No More Fat Sarah

Run like the wind...or, like the chubby girl.

2009-11-07T19:07:00.000-08:00

One of my new friends here up in Happy Land is a marathon runner. She gets up before everyone else in her family, almost every day of the week, collects her neighbors big dog for company and takes off through the mountain where the only other creatures stirring at that hour are the mountain lions. Yeah, that's what I said.

I used to love running. I was never really good at it. And I've yet to be able to run a solid mile without stopping to walk some of it. But the challenge of running a little more this time than I did the last time, 3-4 times a week, was such a great motivation for me. And running was one of the only ways I was able to take weight off and keep it off.

Sooooo, fine. Tomorrow I'm going to march my ass down to the 24 Hour Fitness a few blocks from my house and sign my life over to them. If my friend K can run marathons and brave mountain lions (well, apparently her running companion dog is pretty big and scary), I can drag my sorry butt to the gym 3-4 times a week and wheeze on a treadmill.

Full-on FAIL

2009-11-06T21:42:00.000-08:00

Note to self: if you don't eat breakfast and you wait until after 1pm to have lunch, you will spend from 1pm until dinner time with food in your mouth. And then you won't want dinner until 9:30pm and by then you'll just want a bowl of cereal.

And if you're GOING to do that, please just do yourself a favor, pull out the baby carrots and padlock the rest of the refrigerator shut. Then just eat baby carrots until you turn a weird shade of orange.

I need an ass whooping....

2009-11-05T19:20:00.001-08:00

I haven't written down a WW point all week. I've not been eating entirely crappily, but I'm not keeping track.

The #1 proven way to motivate yourself to lose weight is to write down what you eat. I know that. I've done that. I know I can do it. So why don't I?

Someone kick my butt. Right here. Through the internet.

Thank you.

Water, Water, Everywhere...

2009-11-04T11:07:00.001-08:00

Okay, so drinking enough water is such a down fall of mine. Unless it is super icy cold, I am just not interested. And I know that's a problem for me and my weight loss. I know that drinking lots of water is healthy for me and will fill up my belly so I'm not stuffing it with tasty treats like muffins and chips, etc (mmmmm, muffins).

When I was pregnant and on bedrest the nurses gave me a giant plastic mug with a cover, a handle and a straw and I was expected to drink the equivalent of six of them a day. The peeing was insane--I know part of it was the baby using my bladder as a trampoline, but the sheer volume of water I had racing through my body was impressive. And my skin? Never better. I can't really speak to any weight loss since I was gestating and watching my mass increase seemingly daily, but perhaps it slowed the weight gain and kept me at a, ha ha, reasonable 40lb surplus instead of 50-60+lbs (I do love chocolate, after all).

I have tried in the past to up my water intake by using those flavored powders and I will definitely drink more if I can just grab a plastic bottle and go. But the flavored powders whisper, "I'm gonna give you cancerrrrrrrrr" and the plastic bottles whisper, "forever in a landfilllllll...oh, and I'm gonna give you cancerrrrrrrr," so I have a tough time keeping up with either of those practices. And regular old water in a glass or even a stainless steel bottle just doesn't appeal to me. I'm weird, I know.

But weird or not, I have to start drinking more water. I already eschew sodas, both diet and not; I rarely drink coffee or juice. I can go almost entire days sometimes without drinking anything except the water I wash my Zoloft down with in the morning. Not good.

So my challenge to myself this week is to drink up. Lots of water every single day. In a glass, with lots of ice. No plastic bottles (shhhh, don't tell the bottle of Ethos water next to me right now), no flavored powders. Just water. And I'm betting in a week my body will feel better, my skin will look better and I'll have cultivated a new habit that actually promotes my overall health. Imagine that.

Weigh-In Tuesday

2009-11-03T10:01:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I lost .8lb over the past two weeks.

Meh. It's okay. It's not bad. Given the fact that I've been digging into Ethan's Halloween candy with alarming frequency (until the dawn of yesterday's tooth ache--I mean, I'm a glutton, but not for punishment) and that Husband brought me a mini chocolate lava cake for my birthday, I'm amazed that I didn't GAIN 2-3 lbs.

I am however, ticked off at the scale at the RE's office. Last week her scale had me at a full 9lbs over what I weighed today and what I weigh on my scale at home. I hate doctor office scales. Hate them.

Other scales, though, I'm starting to like a little bit.

A New Development in My Weight Loss Strategy

2009-11-02T11:05:00.001-08:00

The tooth ache I woke up with this morning. The one at the very top, in the very back of my mouth, on the right side, where I apparently chew everything (which is weird since I'm a lefty). The one that feels like every pain receptor in my brain has a direct link to that tooth. Super.

I am not what you'd call a fan of the dentist (fine, you got me. No one is). When I was a child, I went every six months like a good little kid whose responsible mother made all her healthcare decisions and appointments. Once I flew off into the world post-college, making my own money and healthcare and appointments, I sort of lost track of time. For a few years. Um. Ooops.

That being said, the only cavities that are filled in my mouth date back to the early 80's; two on the bottom right (apparently I've ALWAYS chewed most on that side). After a few years hiatus, the last time I went to the dentist, I expected to be told that I'd require daily visits and a mouthful of fillings in order to get back on track. Surprisingly, I heard neither. So either I do a good job with the brushing and flossing on my own, or that dentist was a quack.

Getting busy with parenting has in many ways, given me indirect permission to stop taking care of myself. Hence the whole fatty fatfat thing I've got going on now (although I have to be fair and say that it's more chubby chubchub at this point, but it still feels fat). But the self-neglect also extends itself to my healthcare. And right now my tooth is telling me that it's no longer okay to neglect myself unless I want to end up smacking my toothless gums together sometime way sooner than would be remotely socially acceptable.

So today I think will be a day of few and soft food choices. Not the ideal way to lose weight, but hopefully shaving a bit off of the scale before tomorrow's weigh in will be a silver lining in this throbbing pain taking over my head.

Now I'm off to locate a dentist who will take pity on me and hop me up on nitrice-oxide and make the pain go away.

The Bermuda Triangle of Weightloss

2009-11-01T19:24:00.001-08:00

1.) I've been sick--sick Sarah neeeeeeeeeds carbs

2.) It was my birthday--birthday Sarah neeeeeeeeeeds cake

3.) It was Halloween, people!!---Halloween Sarah neeeeeeeeds candy

So, yeah. In the face of the above Trifecta, the weight loss has pretty much stalled in the past week or so. I skipped last week's WW meeting solely on the basis of the fact that it was the day after my birthday and turning 38 was tough enough without hearing "Did you eat an entire cake yesterday? Because you gained 350 lbs!" at weigh-in.

But I'm feeling better (sort of; there's still a lot of coughing going on). And I've gotten the birthday cake thing out of my system. And I'm sending Husband to work tomorrow with ALL the remaining Halloween candy. And there's fish, fish, fish on our menu for this week.

Tuesday I go back to my WW meeting. I don't expect to see a loss, honestly. I hope I don't have to change the ticker above to show a gain. Tomorrow will probably be a water and orange slices kind of day, know what I mean? Sigh.

My hope is that extending my NaBloPoMo challenge to this blog will motivate me to stick more clearly to my goals and encourage me to actually lose some significant weight now and going into the future.

And if anyone wants to give me your best tips for getting through the holiday season WITHOUT gaining 50lbs, I will gladly take them and incorporate them into my "don't get fatter between now and Christmas" plan. Thanks!

Another one bites the dust.

2009-10-20T10:16:00.000-07:00

So I'm officially down 4.4 lbs; for some reason, the ticker I use on the blog rounds up (perhaps for motivation? In my case it will doubtlessly lead to complacency because I'm wicked strong that way).

Give me a minute to complain about my WW meeting before I complain about my week of counting points and being hungry. Aside from the bevy of senior citizens who are there for the 4th or 5th time since the 1970's, there are two women about my age, both with little girls, who come to the meetings. Both girls are about 3 years old, and one of the moms has another little baby, too. One mom brings her little girl with piles of books and activities to keep her busy during the meeting. The other takes her little girl's coat off and then proceeds to ignore her for the entire 30 minutes of the meeting. She's busy bouncing the baby, leaving the meeting altogether to talk on her phone outside, and other things that clearly take precedence over keeping track of her daughter.

It annoys me to no end to watch this little girl roam the meeting, staring at people, standing over the other little girl (who for some reason doesnt' want to share any of her books or activities with this girl) and inching her way closer and closer to the other girl's belongings, hoping to be invited to join in. To have anything to do.

First of all, it's just sucky parenting. If you're going to bring a preschool-aged child to an adult gathering and expect her to be there for upwards of 45 minutes, bring something for her to do. Right? Common sense. Especially if you have no intention of paying any attention to her yourself. This is not rocket science. If you see the other little girl has a dress up doll and your little girl is all but drooling over them, howzabout you take a cue and bring some yourself next time?

Second of all, I'm not sure how I feel about having little kids, especially little girls, present in a meeting where the entire focus is on losing weight. Sure, sure, I hear you: But Sarah, the goal is creating a healthy lifestyle and learning how to eat healthy foods, and that's good for kids! blah blah blah.

Yeah. Sure. I get it. But even more than that? It's about losing weight. It's about taking account of every single bite you put in your mouth, and clapping for people who find a way to put food in their mouth and still lose weight. It's about seeing people who have spent the better parts of their lives struggle with weight continue to struggle with their weight.

Aren't these girls going to be subjected to enough body image confusion as they get older (and not much older--eating disorders are striking girls at younger and younger ages these days)? Is it really in their best interest to sit through 45 minutes of "eat broccoli and you'll be skinny!!! Yay!!!" rhetoric? Today, one of the little girls walked up to the meeting leader, hands clasped behind her back like Little Cindy Lu Who and said, "I eat all my broccoli," and the meeting erupted in applause. Yes, I know. It's great for a kid to learn how to eat healthfully. I get that.

But can't they just be little girls for a little while? I wonder what goes through their minds, after having sat through meeting after meeting, when they see their friends eating an M&M cookie? Is there a little part of them that has absorbed the WW meetings enough that they feel guilty for eating it? Or, even though they don't know how to count, assign a certain number of points to what they eat?

I don't think these moms are horrible for bringing their kids to WW meetings; I have no idea what their options for child care are, and I have no idea what their own psychological need for these meetings are. And yes, I suppose the damage done by sitting through months of weekly WW meetings is probably still better for them than having obese parents who pass horrific eating habits along to them. I get all of that. And hey, I'm sitting there in that room, too, so I guess I'm accountable to some extent for their indoctrination, too. I just wish the little girls weren't there--they're kids. They're too young to absorb this concern into their psyches.

