I'm at the halfway point in my weight loss project, which is both fantastic and frustrating. Instead of explaining that in a thoughtfully written essay, I'm going to take the lazy man's way out with lists:
Fantastic
1. Even people who haven't known me that long are starting to ask, "Hey, are you losing weight?"
2. Physically, I feel better than I did five years ago. Flat feet can be painful for anyone, but they hurt all the time when I was carrying around 40 extra pounds. Now, I can stand and walk for long periods of time without thinking much about my feet. My sketchy right knee doesn't creak anymore.
3. For the most part, I'm over my pouting about foods that I "can't" eat. I can eat whatever I want, but I choose not to eat stuff that's going to make me feel crappy and sluggish.
4. Shopping is sort of enjoyable, and frequently surprising. I'll pick something off the rack thinking, "Well, this is going to be too tight," and then it turns out not to be. In a few cases, it's too big. Finding pants is still a pain in the ass, but because I am pear-shaped and round-bottomed, that's going to be the case no matter what size I am.
5. My weight goal seems achievable. Forty pounds ago, I could see no light at the end of a very long tunnel, and each pound lost seemed like a ripple in the ocean.
6. A thin friend said I had inspired her to lose the last of her baby weight. Wow.
7. A few days ago, I walked briskly uphill in heels and realized I wasn't huffing and puffing the way I used to.
8. I no longer cringe when people tag me in Facebook photos.
Frustrating
1. I'm still overweight, even though I've been living like a thin person for months. A person meeting me for the first time would not assume that I consume fewer than 1,350 calories on an average day and bust my ass in the gym. I really want my body to catch up to my effort.
2. I have to keep upping the ante. The weight loss is great, but now I have to get serious about strength training so I won't be all flabby.
3. My top is in the "regular" clothing department, but my bottom is still in the plus-size area. And even by "regular" standards, I'm large.
4. In some ways, I have forgotten how dress smaller versions of myself. Seriously, I haven't worn belts in years, but now I need them. I'm clumsy when I tuck in shirts because I haven't done it in ages. Certain things in my closet just don't work anymore.
5. Buying new clothes is expensive, if necessary at this point. There are only so many times you can take something in, but because I have a family and am not made of money, I often have to pull a McGyver with some of my clothes. The result is that I look like someone who simply needs to buy some new pants.
6. I will probably never be considered small. On a message board I read yesterday, someone actually referred to Kim Kardashian as fat. Fat! The woman weighs, what, 120 pounds, but because she has boobs and a butt (things I thought women were supposed to have), she gets bashed because she isn't built like Gwyneth Paltrow. It sucks to know that I could get down to a single-digit dress size and still be measured against an outrageously unrealistic standard for women's bodies.
7. I do, on occasion, long for the sweet embrace of Cinnabon.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
One Foot In Front Of The Other
I am married to a longtime runner, and every time he talks about the satisfaction of pushing through pain and mental obstacles to reach the "runner's high," I look at him like he has grown a third arm.
I have done many, many things that initially frightened or intimidated me, but running always struck me as the I Cannot Do. It's not just that it's hard. Lifting weights is hard, but I do that. Bike intervals are hard, but I do those, too. Ignoring a table full of hot dogs and hamburgers while eating a clean salad is excruciating. But I did that on Saturday.
Even when I was a kid, I wasn't very good at the simple act of running. In my junior high P.E. class, I was generally one of the slowest people on the track. More than anything else we did - archery, softball, tennis - running was the thing that seemed to set the strong and athletic apart from the ... not. Let's face it, you don't see many chubby runners.
A very fit friend who helped me overhaul my diet and workout routine is convinced that I have what it takes to run regularly, and she encouraged me to try a couch-to-5K over several weeks. She knows that, for me, this is as much about overcoming a mental obstacle as melting fat. I mean, I could do Zumba for cardio. A big part of my weight loss project has been getting past the phrase "I can't."
So I downloaded Week One of this podcast, laced up my shoes and went to work. The 30-minute drill for Week One, bookended by a five minute warmup and cool down, was to run for one minute, walk briskly for 90 seconds, and repeat. I'd like to say that I surprised myself with my stamina and speed, but it pretty much sucked. I didn't quit, but halfway into the podcast, when host Robert Ullray told me it was time to start running again, I spent the next 60 seconds repeating the F-bomb. When I got home, sweaty and angry about how fat and slow I felt, my husband high-fived me. I went to the shower muttering something like "Fuck running," and my son asked me why I looked so mad. I mean, it's not I like was totally out of shape; I'd already been doing a solid cardio routine for months. Yet, the podcast kicked my ass.
When I did it a second time, it still sucked — but a tiny bit less. I did it again today, and while I wasn't stoked, I didn't feel like I was going to die, either. The last interval was a bit much, but I just kept going. No one was going to be captivated by my speed or gazelle-like grace, but holy shit, I was running.
