to keep myself away from the refrigerator, then I am leaving the family behind (or shelling out lots of money).  I feel guilty.  Plus, that expense and time does not contribute to the welfare of the household. Even though I’m not doing anything to contribute to that welfare when I’m home sitting on my ass, I still feel guiltier being out and away spending money than being there and not doing anything. Yeah, weird logic, I know.

But it is clear that I must do something different.  If nothing changes, nothing changes. I could drop $40 a month and go to a gym, but I’ve been down that road before and I am not going to set myself up for failure, especially at such high price.  I have one night booked for Zumba, so that’s something.  I am adding yoga on Sundays, that will help too.  Now those things together make for a bill of $17 a week (more $$ monthly than the gym, but I’m very committed to them).  I must find something that doesn’t cost that can keep me busy – perhaps volunteer work --  something that will keep my ass off the chair, my face out of the refrigerator, maybe even boost my self-esteem enough to demand more out of life and respark my ambition and inspire my desires. 

Zumba!

I’ve committed to 9 more classes.  Let’s see if I can survive it.  For those that don’t know what Zumba is, it’s a lot like Jazzercise but with “salsa” music – although I think the music in this class borders on rap. I’ll admit, I’m old and don’t really know my music types anymore.  All I know is that the beat is fast (this ain’t sweatin'-to-the-oldies, my friends), the lyrics not just suggestive but at times bordering on obscene (yes, I guess I really am old, bordering on stodgy), and the pace about twice as fast as I am willing to move even if my ass were on fire. 

I was a big fan of Nia. For those of you . . . it’s a lot like Jazzercise to middle eastern music, with elements of yoga, martial arts, and New Age yadda yadda.  Some think it a bit too woo-woo, but I think that depends on the teacher.  I just liked that the moves were expressive, flowing, and fun, even when fast paced, and the music had so much variety (again, that might depend on the teacher too).  It had distinctive warm-up, speed-up, maintain, warm-down cycles – unlike this Zumba class that seems to hit the ground running hard with very little recovery time.

I find the Zumba a bit tortuous, especially for the first three sets, and then when I can breathe without too much pain, I get into it.  If nothing else, it is a good aerobic workout.  However the quick-snap hip gyrations may have shaken one or more internal organs loose, which could be floating around in my body for all I know. I can’t quite manage those fast ass-shimmies no matter how hard I try. 

I used to dance as a kid and even a bit into college – ballet, point, jazz and some tap.  I can’t say I was ever very good, but I could keep a beat and was in great shape.  I don’t think I would have been able to do Zumba well even at that age.  But now, I dance like I've had a stroke--I can do some things on one side of my body that I just can't seem to manage on the other. And we shook and wiggled and jiggled with such exuberance, I almost had a self-annihilating fat-tsunami.

If I hadn’t conned some of my friends into taking the class with me, I would surely not have gone back.  It’s just not that much fun for me, but it is a good heart-thumping workout.  God knows I need more aerobic exercise, and if it doesn’t kill me, it may make me stronger.  I may find my liver has traded places with my right kidney, but I’ll be stronger.

Apparently, when you eat reasonable portions...

...2 large pizzas is too much for 4 people.  Who knew?

Breakfast out -- always a challenge

Breakfast is one of my favorite meals out - rich foods I rarely cook for myself.  But I'm finding I just can't eat that stuff and feel good or lose weight.  So, I do what I can to still enjoy the meal even though I feel emotionally deprived by avoiding the buttery french toast, the bacon, the fried potatoes swimming in salty grease, the equally oily fried eggs...  I order oatmeal, ignore the butter and brown sugar offered with it, try to remember to order the skim milk, and if it doesn't come with nuts and dried fruit, to add a side of fresh fruit.  (I just ate at a place that served the oatmeal with biscuits or toast.  Would you like more grains with your grains, Ma'am?)  I'm getting used to drinking coffee with only skim milk added.  Funny, I find I don't drink as much coffee if it's not sweetened and fattened up, and I am pickier about the coffee I drink when I can actually taste it.