And me? What has this week taught me about myself? Well, for starters I HAD lost more than 1lb. I stepped on the scale on Friday and was down 2.5lbs (home and WW scales are about dead on with each other). Then this weekend, I managed to rationalize my need for that chocolate chip cookie DIPPED in chocolate. Huh?! And last night, when I had a healthy stir fry on the menu, I managed to rationalize Husband bringing home buffalo wings and baked potatoes for dinner. So....when I stepped on the scale this morning, that 2.5lbs translated into 1lb.

So what's up with that? I'm not sure. Instead of motivating me to keep going, weight loss seems to lead me to weight gain. Makes sense, given my pattern over the past 3 years of losing and gaining back the same 10lbs. I am still unsure if it's as simple as me convincing myself that I can have a treat because I've already lost weight, or if it goes deeper than that. If there is some panic involved with me actually losing the weight and continuing to lose. What does it actually mean to me if I lose the weight, and keep losing? What am I afraid of?

I know the psychology behind it--in my years as a teacher, I saw many a struggling student make headway in my class, earn a B+ on a test where before they'd been pulling D's, take momentary pride in themselves and then head right back down to the land of D's. It wasn't just that the B+ test was on material that they "got" and the rest of it was too hard; it was that getting that B+ opened up a whole new set of opportunities for them and what if they couldn't keep it up? Getting D's wasn't good, but it was comfortable--it's what they knew. And continuing to get D's meant that no one was going to really notice the next D, or the next one. Getting a B+ suddenly created new expectations--you should continue getting B+'s, right? If you did it once, you can do it again! But what if their next test scores an F? Think of the disappointment. Better to just skulk back to the D's, so that no one is let down by that F. Better to set those expectations low and meet them than to let everyone (and yourself) down with mediocrity in the face of great hope.

So maybe I seek out the chocolate chip cookie because losing another 3lbs in one week would set the bar too high? I don't know.

I don't know. For now, I'll kiss that 1lb goodbye and be happy with it. It's a lb I never want back.

I thought I dropped a blog around here somewhere...

2009-10-13T10:52:00.001-07:00

Ah! There it is!

So you'll never guess!! I'm still fat. Shocking, yes? Let's just get down to business, shall we?

The move? Fantastic. Except that I am a world-class stress eater. So, awesome, I lost about 5lbs before the move really got underway, and then in the past month or so I've managed to pack about 7lbs back on. I am like a tightly wound yo-yo people. I once worked with a woman who lost something like 75lbs one school year and then the next school year added it all back on and then some. Not me, folks. I will gain and lose like a champ, but only in 5lb increments. I have weighed the same, more or less, for the past 3 years.

Now that we're in the new house, in the new city, in the new part of the state, I am feeling the call to get back at it. I realize of course how hard it is to take seriously a weight-loss blogger who's lost no real measurable weight in 3 years. Talk about the world's most boring (and depressing, hello!) blog.

But there's a low point that I think everyone gets to that is their "rock bottom." Fortunately for me, "rock bottom" is not a pit of despair where I wake up with my hand in a super-sized carton of fries and powdered-donut sugar all over my face, not remembering how I got there. It isn't impulsively buying a bag of Oreos, then guiltily throwing them away when I get home, only to dig them out from the bottom of the trash can hours later. I've heard those stories. Thankfully they aren't mine. My "rock bottom" is when my current pair of jeans is too tight and I cannot bear the idea of going up to the next size. Because I've been in the next size up before and it's where the slippery slope of "what does it matter anyway? I might as well just give in and be fat" starts to come into play. I've done that before, with almost all of my 20's.

I can't do it again. I can't go through any more years of hating the way I look in pictures unless I am standing just so, with my head angled in just the right way. I can't live with "next year we'll do family portraits--I'll be thinner then" any more. And I'm not so interested in having to buy anything with an "X" in it's size.

So the first thing I did when we moved here was find a Weight Watchers meeting. And joined. And tracked my stupid points. And guess what? I lost 3.4 lbs the first week!!

Okay. okay. In the interest of full-disclosure, the first week I weighed in I was wearing a pair of jeans and a sweater. This week I wore a summer-weight flowy dress. Chances are I could have gained weight and still showed a loss given the difference in the clothing, but STILL. To hear, "you lost 3.4lbs this week," was truly motivating, even if it is an illusion.

And aside from the weight loss, the meetings are a freaking hoot and endless blog fodder. I am NOT one of those girls who can hear "nothing tastes as good as being thin feels!" without laughing. All I can think about are the SNL parodies of the '80s where Julia Sweeney coos "When you fail to plan, you plan to fail," and other Weight Watcher axioms until she goes face down in a cheesecake. And sure, I'm the only person there under the age of 70, and the group leader bounces up and down gleefully at the sheer thought of the fish risotto she's going to make for dinner (I do love her, though; she's further proof to me that I can indeed listen to anything as long as it's presented in an English accent).

So I'll continue to go to the meetings (this morning I even forgot to take off my name tag and walked around Barnes and Noble for a good 20 minutes wonder why all these perverts were staring at my chest. Oh. Oops.), and I'll join in and clap like a giddy little lemming when Bobby-sue sitting next to me loses her next 5lbs.

But for me it's baby steps. Last week I made a solid effort to avoid Ethan's left overs (and believe me, there are a lot of them), and discovered what an absolute grazer I am. So this week, the goal is no grazing. Writing everything down makes grazing a logistical nightmare--I'd be calculating points all day if I actually popped something in my mouth every time I walked through the kitchen. So in the interest of accomplishing anything else with my time, no more grazing. Next week I'll tackle something else.

For now I'll take my 3.4lbs and be happy. It's a start. Again.

Sarah's Still Fat

2009-08-11T19:22:00.000-07:00

It's astounding, actually. If there was some reward for who has kept a blog about her weight for any length of time (*cough* almost 3 years *cough*) without losing any measurable weight to show for it, I would SO be all over that award. My acceptance speech would give all the credit to my faltering will-power and my penchant for emotional eating (and by emotional, make no mistake, I mean ANY and ALL emotions). I guess, as far as awards go, it would be lame, but like Monica on Friends wanting to be the person who gives "the best bad massages," at least I could say I'd accomplished something.

When we moved to the Land of the Skinny and Surgically Perfected, I told myself I'd be healthier, eat better, get in shape. Instead I lost and gained the same 9 pounds AGAIN. Using, "well, maybe I'll be pregnant next month and then I'll just have to lose all this weight again in nine months anyway" as an excuse, however lame (and believe me, I know exactly how lame). Well, thirteen months of me saying that have come and gone (more, actually, if you count the few months we tried before moving out here) and while I thankfully haven't jumped above the weight I was when we first arrived here, I've not successfully or sustainably shaken any of the weight.

One thing I learned by attending BlogHer last month has changed a lot about how I view my life. I found out BlogHer'09 was in Chicago way back last February. Having been blogging for three years at that point, I really wanted to attend, but was wary to make definite plans because, well, "WHAT IF I bought the tickets, booked the hotel and the flight and then POOF! magically I got pregnant and had to be on bedrest and couldn't attend?" What a waste of money that would have been! So I delayed making plans, waiting until it was clear that I would not be knocked up in July (whoopie!). And BlogHer'09 sold out. I still went, but I was a total Blanche DuBois, relying on the kindness of strangers to house me (thanks Amy, Sarah and Becca!) and give me their conference passes when they had to leave (Sarah, you are the best). I was a total BlogHer mooch this time around because I so desperately wanted to attend, but so much more desperately wanted to believe I'd be pregnant that I put my life on hold.

I'm done with that. Not trying to get pregnant, no. The longer we try, the more I wonder how I will ever come to a point where I am done with that. But I'm done with living my life around it, making my plans (or not making them as the case may be) around the off-chance that perhaps one month my girly bits will actually remember what THEY ARE FUCKING THERE FOR IN THE FIRST PLACE (I'm not bitter. nope), and maybe I'll be gestating.

So the first order of business is to rewire my brain to stop telling myself it's okay to weigh 165 lbs because "I'll just have to lose it all again after I have another baby anyway." Believe me, I know how stupid that sounds on so many different levels. It's amazing what I can rationalize when staring down the creamy deliciousness of a piece of cheesecake (not that I often even eat cheesecake, but whatever).

Second order of business is to work my way back out of the habit of emotional eating. When I was taking pictures of everything I ate, I felt so much more in control of that. It was such a riggamaroll to get the camera, take the picture, off-load the picture from camera to computer, then download the picture to the blog that really, emotional eating lost all of it's appeal because the only thing I am MORE than an emotional eater? Is lazy. So it's back to pictures for me. Even if I am eating crap, I eat less of it when I know I'm holding myself visually accountable to the entire blogosphere (read: the two people who read this blog).

Third order of business is to get moving again. This will be a bit harder because now that we're moving out of Los Angeles, I am spending most of my time cleaning, packing and organizing instead of at the gym when Ethan is in school. And Husband, on the heels of his old job and leading into his new one, is burning all kinds of candles at every end possible, so going to the gym in the evenings isn't going to be an option. But I'll figure it out---we have FitTV; I'm DVR'ing some yoga shows and Ethan would like nothing better than if I bust out a couple cans of diced tomatoes for him to use as weights for the 30-Day Shred. So fine. Moving more will happen. I did indeed walk 3 miles today---granted it was to a frozen yogurt place, but I only got a little and it was a bazillion degrees out, so I probably sweated out most of the calories....right? (note to self: STOP rationalizing!!!!)

Fourth order of business: no promises. I'm not going to tell you that I'm going to lose 10lbs before we move to the Bay Area, or that I'm going to post every single day, every single thing I ate. I'm just going to do what I can do, do my best and that will hopefully bring results. When I make a promise to myself about losing X number of pounds by a certain date of event, I usually start out great, but as the deadline draws near, if the intended result isn't obtainable, I just give up--let it all fall apart, throw my hands up and say, "well, I won't lose 20lbs in time for that wedding now after all, so I may as well treat myself to that pint of Ben and Jerry's."

Aside from all these things that I think will help me, the blogging/writing community is a huge element of it as well. When I started this blog, I'd never read any other weight-loss or healthy lifestyle blogs. I'd never read Moose: A Memoir of Fat Camp by Stephanie Klein, or Such a Pretty Fat by Jen Lancaster. I just felt like a very lonely chubby girl out here in the blogosphere. I spent a LOT of time fretting about going to BlogHer at my current weight. I really wanted pictures of myself with my new friends, pictures of me out having fun, as a woman in my own right, not *just* someone's mom (albeit the most wonderful someone ever). But I shuddered at the idea of what I'd look like in those pictures. I thought about "forgetting" my camera. But in the long run, I'm glad I brought the camera and have the pictures, elephantine arms and all.