I've got a long, long way to go in my fitness journey, but for now, consistently putting one foot in front of the other feels like a victory lap.
I have done many, many things that initially frightened or intimidated me, but running always struck me as the I Cannot Do. It's not just that it's hard. Lifting weights is hard, but I do that. Bike intervals are hard, but I do those, too. Ignoring a table full of hot dogs and hamburgers while eating a clean salad is excruciating. But I did that on Saturday.
Even when I was a kid, I wasn't very good at the simple act of running. In my junior high P.E. class, I was generally one of the slowest people on the track. More than anything else we did - archery, softball, tennis - running was the thing that seemed to set the strong and athletic apart from the ... not. Let's face it, you don't see many chubby runners.
A very fit friend who helped me overhaul my diet and workout routine is convinced that I have what it takes to run regularly, and she encouraged me to try a couch-to-5K over several weeks. She knows that, for me, this is as much about overcoming a mental obstacle as melting fat. I mean, I could do Zumba for cardio. A big part of my weight loss project has been getting past the phrase "I can't."
So I downloaded Week One of this podcast, laced up my shoes and went to work. The 30-minute drill for Week One, bookended by a five minute warmup and cool down, was to run for one minute, walk briskly for 90 seconds, and repeat. I'd like to say that I surprised myself with my stamina and speed, but it pretty much sucked. I didn't quit, but halfway into the podcast, when host Robert Ullray told me it was time to start running again, I spent the next 60 seconds repeating the F-bomb. When I got home, sweaty and angry about how fat and slow I felt, my husband high-fived me. I went to the shower muttering something like "Fuck running," and my son asked me why I looked so mad. I mean, it's not I like was totally out of shape; I'd already been doing a solid cardio routine for months. Yet, the podcast kicked my ass.
When I did it a second time, it still sucked — but a tiny bit less. I did it again today, and while I wasn't stoked, I didn't feel like I was going to die, either. The last interval was a bit much, but I just kept going. No one was going to be captivated by my speed or gazelle-like grace, but holy shit, I was running.
I've got a long, long way to go in my fitness journey, but for now, consistently putting one foot in front of the other feels like a victory lap.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Hearing the click
When I was at my peak weight, I called my sister and bitterly complained about how much I hated shopping and how clothing stores were conspiring to give large women the ugliest choices imaginable. My sister is much smaller than I am, but she lives in Los Angeles, possibly the only city on Earth where she would be considered heavy. She told me that I was taking shopping too personally.
I know what she meant, but clothing is very personal. It's one of the most basic ways to express yourself, but few of the clothes available to me had anything to do with who I was on the inside.
About a year ago, I heard what my friend H. often refers to as "the click." It was the moment when I decided that was tired of being dragged down, physically and emotionally, by my weight. The clothes were ugly. My feet hurt. I felt like shit. While I had been 15-20 pounds overweight for years, things took a turn for the ridiculous after I had my second child and turned 35. I was struggling to fit into sizes that I had once deemed unacceptable.
I feel compelled to say that is about me and me alone, not my judgment of other people who are overweight. It's kind of like parenting. You have no idea what it's like until you experience it, and everyone has their own philosophy. As a black person from the South, I come from a culture that has a ... liberal view of what constitutes an acceptable weight. I know many large, lovely women who have vast stores of self-confidence. Good for them.
According to every weight chart I've ever seen, a person my height (5'4") and age (39) shouldn't weigh more than 146 pounds, so I've got quite a bit of work to do. I don't think I've ever weighed that little as an adult, and I haven't been within shouting distance for at least 12 years. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.
Better late than never.
I know what she meant, but clothing is very personal. It's one of the most basic ways to express yourself, but few of the clothes available to me had anything to do with who I was on the inside.
About a year ago, I heard what my friend H. often refers to as "the click." It was the moment when I decided that was tired of being dragged down, physically and emotionally, by my weight. The clothes were ugly. My feet hurt. I felt like shit. While I had been 15-20 pounds overweight for years, things took a turn for the ridiculous after I had my second child and turned 35. I was struggling to fit into sizes that I had once deemed unacceptable.
I feel compelled to say that is about me and me alone, not my judgment of other people who are overweight. It's kind of like parenting. You have no idea what it's like until you experience it, and everyone has their own philosophy. As a black person from the South, I come from a culture that has a ... liberal view of what constitutes an acceptable weight. I know many large, lovely women who have vast stores of self-confidence. Good for them.
According to every weight chart I've ever seen, a person my height (5'4") and age (39) shouldn't weigh more than 146 pounds, so I've got quite a bit of work to do. I don't think I've ever weighed that little as an adult, and I haven't been within shouting distance for at least 12 years. But that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.
Better late than never.
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