I'm lucky in that I really do love oatmeal, so it's not such a punishment to be eating well.  And making sure I'm with good friends with whom to gab makes the food itself less significant.  That, I think, is an issue I need to explore more -- making the moment, not the food, the focus.

3 pounds down!

Yea!  Okay, false enthusiasm there.  I mean, yes, I'm delighted I lost three pounds, but in my secret and fantastical heart, I was hoping for 10.  It was the Indian food that did me in! 

Oh, that shiny soft cheese danish called so alluringly through the glass case

But I managed to order only a tall coffee with a dash of skim milk.  It was a tough struggle, especially since it had been hours since I'd had my oatmeal with pecans and raisins, and I was hungry.  But as I stared longingly at it (and the cashier waited patiently for me to say something), I remembered how I looked in the mirror at Zumba, my tank top doing nothing to hide the jiggling flaps of flab under my arms as I shimmied.  I imagined that beautiful danish hanging under my arms.  That visualization killed my appetite just long enough for me to utter, "That will be all, thanks."

Two hours later though, Indian cuisine looked just fine hanging from my appendages, and I ate my fill.

I think my ass is broke . . .

 . . . 'cuz it just got kicked. Managed to survive (without emergency medical attention) my first Zumba class. Someone check in on me tomorrow and make sure I can move.

The problem with eating healthy is . . .

. . . you can't just tear open a package, nuke it, and snarf.  You have to wash it, trim it, chop it, and if it's not a salad, cook it too!  This takes planning.  This takes counter space.  This takes time.

Days 1-3. OMG, I want to quit already!

I started this thing.  I can't quit.  My god, I'm weak.  Even though I've lost 2 lbs already (sure as shit it's just water and shit, but hey, it's progress!), I hate being confined to food choices or amounts.  Oh, I'm such a rebel at heart.  But a fat rebel. 

I am eating my fill of vegies -- and I do love vegies. I definitely eat plenty of raw and cooked fruits and vegies--well beyond the recommended amounts for a healthy diet.  But I love ALL food.  And I love LOTS of it.

My two main problems are (1) eating unreasonably large quantities of the high fat stuff, and to a lesser degree, the sugary refined crap, and (2) being too sedentary.

Why can't butter and cheese be a diet food?  Why can't online gaming burn more calories?  Woe is me.

But I am off to a good start.  I've been walking more.  Playing ping pong with the family instead of only sitting and watching movies/playing on the internet.  I'm trying out a Zumba class tonight for the first time.  I may even shave my winter legs and drag my fat ass to the pool.

This has been a hard start, but like I said -- I started this challenge with my friends.  I have to see it through.  I don't care if I win or not; I just want to prove to myself that for 13 weeks I can be good to myself, make the right choices, and hopefully create a trend in my own behavior and lifestyle that will provide enough momentum to carry me past 13 weeks to 13 years or so.

So, it's 2012. And I'm still fat.

Okay.  I need to lose weight.  Duh.  I've known this for years.  I joined Weight Watchers once, and it was great.  Lost 25 pounds.  It was a great start.  But it was a gift from my sister or father (can't remember which), and the money for the meetings ran out.  I simply can't afford $10-$14 a week.  I stopped going. I gained it back.  (It's a great program; it works and I recommend it to anyone that can afford it.  But I tire of the sales pitch, and quite frankly, people getting rich off of my weaknesses pisses me off.  The crap food industry has enough of my money already.)

Yet, I need the accountability of reporting to others to keep on the straight and narrow, to not just quit and shove that eclair in my mouth and promise to do better tomorrow.  

So I started a Biggest Loser Challenge among my friends.  I have about 12 commitments.  We started on January 2nd.  It will run 13 weeks.  We each kicked in 20 bucks for prize money.  This blog will serve to let me describe this horrific process for me.  Enjoy my pain.