This blog, the other blogs I've discovered along the way, and amazingly, my failures to lose the weight thus far, have helped me realize that I am not alone in this, nor is it a black-mark on my worth to struggle with my weight. It's just part of who I am right now. But it doesn't always have to be.

Change of Scenery...

2009-07-02T09:40:00.000-07:00

Does this new background look okay, or is it too reminiscent of giant boobs? I can't tell yet.

So, since I've last posted, and since starting this whole "pay attention to your food" endeavor, I am happy to report that as of today, I am down 6lbs! Of course, losing those 6lbs still keeps me right around where I was the last time I mustered the courage to post my weight. AND I know that my weight can fluctuate up to 5lbs on any given day. BUT I am going to take it as a victory and a sign that being more mindful of the food I eat and how I eat it is the path for me to find a healthy and happy weight.

I've got a little extra motivation this month, as I am planning on attending BlogHer towards the end of the month. I know there will be women there of all shapes and sizes, but the couple of women I know I'm going to be hanging out with are petite and cute. I am so not petite and cute--"football player-esque" is the modifier I'd use to describe myself. So if I could trim down a few more pounds this month so that I don't look like I belong quite as much on the defensive line of the New England Patriots, that would be cool.

So lets' see--what have I been eating lately? Admittedly, I've fallen out of the habit of photographing everything, but I will get back into it.

One of the keys I'm finding is portion control. Husband and I split this fennel and something else pizza a couple weeks ago at a restaurant downtown called BoHo. It was delicious, but I only had 2 pieces, when I would normally have, um, eaten half of it and fought Husband for the last piece.

Husband's soup @ the same restaurant--potato & leek, I want to say--was delicious. A couple spoonfuls did the trick.

Same restaurant--ginormous salad of fresh beets and goat cheese. I was sad to see them take this away from me only 1/2 eaten, but it was just too massive (it doesn't look so huge in this picture, but it could have been an entree). Working on portion control is opening up for me a realization that I have tremendous guilt about not finishing food. But I don't know why--no one ever gave me the "starving kids in Africa" line when I was growing up. But still...

Yogurt and toasted, milled flax seed from Trader Joes. Delicious

Beef and guacamole tacos from Loteria @ the Farmer's Market. Should have put my hand down for some perspective--they're tiny, but delicious.

Love. This.

2009-06-20T15:45:00.000-07:00

www.operationbeautiful.com

How often do we as women, especially women who are carrying extra weight, find looking in the mirror to be painful reminders of all the ways in which we find ourselves to be imperfect? How many times do we leaf through fashion and health magazines and wistfully sigh, "if only (fill in your poison here--for me it's "If only I weighed 30 pounds less than I do now")? How many times do we not take a chance or try something new because we feel like putting ourselves out there for the world to see will be an embarrassment or humiliation?

This site, and it's message, is so empowering and affirming. I love that, even though the little notes are on mirrors, it's not about how you look. It's about the fact that you are beautiful on the inside, you are a beautiful person. In the past few weeks, I've really worked on changing my perception about weight-loss to be one of health and longevity rather than "oooooh, I want to wear skinny jeans!" (which are so out now anyway, right? right? honestly, I have no idea. Maybe that's just wishful thinking). So the reminder that the best of me is who I am, not how I look, and that that's how it really should be, is refreshing and motivating.

I love that it's women reminding other women. We are taught from such a young age to tear each other down. If she is self-confident and sure of herself, she might get what I want. I'd better make her feel at least as shitty about herself as I feel about myself. Believe me, I went to an all-girl high school. I know. I've been on the giving and receiving end of that nasty little dynamic more times than I care to remember.

I just wanted to pass that link along. I'll be carting around my own little post-it note pad & pen from here on out. I plan to spread a little Operation Beauty around myself.

Nothing side-tracks an emotional eater like infertility

2009-06-17T20:34:00.000-07:00

Sure, probably just another in a long line of excuses as to why I practically found myself face down in a banana split yesterday afternoon. A banana split I told my 3 year old we were getting for him because he'd been so good at the doctor's office. You know, for the appointment I went to to find out there was no chance I was going to be pregnant this month. AGAIN. gah!!!!

Anyway, this has been a particularly interesting experience for me in terms of understanding how my brain works when it comes to food, and realizing that I can actually take some control over it. Yeah, I ate 1/2 the banana split (and when I say 1/2, I really mean two-thirds), but later on in the evening, when the glum was settling back in, I went to the gym and ran. Oh. my. god. So, so, so much better than stuffing my face.

Now, I'm not saying I won't find solace in food ever again or that I"m going to run a marathon next week to heal my broken heart. I'm just saying that it was nice to realize that I have other options than a bowl of ice cream the size of my head or a slab of ice cream. And that's got to be good, right?

Back on Track...

2009-06-15T18:14:00.000-07:00

It's been a long few days. I've been wallowing in self-pity (and, not so coincidentally, cake) for the past few days. It's amazing how cake just seems to find me (har har) when I am so down.

But I've managed today not to let any cake break down my front door and force me to eat it. I did my oatmeal, sandwich wrap, healthy snack routine. I'm not hungry, which is a good thing to sit with and realize. But I"m still miserable. And it's hard to keep myself from going to the kitchen to find some reasonable substitute for cake, or cakey-like foods.

If you are a "recovering" emotional eater, WHAT do you do when the pull to the pantry is so strong it takes everything in you to fight it?

Lost Weekend...

2009-06-13T15:34:00.000-07:00

Well, not really. But I do often struggle with exactly how to go about eating during the weekend. I guess it is the dieting mindset that I've lived with for so long--the idea that if you are "good" all week, you can treat yourself during the weekend. Well, I've been trying to work my way out of that way of looking at eating--but it does leave me wondering how to go about eating Friday night through Sunday. Which really? Sounds weird now that I see it in writing.

I've not been good about carting my camera around everywhere with me. Which is a shame, because a couple of nights ago, I ate at one of my favorite sandwich and pastry shops and split a slice of something called "princess cake" with a girlfriend. Dear god. I found this picture, online, of what a traditional princess cake looks like:

Lemon cream, raspberry cream and fondant icing? Dear baby Jesus, that stuff is good. Thankfully I asked for a small slice, and shared it with a friend who was equally as excited by the prospect of just flopping her face right into the cake. Still, very indulgent. But so worth it. I'm trying to find a new relationship with foods like this, too. I'd rather save up the "junk" food for something impressive and special like this than have something like ice cream every night, just for the sake of eating it. So this was actually one of the first sugary treats I've had in a long time that didn't come with the invisible but suffocating side 'o guilt.

Last night, Husband and I took Ethan and a good friend of ours to our favorite sushi restaurant.

watermelon and cucumber mojito. For real.

This bowl of edemame was as big as my head. Maybe bigger. And delicious.

I wish I was a good photographer so you could really see how vibrant that masago is. It was gorgeous. California rolls are possibly the world's yummiest food.

Sunset roll (eel and avocado--where have you been all of my life?) and a spicy yellowtail roll.

So, okay. No Luna bars or fruit. Not the most healthy foray into the culinary world, but it's all good. I did have a delicious bowl of Starbucks oatmeal this morning with nuts, brown sugar and dried fruit (yes, I ask for all the toppings--old habits die hard).

With my tall decaf skinny vanilla latte, the perfect breakfast...

Wednesday Wobble...

2009-06-10T19:32:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it wasn't a banner day. Husband got home a bit late and I just didn't have it in me to go out for a run. Probably because of the, erm, chocolate chip and coconut cookies Ethan and I made this afternoon.

Yeah, I know. But actually, it's kind of a good thing that I feel like crap. I ate too many cookies and it just doesn't feel good. Tasted awesome. Feels yucky. That's a serious lesson for me because I tend not to listen to my body---I eat when I'm bored, freaked out, pissed off, sad or any other emotion you can think of---eating is a huge mental thing for me. Need to calm down? Grab a bite. Need to take my mind off of something that's bugging me? Grab a bite to eat.

I'm trying very hard to move away from the mindset that food is comfort or a replacement for dealing with emotional needs and recognizing it as a fuel for my body. The past few days have been a good step in that direction, but how realistic is it to think that I'd just POOF! suddenly be able to turn off years of conditioning?

Today I found out that my body didn't respond any better to the higher dose of clomid and that our chances of conceiving this month are no better than they were last month, or any of the other sixteen months that we've been trying. So I guess it's actually pretty impressive that I only ate 3-4 small chocolate chip cookies instead of all of them, or instead of grazing all day long on whatever I could find in the kitchen. Food has an incredible emotion-numbing power for me that is very hard to shake. I'm finding though, that for the most part, I am really enjoying the more healthful foods I've been eating over the past several days and that running clears my head in a way that stuffing my face never has.

So, let's see what today looked like.

I didn't get a chance to have breakfast this morning because I had to be at the reproductive endocrinologist's office @ 8:30 am and I chose showering over eating (as would any sane woman who knows she's going to hear "take off everything from the waste down and cover up with that paper" at some point during her morning). So on the way to the office, I grabbed a sugar-free chai tea latte @ Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. But when I got home, I enjoyed a cup of yogurt and a crushed up Kashi TLC bar--delicious.

For lunch, I made my standard wrap, but I added cucumber spears to it--crunchy! I finished the snap peas from the farmer's market, too. The problem with farmer's market produce is you have to eat it almost immediately or it's mushy and gross. The tomatoes? The 3-year old ate them all. Thanks, bud.

Also the grapes? I think I ate 3 of them. Ethan is a freak for the grapes. I would have to take the bowl into a closet somewhere in the house if I wanted them to myself. So instead, I had a LUNA bar, but forgot to take a picture of it.

These are the cookies we made--nothing fancy, but a perfect distraction towards the end of the day.

Ethan helped with the pouring and stirring. I wish I weren't such a freak about salmonella or I'd have let him taste the cookie dough, but alas, I am terrified of food poisoning, so I'm a mean-mommy when it comes to licking the beaters when mixing batter or the cookie dough spatula. He can deal with it in therapy later in his life...

We added coconut to the dough. I thought of adding crushed almonds, but my food processor was still soaking after last night's avocado topping and I didn't have the motivation to scrub it.

He's a stirring fool.

Aaaaand after making cookies, he opts for a strawberry. He'll be starting his own blog on healthy eating any day now....

I made the cookies tiny and packed most of them away in tupperware for Husband to take to work with him tomorrow. But I kept a tiny stash for us, and promptly ate half of them. Tasty, but tummy-ache-inducing.

This is what dinner was supposed to look like, according to Rachael Freaking Ray.

But I used lean ground turkey instead of ground beef, so it looked a little...um, paler.

I have yet to eat any. Husband has downed a good portion, so it must not suck (or he's being really nice). But it's really nice not to feel like I have to eat if I'm not actually hungry.

Farmers Market Day

2009-06-09T19:51:00.001-07:00

One of the best things about living in Los Angeles is the fact that you can barely walk down the street without finding yourself strolling through a farmer's market of some kind. On Sunday mornings, we go to the one 3 blocks away from us, which takes over a city block, complete with fresh produce, flowers, baked goods, fresh honey, artisan crafts and bounce-houses and pony rides. On Tuesday afternoons, Ethan and I jump in the car and drive a couple miles to another one, which pops up in an auxiliary parking lot of a local mall at 3pm, and features fresh eggs (and the rooster, to boot), a climbing wall, the best shave-ice this side of Hawaii and an assortment of produce and yummy baked stuff.

File this one under "you learn something every day," I had NO idea that artichokes flowered.

How freaking gorgeous is that?! And I'm a lousy photographer and this is on my lousy little digital, so you know they are 100% spectacular looking in person.

These are my delicious farmer's market buys:

The strawberries are insanely juicy and the snap peas may as well be made of sugar. Being more mindful of food made me really appreciate the farmer's market today. I sampled more fruits and vegetables today than the baked goods, although I did sample on baker's sweetbean pie. I have no idea what is in that stuff, but sweet fancy Moses, that stuff was BEYOND heaven. It was everything in me not to buy a whole slice (or, erm, pie). I promised myself that if I was still fantasizing about it by next week, I'd let myself have a slice. :-)

Today's menu:

Old-fashioned oatmeal (not instant---wayyy too much sodium), brown sugar, almonds and bananas.

coffee

lunch was a turkey and cheese wrap (yes, there's mayo in there, but please, people, it is the condiment of the gods, so don't expect me to give it up any time soon).

Dinner was another experiment. This one went better than the cardboard and paste (chick pea patty) disaster of last night. This is a beef and black bean burger with a lime, avocado, onion and light sour cream topping, on a whole wheat bun. It wasn't a ton of work, but the taste-to-effort ratio wasn't really that worth it. But at least it was busting with protein.

Thanks for the advice on getting enough protein. If I ruled the world, foods high in protein wouldn't also be so high in fat.

What's a girl got to do to get enough protein???!!!

2009-06-08T20:19:00.000-07:00

So I started the photograph your daily food intake thing today---that in an of itself is a lifestyle change. I thought I carried my camera around with me alot, what with the freaking adorable 3-year old I spend my day with. But when one is supposed to be snapping pics of every bite that goes in one's mouth, it becomes painfully obvious how much one is actually, erm, um, eating.

I admit that I didn't photograph everything---I forgot to take my camera with me a couple of places and my dinner was so gross I didn't bother recording it for all of the world to see (chick pea patties that I must have somehow botched because they tasted like cardboard).

but let's see---

Breakfast was a a 1/2 cup of old-fashioned oatmeal, a handful of raisins and almonds. I also slicked up a granny smith apple and a added a bunch of grapes--more than I would eat because I knew the grape-hoarder (Ethan) would strike the second he saw me walk into the room with plate o' grapes.

And the cup of Dunkin Donuts decaf with the fat-free hazelnut creamer and one splenda...

Then there was the trip to IKEA for the 99-cent breakfast for Ethan and his friend Penny. I ended up eating about 2 bites of the egg and 1/2 a strip of bacon.

since I had the extra eggs and 1/2 piece of bacon, I only had a bite or two of left over chicken curry from Husband's dinner last night. But I forgot to photograph it.

But this? This Luna bar? Heaven in a wrapper. Tons of protein, calcium and folic acid (in case my freaking reproductive system ever decides to gestate again). And the "Lemon Zest" flavor? Delish.

Dinner was supposed to be a lovely chick pea patty and Greek salad, from the pages of Real Simple's April '09 issue. I read the recipe, I followed it, I thought it was going well and then....bleugh. It tasted like we were eating cardboard and paste. So instead of the chick peas, I ate my salad with this obscenely tasty Greek yogurt...

This stuff is...well, I was going to say heaven in a cup, but I realize I just used "heaven in a wrapper" for the Luna bar.

So all in all, not a bad day. I discovered two new amazing foods and I managed to get outside for a run tonight. After Husband came home, I was out running for another 25 minutes---felt great.

One thing I'm struggling with is getting enough protein. I managed to get enough today (I track on sparkpeople.com, which is awesome!), but in general, I feel like I always have to be shoving almonds in my mouth or a hunk of chicken. It feels as though all the high-protein foods are high in fat, too. I wish I could eat cottage cheese, but it's got so much sodium in it, I might explode. Boo.

Back in the Saddle, er, uh, the running shoes...

2009-06-07T22:07:00.000-07:00

So this cold that's been bogging me down for the past 3 weeks and has sent me to both my primary care physician and to an urgent care clinic (ohmygodmakemyearstophurting!!!), seems to be singing (read: coughing) it's swan song.

I decided I'd had enough of sullen disappointment on the couch and I'd take my chances with a bit of a run. At first I thought I'd just walk, get myself warmed up and see what type of lung capacity I had with this lingering "irritation" in my bronchial tubes that make a deep breath challenging. I didn't want to push it too hard on the first time out after not doing anything for the better part of a month.

But I hadn't gotten more than two blocks before I found myself jogging. And continuing to jog. And not coughing. At all. So I ran. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, that felt good.

It wasn't an epic run or anything like that (and "epic" for me at this point is probably 3 blocks without switching back to walking). I was only out for about 20 minutes, just zig-zagging through the neighborhood, and I certainly did walk a portion of it---but a much, much smaller portion of it than I'd thought I would. I coughed a little bit when I came home and I"m pretty sure I'll have to use my inhaler tonight before going to bed so that I can lie down and sleep w/out coughing. But I ran, and that is enough for me for right now.

I'm so thrilled that it's staying light out later these days---from now on, when Husband rolls in after work, I am out the door for 25 minutes of running.

Starting tomorrow I will be adding pictures to this blog. Not of me. Not yet. I wish I were brave enough to share "before" and "after" pictures, but let's face it---this blog has been in existence for three years now, and I've yet to move far enough away from the "before" to even merit a picture called "after". It would just be---"more before". Boo.

I've actually been following a few blogs lately of women who are dedicated to living a healthy and mindful lifestyle. You can find them, See Sarah Eat and The Healthy Tipping Point, in my blogroll if you don't already know about them. They have a practice of photographing their meals and snacks, sharing recipes and product reviews, etc. I have to admit, initially I thought this was eating disorder-y obsessive. Taking pictures of every bite you eat? Documenting it all for the world to see? How....crazy!!!

But actually, as I've followed the blogs, I've realized that they are doing something I promised myself this past New Year's Eve that I would do more of this year---live mindfully. Live in the moment and appreciate what is in front of me as it is there. Honestly, I've made a lot of progress on that in many facets of my life---but not in eating. Eating is the most mindless thing I do---in terms of what I choose to eat, when I choose to eat, and how. I can honestly say that I rarely ever walk through the kitchen without grabbing a handful of whatever. I throw it in my mouth and go back to whatever I was initially trying to do. When we go out to eat, I often just get the same thing I always get, or I don't know what I want, so I get flustered, order something obscenely bad for me and end up regretting it.

But by preparing meals and snacks that keep their bodies needs in mind, and by taking the time to prepare the food on a plate or in a bowl and taking a beautiful picture (seriously, they make sprouts look good), it seems so very in the moment and present in the experience of creating good food. I can only imagine what it's got to be like to feel that kind of appreciation for your food and what it can do positively for your body. My mind has been wrapped around the negative of what food can do to my body for so long, the idea of celebrating good, healthful foods and appreciating them is a step I need to take as I move forward.

So from tomorrow on, I am going to be following their lead---photographing what I eat and sharing it with you all (or you one, or you nobody). If nothing else it will bring some color to this otherwise drab looking blog!

Back to the Drawing Board...

2009-06-06T11:24:00.000-07:00

Turns out, I did not have the stamina to keep up with pain-whore bitch Jillian Michaels. Well, that's not entirely true--I was doing fine, but got a cold and then life took over. Illness, family vacation, an apparently far too booked social life for me and the three-year old. It became such a hassle to carve out 20 minutes during the day because I always found myself saying, "Sure! We can go to the Farmer's Market! I can always do my workout later!" Because honestly, after the first few times, Ethan grew pretty tired of the whole "making my muscles" thing. And would do things like try to sit on my back while I was doing push-ups. Perhaps Jillian would have approved of such weight training, but my back did not. So, doing the work out during Ethan's waking hours proved too annoying (and perhaps I grew bored by it, too, and am using his boredom as an excuse? could it be????)

I did, however, participate in a 5K towards the end of April and through it, I found what I want to do in terms of exercise. I want to run. The 5K was our synagogue's main annual fundraiser and I hemmed and hawed over participating for days. In early March when I heard about it, the moms and I talked about it and I said, "Oh, absolutely I'm doing it!" As though I was a runner. Ha.

The morning of the race, I laid in bed wondering, as I used to as a kid in junior high, if anything on my body hurt enough to merit staying bed---avoiding the race (or, as the kid in junior high, school). But that day, as all those years before, there was no pain or illness present, and so I hauled myself out of bed and drove to the race.

I'm not a runner. I have massive calves that have always drawn questions (even from random strangers) about whether or not I took ballet, or what I ran in track. My answer? Um. No. No ballet. No track. Nothing remotely athletic---just genetics. But the questions have always led me to ask myself, "could I?" I mean, clearly ballet is out of the question---there is little market for a 165lb, pushing 38-year old ballerina out there. Let's talk a minute to imagine that. It's a little bit hilarious.

But running? I could do that, right? I mean, sure I'm out of breath before the end of the first block and can see my heart beating through my sports bra after the first lap. But I mean, those are things I can work on, right? Run a little, then walk a little, then run a little more, then walk a little less, and so on....

And so that's what I did. When the race started (to the sound of a shofar blowing. I kid you not), I took off slowly, setting my eyes to a mailbox at the end of the block----I'll run to that mailbox, I told myself. And I did. Then I'd walk until I could take a good, deep breath, and then I'd take off again, finding another point in the distance to challenge myself with.

My time wasn't great. 45 minutes for a 5k. I probably walked almost as much as a I ran. But I finished it. And I still have my number pinnie and the little "medal" I received at the finish line as a reminder---I can do this. I might not be skinny, or even get skinny doing this. But with running, it's not about that. With every other exercise I've tried (with the exception of yoga), the end result is the weight loss---that's the entire focus, so if the weight doesn't come off---I give up.

Running isn't about losing the weight. It's about going a little farther each time, just like how in yoga, it's about getting deeper into the pose and the breathing each time. Same thing. It's a challenge of endurance, not calorie-burning. The focus on the breathing and the fluidity of the motion remind me so much of yoga, it just feels natural to me.

Right now I am dealing with a 3-week old cough that has kept me from doing anything but walking lately. The doctor prescribed me an inhaler to help my "irritated bronchial tubes" relax and breathe easier. It couldn't happen at a worse time, a time when I want to really be out there, on the pavement, challenging myself to run a few steps further. But whatever. I'll get there.

If you follow my other blog, Life @ Forty-Five Degrees, you know that Husband and I have been trying to have a baby for almost a year and a half. We're giving it a few more months of fertility treatments and if we're not pregnant, we're done trying. While I want more than anything to have another baby and I'd happily deal with the weight gain and the bed rest and all of that if it meant I could have another healthy child, I have set a goal for myself if that shouldn't happen. I've promised myself that if we are not pregnant by September, I will be prepared to run a 10K by what would have been my due date if I had conceived in August. So much of trying to get pregnant and fertility treatments is giving over your body to the process and to the professionals. If I end up unable to conceive another child, I want to do something for myself and by myself that reclaims my body and my mind. I think I know now that running can do that.

Shred Dread...

2009-03-31T20:43:00.000-07:00

So I hadn't shredded in almost a week. Last week, I shredded while under the influence of a sore throat, congestion and low-grade fever and it took the phrase, "thought I would die" to a new level for me. And then there were days of laying on the couch, whining and complaining about the throat and all of that.

I did realize, however, that my muscles didn't hurt that badly. Sure, I could barely breathe while I did my jumping jacks and and lunges, but I didn't hurt. SCORE!!! Well, skin hurt, but that's more likely fever-related than shred-related.

Even still, I was dreading getting started again. It had been days. It would feel like starting over, day ONE. I remember the agony of day 1 like it was yesterday. I don't want to go back there at all. I didn't want to turn the DVD on.

But I did. And while I heaved for breath here and there, I did it all. All the push-ups (the girly version), all the lunges, all the squats, all. of. it. And for the most part, I followed Fancy McAdvancedMoves the whole time.

My "wanttodieometer" only went to about a 3-4, as opposed to the 7-9 it usually registers.

Could I be ready for level 2?

I'm scared.

When is the 30 Day Shred NOT a 30 Day Shred?

2009-03-29T20:03:00.001-07:00

When you get sick as a dog on day 5 or 6 of the shredding.

Last Wednesday I woke up with congestion and a bit of a sore throat. Having relocated last summer from one side of the country to another, and realizing that this particular congestion and sore throat had been subtly making their way to the "you can no longer ignore us" surface over the course of a week or two, I thought maybe I'd finally run out of luck where allergies are concerned. I grew up in New England and spent almost 9 years in the DC area---never so much as a sniffle or watery eye. But given the entirely different make up of the flora waaaaaay over here, I thought maybe my body was finally rebelling against a rising pollen count.

Sooooo, I dropped Ethan off at a friend's house for a play date then sneezed my way back home (each sneeze thumping in my head like a hammer--good times), changed into my shredding gear and got to it.

Remember in my last post, how I said I was going to turn the volume off on the pain-whore and play my own music? Well. Funny thing. On Tuesday night, our TV went on the blink and when Husband, my tech-geek knight in pocket-protected armor, fixed it, he somehow forgot to rehook the video input from the DVD to the TV. So, ironically, I ended up doing the shred with no visual at all---just a black screen and the sound of *her* voice. ::shudder::

It was actually a really beneficial turn of events (or would have been, had I not been heaving to catch my breath through the pin-hole space in my nasal cavity that was actually admitting oxygen). I could see my own reflection in the television rather than watching those smiling, vacuous robots behind Jillian (hateful, much, Sarah?), and while it wasn't pretty, it enabled me to correct some the issues I was having in my form. And that, in turn, helped me get further into some of the exercises. Mentally, I was watching Natalie and finding that as I saw myself in the TV, I was lunging farther, squatting deeper. With the 3lb weights, for the first time.

I was en fuego. Doing a good job! In spite of the allergies! Woo hoo!!

Until I started seeing the spots.

Yeah, spots in front of your eyes are bad sign mid-way through circuit 2.

I did finish. I took more breaks than usual. But I did every exercise and I did them all to my best ability. Stupid pain-whore.

Telling myself that it was just allergies, I decided later in the day to go to the gym. Just to ride the bike a bit, walk a little on the treadmill. Just for a little bit. When I ride the bike, I put it on random hill and set it up to level 3 or 4. I could barely lift my legs. Spots. So I got onto the treadmill, which I'd normally never set to anything less than 3.6 mph. I found myself short of breath until I set it down to 2.4. Spots.

So I gathered up my kid from the gym play area, talked briefly with a friend of mine (who told me later that I was indeed a weird ashy color at the time) drove home (more spots), took my temperature and found that I was running a fever just shy of 101.

Hrm. Perhaps not allergies after all.

It's been a few days and I think tomorrow I will start again. Husband fixed the video connection, so perhaps I'll have to look at Jillian again tomorrow. I just hope it doesn't feel like starting all over again. Gah.

What? Am I supposed to be exercising?

2009-03-24T21:42:00.000-07:00

The eating better is going better. Who knew that cherry tomatoes are >this< close to tasting like candy? Unfortunately, I also baked a lemon/blueberry bread for a playdate yesterday that was delicious. And thus, far more of it than should have ended up in my stomach. Today, however, I had a bowl of cereal for lunch, and salads (big hearty salads) for both lunch and dinner. Strangely, I'm not hungry.

But the working out hasnt' happened since Saturday and that needs to change. Jillian only promises her shredding works if you do it every. freaking. day. Much as I hate her, she's right. I CAN do anything for 20 minutes, so I've got no excuse. I am Queen Excuse and that's got to stop.

Tomorrow, in addition to shredding, I am going to take a yoga class in the morning and hopefully getting to the gym for a little time on the treadmill in the afternoon. Seriously---a goal of THREE workouts in one day??!!! Jillian Michaels can suck it.

Oh, I'm also thinking of taking "before pictures". I'm scared. Hold me.

Shredding and Vegging

2009-03-22T15:35:00.000-07:00

So yeah, I'm still doing that pain-whore's work-out. I loathe her. I am thinking that now I know the routine, I should just put her on mute and play my own thump-a-thump-a music while I go through the 20 minutes, because listening to her makes me want to shove forks in my ears (which I guess is better than forks in my mouth, but whatever...)

In all honesty, I've not done it every single day, but I have done it four of the last six and intend to do it again this evening (and I'll be forcing Husband to join me in the torment--this would be part of the "for worse" vows). It's pretty seductive to go through other womens' 30DS blogs and see their results--both in images and stats. I don't really see any results on myself yet, but there IS the slightest hint of definition in my arms and belly where there wasn't before. Of course, I could just be imaging that. But I have to believe that if I keep at this, I will see results sometime soon.

Of course, I'm not just using the work out and then pigging out. I'm drinking nothing but water (save one cup of sugar free chai tea a day--please, I cannot live w/out a tiny little tea latte), amping up my fruit and veggie intake (I am leaving a bowl of carrots, cucumbers, and cherry tomatoes on the kitchen counter to use for my daily grazing and emotional eating--I figure if I can't beat it, embrace it, but healthfully), and I'm not eating after 8pm. The not eating after 8pm is mainly being accomplished because my two cats set up shop on my lap as soon as Ethan goes to bed and they won't let me move. Hard to get to the fridge for mindless eating when a cat is sleeping on you.

So there it is---shredding, eating veggies and drinking water. Funny thing is, after having spent so much time at the gym, and now working out at home w/ the pain-whore, and eating better, my body can actually tell when I'm not staying on track and it makes me pay for it. If I don't work out, I feel tired and lethargic. If I eat too much sugar or dairy, I feel sick-ish. Strangely, that "sick-ish" feeling used to be my normal. WTF.

Still don't think I'd be passing up a slice of Cheesecake Factor cheesecake anytime soon, but at least it's a start.

Hello, Fat Blog...

2009-03-16T19:56:00.001-07:00

If you don't read that title in the same tone of voice in which Seinfeld habitually greeted his arch-nemesis neighbor, Newman, then you aren't quite getting the overall mood of my revisiting this particular topic.

I'm still fat. Well, I have to be fair--not "fat" per se, but chubby. A couple of pounds chubbier than I was when I last left you. Yes, moving to Southern California didn't necessarily spark the "ooooh, we're going to be SO healthy and eat bean sprouts and quinoa and hike canyons and by the fall, I'll totally be waifish (and freaking starving!)" that I thought it would. Turns out, they've got just as many Starbucks here as they did there---and they have Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, too, and their muffins are to die (read: to gain 5 lbs) for.

So here I am, again. Sigh. Not pregnant AND not skinny. I'm just another chubby, not-pregnant girl. Gah!

After having watch every single season of The Biggest Loser, I have developed a love/hate relationship with that she-devil Jillian. Thus far, my commitment to "what have I done today to make myself proud" extended to not eating a bowl of ice cream during the hour or two (those nights are tough) that she show is on. I figure if those contestants, many of whom are two or three of me (much like I am closing in on being two of Nicole Ritchie---when she's not knocked up), can work out for six or seven hours a day, eat nothing but Jenny O turkey and be tempted by tables of full of Krispy Kremes, I can go sixty to one hundred and twenty minutes without ice cream.

Not surprisingly, this sacrifice on my part has not gotten me the desired results. Nor has the anxiety-eating, social-eating, anger-eating, depression-eating, boredom-eating, the all-but-hey-I'm-actually-hungry-eating that I've been doing for, well, years.

Don't get me wrong, I've been going to the gym, spending hours on the treadmill and elliptical trainer, and eating salads for lunch---I'm just not getting results. Because no one is pushing me. And I just don't push myself, beyond the surface.

So I netflixed that she-devil's DVD--The 30 Day Shred. Just the name is shudder-worthy. Do I want to "shred"? For thirty days? That's a lot of shredding. And what is being shred, anyway? Me? Ouch. The premise? A twenty minute work-out, alternating rounds of strength, cardio and abs. Twenty minutes? Hell, I can totally do that!!! Right? right?

"They" say Day 1 is the worst---most likely because it's like being thrown into a freezing cold ice bath after lounging leisurely and blissfully in the sun. After that initial shock, I guess your body isn't surprised by the pain.

So today was Day 1. It sucked. She's so mean. Nothing soft and gentle about her. I believe she wants me to get thin, and that she cares that I stick with it, but a little part of me thinks she must hate me because I'm chubby. Like if she walked by me on the street, she'd go "uggggcccchht" or something, while rolling her eyes and making a comment about fat people to her equally skinny friend. So it's kind of like having the popular, athletic girl from high school "motivate" you to lose weight.

I was taught yoga by a dancer, and have taken pole-dancing classes, so I like to think I have a touch of grace when I move (anyone who's ever actually seen me walk, dance or otherwise move? You go ahead and take a moment to laugh at the idea of me being graceful). But Jillian hasn't an ounce of grace in her---her warm ups are jerky and fast, just throwing her arms around. She admits to being uncomfortable with the hip rolls, like it's embarrassing for her to move her body in a way that could be even the slightest bit sexual in nature. So I wasn't sure if her hard-core, "put your freaking sneakers on and sweat blood" approach was going to be for me.

I didn't really have a whole lot of time to contemplate because she was wiping the floor with my ass by about minute 4.

Jumping Jacks, jumping rope, lunges, squats, crunches, running in place in such a way that you literally kick your own ass (she's a bitch, I tell you! A bitch!)---it's just non-stop and when you think about taking a tiny break in between intervals, she gets all up in your face about how you're "only doing 20 minutes! NO breaks!" Seriously--she's coming through that screen and into your living room and bitch-slapping you if you slow down.

My 2.5 year old (who, in a cruel trick of fate, weighs under 24lbs and has never once been more than 3rd percentile on the weight chart), thought it would be fun to help me, so dodging him on the living room floor as he did "jumping jacks" and "ran in place" (which involved running all over the place) also became a part of the work out. And I was unable to do the bicycle crunches at the end because Ethan thought it would be way more fun to climb up onto my shins as soon as I got my legs up to 90 degrees and pretend that he was an airplane instead. So fine--I was doing crunches while lifting a 23lb weight on my legs---that counts, right? Perhaps that reason alone is the only reason She-Devil didn't come tearing through my screen and berate me for not doing her bicycle crunches the right way.

When it was over, I just hurt. My arms and legs were shaking, my stomach wanted to puke and it was about 20 minutes before I felt like I could stand up long enough to take a shower. And I'm so tired right now, I'm not entirely sure what I'm even writing about.

But that scary bitch will be on my TV screen again tomorrow, for Day 2. "They" say it's easier---"they" better be right.

Fat Girl Moves to LA...

2008-07-06T20:33:00.001-07:00

Here I am, all 164lbs of me, sitting in my hotel room, pondering what the future may hold for me in about eleventy billion ways, not the least of which is my weight.

When Husband told me in March that he had been given this opportunity with his career, honestly the first thing I thought of was, "I can NOT go to Los Angeles and live among the beautiful people. I will shrivel up and die of shame!" I'm embarrassed that I thought this before anything else--before the idea of leaving friends, family and the familiarity of a routine that created home for us.

I sat down with Husband and we agreed that before moving, we were each going to attempt to lose 10 lbs. Oh, the intentions could have lit up a room with how much emotional energy I poured into them. And we did do well for awhile. Frozen "steam in the bag" vegetables and roasted chicken became our meal of choice. We cut down on going out to dinner. We cut back on Starbucks. I started walking more, every day. I even jogged a couple of times. And, as usual, I saw no change on the scale.

As time went on and I thought more about the upcoming transition, thankfully my stress and emotions focused around the latter and I became, well, a bit depressed about saying goodbye to my best friend and her newly adopted son, our play group, and all the other bits and pieces of our life in Arlington.

And what does Sarah do when she's "a bit depressed"? She eats. a LOT. No, it's not like I started driving through Taco Bell @ 2am or filling my grocery cart with pint upon pint of Ben & Jerry's (although my gait always slows at the ice cream case as I fight the call of the Siren, Phish Food...). I didn't suddenly start binging on tons of crap food that I normally don't eat.

I just ate more.

Then, sadly, my cousin's little girl passed away after almost a year of battling a brain tumor. And how did I deal with that? I ate. a LOT.

Then, we the packers came. That was two weeks ago tomorrow. Since then I've been living in a hotel. And that means that for two weeks, Husband, Ethan and I have been eating at restaurants. For every meal.

I have truly tried not to take comfort in food every time my emotions welled up on me. But I can't lie; I have definitely used food in the past couple of months to assuage the anxiety and sadness of this huge transition. Not even the mortification of possibly gaining weight and looking freakishly huge when walking down Ventura Blvd next to every Paris Hilton wannabe in the city could deter me.

Now that I'm here, though, I see opportunities to live a healthier lifestyle all around me. We live a few blocks from a farmer's market. I've been to the hotel gym five out of the past seven days. I am thinking of converting our garage into a small exercise room. There are no fewer than four yoga studios within walking distance of our house. The park I take Ethan to is at least a 3 mile walk, round-trip.

It's interesting that I'm finding embarrassment and shame does not motivate me. What motivates me is the potential and the possibility of a new environment. If I can make this change in where I live, in giving up all the security I had with the old routine, surely I can make the changes I need to to lose the weight. To ensure that the next time I carry a baby, I don't completely wreck my body and set myself up for another 2.5 years of struggling to lose the weight.

So we'll see. Here I am with yet another renewed vow to myself that it's time to change. Life is a bit of a blank slate right now, so perhaps I'll find this time I have the motivation to make it work.

When Sarah Met Salads...

2008-05-31T10:17:00.000-07:00

Remember those scenes in When Harry Met Sally where we learn that Sally is a bit on the high maintenance (albeit orgasmic) side in terms of ordering her food? It made her endearing, right?

It makes me annoying. At least to myself. Perhaps no one else notices my constant "on the side"-ing these days, but as Harry says, "On the side is a very big thing for you." For Sally, it was sheerly a matter of "I just want things how I want things", a self-assured expression of her individual taste and persnickety personality. For me, it is more of a "I'm tired of being fat so just keep all the yummy stuff off of my plate, please."

This week, I had a spinach and strawberry salad, raspberry vinaigrette on the side, and a pear & gorgonzola salad, champagne vinaigrette on the side. Yes, I fully realize that the gorgonzola should have also come on the side, but dear lord people, baby steps!

Couch to 5k to bathful of epsom salt...

2008-05-25T11:47:00.000-07:00

So, having finished Jen Lancaster's Such a Pretty Fat, and with our move to Los Angeles, the home of the oh-so-pretty-and-thin, looming ever nearer (30 days and counting), I have a renewed sense of "Ohmygod, Sarahyouaretoofat!" and have reminded myself once again that the only thing that helped me lose weight when I turned 30 was....sigh....running.

I hate running. I remember when I first moved down to DC and joined a gym. I had two complimentary training session and the trainer (tall, skinny, blonde, nightmare) assured me the fastest way to lose weight was to run. In New Hampshire, losing weight slowly was fine; well, let's face it, not losing weight at all was apparently perfectly acceptable, because it's how I spent my 20's.

But in DC, there was a boy. A tall, cute, thin boy whose attention I wanted. And I didn't think I could do it at my then current weight (which is, sadly, 10lbs fewer than what I'm carting around right now). So as much as I'd always said I'd rather walk on my hands than run on my feet and as much as I told the trainer through my huffy-puffy breaths that I was going to die, drop dead right there on the treadmill and it would be on her shoulders, if I ran for 10 more seconds (she did not bite), I did it.

I started out with my own program of counting to 100. I'd count to 100 while running, then count to 100 while walking. Slowly, begrudgingly, I built up my pace. Eventually I was running to the count of 600 (almost a mile by the treadmill's count) and damn that perky little trainer if the weight didn't melt away. From 150lbs to 135lbs in two month's time. (Oh, and the boy? I left him in my skinny little cloud of dust.)

So here I sit, still at 162 and realize...it's time. I made noise about it a few months ago and promptly went back to sitting on my ass and wondering why I wasn't losing any weight. I mean, I *did* cut out the morning ritual of finishing my kid's waffle, so why wasn't the weight falling off of me??!! (cue: Sarah smacking her head into the wall).

Today while Ethan and Husband napped, I threw on my work out clothes (after I picked a bit of cat hair off of them--they've made a lovely little cat bed for Abby for the past few months), powered up my iPod, threw on my stop-watch and started my "Couch to 5k" program (http://www.coolrunning.com/engine/2/2_3/181.shtml). Basically, a 30 minute workout consisting of a 5 minute warm up, then jogging/walking in 60 and 90 second intervals.

Smuggy McSmuggerson (that would be me) thought "Piece of cake!" When I started jogging years ago, I began my training with counting to 100, which takes longer than the 60 seconds this circuit was going to require of me. No problem. Embarrassing to be starting with something so EASY....that's what I said to myself as I sauntered through my warm up. I even though, "maybe I'll jog 60 and walk 60, so it's totally even. These professional trainers at "couch to 5k" can't possibly know more than me! Oooh, I like this song..."

At the end of the 5 minute warm up, I looked at my stop-watch and picked up the pace to jogging. Oh, how I want to report that I was a vision of athletic prowess, gliding down the street with extraordinary poise and ease.

I *could* report that, but I would by lying out of my fat, uncoordinated ass. Nevermind that apparently my ear holes are abnormally small and my earpods kept falling out of my head (have you ever seen someone fish around to find and reposition the earpod of their iPod while running? Aside from looking funny, it really borders on a public safety hazard). On top of that, by the time I got to the count of 50, there was a burning in my calves, but there was a serious lack of air in my lungs.

I remembered all those biology classes when the teacher droned on and on about aerobic activity and oxygen and the production of lactic acid. I think it's safe to assume that I was a vertiable lactic acid factory during the 20 minutes I alternated between walking and running.

Sadly, as I zig-zagged my way through my neighborhood, there was a couple out for a leisurely walk, CONSTANTLY zigging while I was zagging, so every corner I came around, they were turning down the same street, coming right towards me. Ugh. I hate exercising in front of other people--when I can hear my own breathing OVER the music playing mere centimeters away from my eardrums, I really don't need to be in the company of strangers. Fortunately for me, neither of them were lithe and toned. I probably could have outrun either of them, even in my only-feet-from-needing-an-oxygen-tank state. On the 3rd or 4th encounter, the man and I decided to nod at each other, as if to acknowledge the fact that we were unwittingly stalking each other. The girl ignored me, in all my fat, sweaty glory. Sadly, I wanted her acknowledgment more than his (twisted all-girl school mentality NEVER goes away, I swear). Oh well.

By the time I finished my last interval of running, my body was SCREAMING and my lungs were fully threatening to shut the fuck down on me completely. But I did it.

And, damn it, I'll do it again--once I can catch my breath and stop soaking in a tub of epsom salt.

Teensy Weensy Victories...

2008-05-22T09:42:00.000-07:00

Yes, I got a grande skim chai this morning. But I did not get the blueberry scone that was, I swear, literally screaming at me (apparently I speak Starbucks Sconese) through the glass of the pastry case.

A week ago I would have rationalized my way into buying it and scarfing it down clandestinely on our way to play group. Today I was honest with myself (at least about the scone---baby steps, people), and just let it go.

The Starbucks thing is the hardest thing. I swear they pump vaporized crack through the ventilation system in there. I do love my chai, but I believe I could live without the drink. And their coffee, in my opinion, is so strong and burnt it may as well be a cup of battery acid. It's not the drinks--it is simply the space, the store itself. I must find myself in a Starbucks shop daily, even if I only get myself a cup of tea (like water and tea bag type tea, not chai). The goal, by the time we get to LA is to be on the water and tea bag type tea full time, with the exception of a tall skim chai once on the weekends.

But for now, I am elated that my stomach is not digesting the scone I left in the pastry case today. FatSarah 1, Starbucks 0-ish.

It is so on...

2008-05-21T18:15:00.000-07:00

This weekend, Husband and I decided that, as we are about to embark upon a new adventure with this whole moving to Los Angeles thing, we should perhaps try to lighten up the load a bit and take off 10 lbs a piece before our big moving date, June 27th.

That meant that on Tuesday morning we both stepped on the scale. Sigh. What do you know? 162. The same weight I ALWAYS am, no matter what I eat. As this is not Husband's weight loss blog, I won't divulge his weight, but I will say that when I told him MY weight, his reaction was, get this---"That's what I weighed when I met you."

I realize that his comment was his own lament that he is now quite a few pounds above that. Let's just say Husband gained that pregnancy weight right along with me and I was the only one who gave birth and therefore lost 20lbs of it right away...

So, yes, I know that he was thinking back to a day when he felt he was lithe and svelte (and he was, as my memory serves), but still. What I heard was, "Damn, woman, you weigh as much as a MAN."

Lament of the Fat Chick...

2008-05-20T18:16:00.000-07:00

I swear sometimes I think I must LIKE being fat. Because every time I work myself into a tizzy about how I'm going to lose weight and how egg whites are my friend, I almost immediately am overcome by a overwhelming neeeeeeeed for Target's brand trail mix. You know, the kind with the peanuts and raisins and chocolate chips and M&Ms. And every time, I am somehow able to find a way to rationalize it, or just block it out. "Well, each piece of the mix is so tiny, it can't possibly add up to much, right?" Even though I read the nutritional information and know full well that their 14 servings equal 3 of mine and that I'm fulfilling an entire day's worth of fat intake as I drive between Target and home, I am somehow unable to keep my hand from blindly reaching back into the bag, carefully feeling for the smooth, cool surface of M&M, because every bite MUST have the crunch of hard candy shell.

What the fuck is wrong with me??!!

This evening I dined at Cheesecake Factory with two of my friends. I should have been home eating a chicken breast, skinless and baked, accompanied by steamed broccoli, but I had a baby shower to plan with the other girls, so we opted to dine out, sans toddlers. So, I was faced with that menu--the bible of the Fattie. I no longer even allow myself to look at the dishes laden in butter and oil, dripping with cream sauces and fat. No, I go straight to the "Weight Management" section.

If you've ever dined at Cheesecake Factory, you know the menu is a short novella of choices. There are no fewer than six pages of options, the vast majority of which could easily feed a small village of orphans in Central America, and make several of them look at their profile in a mirror after eating and say, "Wow, I shouldn't have eaten all of my portion. I'm chunking up!" You've got two pages of "appetizers" (read: this will only feed 2 people, so don't rely on it for your entire meal...), followed by a page of sandwiches, a page of pastas, a page of specialties, a page of "salads" (read: a head of lettuce doused in a pool of enough dressing to drown a small child), and the list goes on. My memory is weak on this because it's been so long since I've allowed myself to peruse.

The great minds at the Cheesecake Factory decided to brainstorm and come up with tasty menu items that actually won't contribute to coronary artery disease and they came up with FOUR choices for those of us who don't want to kill ourselves slowly with food. FOUR. Four salads.

And no matter what you do, no matter how subtle you try to be about the fact that you're ordering from the fat lady's section, the waiter ALWAYS has to make a point of saying, out loud, "You want the weight management salad?" Um. Yes. That's why I asked for the Spicy Chicken Salad (which is NOWHERE else on the menu) AND why I pointed to it on the menu while ordering. But PLEASE, by all means, highlight for everyone else at my table that I am going to eat a head of lettuce w/ my lo-cal dressing on the side, while they enjoy Thai (tub o' peanut butter) and Cajun (pint o' cream) pastas. Is there a spot under the table where I can enjoy my shameful fat-girl meal in peace? Thanks.

Tonight I experimented with being very open about my fatty-fat-fatness and got all self depricating about my attempts at weight loss (what with the move to LA, the land of the beautiful skinny folk). I learned quickly that people don't know what to do with you when you make jokes about how chubby you are. Nervous laughter and another glass of wine pretty much sums it up. Oh how I love being the source of social awkwardness.

Talk about awkward, when the waiter came knocking to see if we wanted to get dessert (um, YESSSSSSS, PLEASE!!!! I love no dessert more than Cheesecake Factory cheesecake), my skinniest friend, who happened to be sitting to my right, said, almost Pavlovianly, "Banana-cream cheesecake, please," and sigh....

I had to sit next to her while she ate it. Injustice, thy name is cheesecake!!! This girl is so thin, her triceps are easily the size of my pointer finger. She has the metabolism of a hummingbird and a heart of gold. I love her, but sometimes I secretly loathe how easily she seems to be/stay skinny.

Thankfully there was nothing remotely chocolatey about her dessert or I don't know that I'd be able to report, as I can now, that I did not eat even tiny one bite (even though, out of the goodness of her misguided heart, she offered me a bite every. other. second--I think she might have offered because of all the drooling and staring I was doing?). It's actually not surprising that I was able to abstain, considering I was still feeling nauseaus from the M&M trail mix that was churning in my stomach, now mixed with lo-cal vinaigrette. Delish.

At the end of the meal, I marched out of the restaurant with my "to go" bag of salad (I even went so far as to ask for the box before my salad came so I could take 1/2 of it out of the plate before starting to eat), feeling pretty good about myself. I did have a glass of Pinot Grigio, but NONE of the tasty bread they put on your table and only half of my WEIGHT-FUCKING-MANAGEMENT salad (which is 590 calories if you eat the whole thing). I felt light and only half-full, as opposed to some of the people I saw at their tables, leaning back and sweating a bit as they tried to get through their heaping bowl of creamy pastas (you know when you have to take a deep breath and blow out through puffed cheeks that maybe it's time to stop, right?).

Of course, an hour later, I am madly trying to convince myself that since I was so good at dinner, I definitely can afford to have that vanilla slim-a-bear ice cream sandwich in the freezer that is currently SCREAMING at me. This is why I stay the same 162 pounds forever and ever. Every time I do something that MIGHT lead to me losing and ounce or two, I reward myself with a food-related treat.

Dumb, dumb chubby girl....

Still Fat....

2008-05-17T06:57:00.001-07:00

...that is all.

Note to Self...

2008-02-23T08:11:00.000-08:00

You're trying to lose weight, remember.

Oh, yeah.

Well, the scale is still doing it's 159-163 yo-yo. Shocking. I swear, I realize I sound like a complete and utter lying loser. "I don't know WHY I can't lose weight!" blah.

I do know why, I just have such a hard time changing things. It's shameful how we become creatures of habit and I cannot tell you how often I find my hand making it's way from a bag of goldfish to my mouth before I even know what is happening. But there are two, no three, new developments:

1.) Alli. I started taking it 2 weeks ago and although the scale is obviously not showing much of a difference (well, it is on the low end of the yo yo for several days now), the complete and utter fear of the treatment effects associated with it are enough to keep me from eating crap. It is not something I plan on taking long-term; I know that my body fights the initial weight-loss more than the shedding of the majority of pounds. I just need something to help get it started, as all of the food journaling and daily walks have as of yet done nothing. Also, when and if I ever get knocked up, I won't be taking a weight-loss supplement, so this is just to maybe help get rid of a few pounds (I only want to lose 15, for cripe's sake!) before I give my body over to embryofetusbaby for two years.

2.) FitTV on Demand. Yay for this little thing and how have I not known about it for the past two years? I could have easily have saved about a grand on personal training and begun my weight loss months and months ago had I known that at any time, I could whip up a 30 minute work out on my TV.

Yesterday, while frantically trying to find an episode of Dora the Explorer for my fevery, teething mess of a child, I discovered a Sport & Fitness button on our OnDemand channel and voila!! Moments later, Ethan was dancing to the thumpa-thumpa music and I was knee-deep in grapevines and shoulder rolls. I had found The Firm. And I can go back and find it any time I want. How cool is that? So I managed to get in a 30 minute work out, in the living room, just like that. Sure, by the end, I was only doing legs because Ethan lost interest in his own grooving and wanted to be held, but still--that's a 20lb weight right there. That's got to be good, right?

3.) New jeans!!! Smaller jeans!! I now have 2 pairs of size 10s that fit me perfectly and do not mush the top of my belly up and over the waist line (aka: muffin top). I am not thrilled that they are 10s, as opposed to the 8s I was wearing before having Ethan, but it is a step in the right direction. I also just bought new yoga pants in a size medium, which I haven't been able to do in 2 years. So all that "it's not the number on the scale, it's the way your clothes fit" stuff is working for me right now.

All in all, even though the infuriating game of yo-yo continues, I'm feeling pretty good. Hopefully within a couple of weeks, the yo'ing will be happening a little farther down the scale.

Oh, so breakfast IS important??

2008-01-18T09:02:00.000-08:00

Huh. Who knew? I've only heard that about eleventy billion times. But I thought they meant for OTHER people, not for me. I mean, my body is composed of something entirely different from everyone else, isn't it? So the rules of good nutrition can't possibly apply to Meeeeeeee. I'm special; I don't need breakfast. Those are a couple hundred calories I can definitely cut out. I will drop the pounds left and right if I just avoid that first meal of the day.

Oooooor, I can stare at the scale every day, watching it say the same thing over and over again because I snack all day because, what do you know? I'm HUNGRY!

So today I started eating breakfast. Sigh. Three egg omelets, pancakes and sausages rock. Just kidding. I had 2 egg whites on a high-fiber english muffin with a piece of low fat cheese melted on it. For its serious lack in fat and calories, it was surprisingly tasty. I'm kind of looking forward to having it again, which I didn't think would be the case. That, along with my skinny cinnamon dolce latte makes my sparkpeople nutrition tracker VERY happy.

And on top of being tasty, are you ready for this? I ate breakfast at 8:30 this morning and now, at 12:15, I am JUST starting to think of food again. As a chubby breakfast skipping girl, I assure you, I generally spend a LOT of time each day contemplating food. They say that men think of sex every 9 seconds, right? Food is usually kind of like that for me. So to go almost 4 hours without having to talk myself out of eating a handful of this or a piece of that is pretty major.

Sigh. I guess ALL the nutritionists can be wrong. I'm sold. I eat breakfast.

When you start a blog to keep you honest...

2008-01-17T18:15:00.001-08:00

and then you don't write in it...um. Dumbass.

So here I sit. Almost a week into using www.sparkpeople.com. I had used it in the past but what with my stellar record for commitment to weight loss and all, I grew tired of the whole accountability thing and let it fall by the wayside. But I've been good this week, writing down everything, researching nutritional information and searching for the sources of my stagnant weight loss.

Can we say "mindless eating"? Oh my. A bite of Ethan's french toast at breakfast. A bite of his cheese stick at lunch. A nibble from his bagel in the afternoon. You want some Teddy Grahams, Ethan, because Mama does!!! Woot! Cinnamon flavored. Super. If mindless eating was an Olympic sport, my friends, I would be medaling on an hourly basis---ALL events would be owned by me. I would be the Bodie Miller of mindless eating (except I'd actually win something instead of toking up before events--although....toking up might actually help me eat even more mindlessly, huh? Anyway, I digress....)

So yeah. There's that. Tsk. Tsk.

And then there's the whole idea of calorie intake versus where the calories come from. I barely make my minimum calorie intake for the day (yay, me!), but I never hit my daily protein goals, either. And while I cringe at the idea of anything remotely Atkins-y, I know that protein staves off hunger and blah blah blah. So I need to start drinking skim milk or something (insert gagging sound here). And so the search for a sugar-free chocolate syrup that doesn't taste like ass is on. I can't even fathom drinking a glass of skim milk without it, but I neeeeeed those 8gms of protein, damn it.

On a positive note, can we all take a moment to stand in awe of the marvel that is the new line of *skinny* lattes at Starbucks. For years I have had to stand there, at the counter, taking up valuable time, energy and oxygen ordering a: "tall skim, sugar-free, no whip cinnamon dolce latte". Now I can replace everything before "cinnamon" with the word "skinny", and voila! The tall? NINETY calories. That's right--something at Starbucks that isn't just steaming lard in a cup. Ah, the joy.

So to sum up: sparkpeople, protein, skinny lattes. It's all good.

Did anyone see a wagon going by?

2008-01-12T09:34:00.000-08:00

Because I fell off of one recently and should probably find it and hop back on.

Which brings me to something I've been pondering in the past few days as my hand automatically reaches for crap I shouldn't eat and my brain does absolutely nothing to stop the process. Why do we sabotage ourselves? Why is it the second I start to hear, "You look fantastic!" "You're definitely losing weight!", and I start to not loathe pictures of myself, I feel the need to open the fridge and begin to eat. Why is that?

It happens all. the. time.

The past week or two have been a bit of a free fall for me. Not that I have been surrounding myself with piles of Krispy Kremes and eating my way through them. I'm not driving-thru Taco Bell ordering 15 chalupas and choco-tacos. I don't do stuff like that. Ever. I don't eat shitty crap foods like that. I eat relatively healthy foods; sadly, just too much of it. And in the past week or so, I've not really done anything to check myself.

"But, FatSarah," you say. "You were going to start writing down everything you ate. You said so just the other day. It's been over a week. You should have over a week's worth of food journals! What happened?!"

What happened was I wrote down breakfast that first day. Then I snuck a few bites of Ethan's lunch, along with my own lunch. Then I mindlessly popped a few of his Goldfish that afternoon. Then I was too tired to cook so we had take-out Thai that night. At the end of the day, I couldn't face the long list of "you should know betters" that would have been staring back at me had I written it all down.

So I have that first breakfast, and then I have today's breakfast. Because I might still eat like crap here and there, but I have to hold myself accountable more. I know that. And I don't know why I'm afraid to do it.

Perhaps it is the expectation and anticipation of others that makes it easier to just backslide. A very well-meaning friend said to me the other day, "It's so great that you're doing this for yourself. And you know, now that people are noticing it, you have to just keep going! That's great!" I know it was a compliment, but I cannot put into words the fear that gripped my throat when I realized she was right. People were starting to notice my weight loss. They were going to start looking for more of it, less of me. It's far less pressure to just be the chubby girl who everything thinks is funny and has a pretty face.

I remember it happening last time as well. After spending most of my 20s in this same weight range, I distinctly recall the barrage of compliments as I neared 15-20 pounds of weight loss. I stopped being me and became the pounds I was losing. It's all anyone talked about. It's all they wanted to hear about--how was I doing it? How was I feeling? Did I know how great I looked? The pressure to keep it up was tremendous. When I stopped losing at 140 and stayed there, gradually the attention receded and I felt like myself for the next 5 years.

It is such an irony. I want to lose weight, but I don't want people to notice. I don't want them to talk to me about it, or compliment me on it. Maybe because when they do I have to admit that I am/was fat and that it is/was enough of a detriment to my appearance that the absence of a few pounds becomes noteworthy.

But is it fair to ask people NOT to notice? Not to compliment and comment? I think it's one of my biggest hurdles on this path because it is such a contradiction and it is such psychological barrier for me. I will actually find a way to eat more right after someone has pointed out how good I look. I've caught myself doing it on more than one occasion. I can't expect people to know how it makes me feel to be in the spotlight for this particular "accomplishment". They only mean well when they say flattering things. I need to get past it.

Which is why I'm back on the blog, back on the wagon, poised and ready for the next compliment that comes my way to make sure I don't use it as an excuse to take another superfluous bite.

Oh, and skim chai tea lattes taste way better than soy chai tea lattes and they save me 20 grams of fat. Fabulous.

Ah, the sweet smell of

2008-01-02T05:36:00.001-08:00

failure.

161.

Better than 165 or 162. But still, 161. Not 160. I suppose I could step on the scale in 3 hours and it would say 159, but at the moment this morning that I decided to face the numbers, it said 161, so that's what I have to go with, right?

It sucks. The old FatSarah would throw her hands up and say, "See?!! I can't lose weight! Why try? I'll just embrace my tubbiness and forget about trying to get rid of it!" But I can't this time. There's too much at stake this time and for the rest of my life for me to do that anymore.

So I start the new year with a new goal. I have no idea how long it will before I find myself staring at the business end of a pregnancy test, so I can't say that "I will lose 20 pounds this year," because honestly, I could lose another 5 and then gain 30.

The goal, instead, is going to be to eat more healthfully, losing weight for as long as is possible, whether it's 2 more weeks or 12 more months. Pregnancy, if I'm lucky enough to find it this year, will not be an excuse to gorge myself like it was last time (that's an exaggeration, but not by much). I'm going to start by using the fancy, "all the bells and whistles" food journal I got the other day.

Welcome to the world of "if you bite it, you write it--2008".

Ignorance is bliss...

2008-01-01T19:32:00.001-08:00

I have no idea how much I weigh. I know I haven't gained a ton (even a tiny ton) because my clothes still feel the same way they did two weeks ago. But with the exception of a few errant hops on the scale since my last post, I have allowed myself to be oblivious to the scale.

But not oblivious to my eating habits. That being said, I am not sure I want to step on the scale tomorrow. Today was the first time I've actually been kind of bad and I hate the idea of how I'm going to feel tomorrow if I see anything higher than 160, what with my big old boast-y "i'm not going to gain anything blah blah blah" bragginess in my last post. Blech.

I'll be here to face the music, though. With bells on. And hopefully no extra fat.

It's the Most Wonderful(ly dreadful) Time of the Year

2007-12-22T16:27:00.000-08:00

What would a weight-loss blog be without an obligatory kvetch-fest about the holidays? That time of the year when you're supposed to smile and act like the plate of cookies on the table next to you isn't screaming out to you, taunting you, daring you to "eat, eat, eat!!"? When the urge to bake gingerbread and eat chocolate feels like a primal instinct and fighting it feels akin to trying to cram the sun back down below the horizon at 6am. When you sit back, having failed miserably at controlling yourself, the sickly feeling of fullness pushing against the waist of your pants and vow that tomorrow you will undertake the diet to end all diets; you will make anorexics envious with your willpower--starting tomorrow.

I hate the holidays. There. I said it.

Sure, sure, I like presents and it's nice seeing family, the Charlie Brown Christmas special makes me cry, and the lights are freaking pretty and all that. But if I could trade all of that for this week to be just another week, with just the regular week food temptations, instead of the shmorgasboard of fat and calories I know is waiting for me starting tomorrow, I would give it all away.

I realize that sounds vaguely eating-disorder-ish (especially the part about making anorexics jealous) and I will concede that it is 100% body-image disorder-ish, but I assure you I love food in all it's forms too much to ever actually develop an actual eating disorder (although I'd be lying if I said I hadn't prayed for one when I was younger, before I saw that havock it could wreak on a person's mind and body). So let me assure you, internet, while I will play weird little eating-related mind games with myself ("let's see if I can get to 4pm without eating"; "I can have that piece of chocolate tomorrow if I still really want it") and I will secretly wish for food poisoning, the stomach flu, or a tape worm, I will never be 'able' to develop a true eating disorder, "try" as I might. Sigh...

But I have to say I have been dreading the next week's festivities. It is hard to have your positive energy and excitement for the season sapped by the focus it takes to keep on track and the self-loathing anger that consumes you as you swallow the last bite of (tenth) cookie that represents your complete and abject failure to get through the holiday without undoing all the good you've managed to do in the past few weeks. It is an atomic bomb of shame, and yet, it's almost impossible not to deal with it, as how can you watch every. single. other. person. in the room eat to his or her heart's content, all the while saying, "oh, it's okay, Sarah! It's the holidays! Just eat!"

They are so well-meaning. They truly don't realize the battle that's being waged inside the tubby girl's heart when she's faced with a plate of cookies and all the smiling faces saying, "eat! eat!" The message they're trying to send is, "We don't see your weight. We love you for who you are on the inside, and we show our love by offering you tasty yummy treats!" How do you say "no" to that? How do you reject that love?

But they don't have to be there with me the next time I step on the scale and see 5 extra pounds; the same 5 lbs I've worked to get rid of for the past month. Back again. I'm the one who deals with that, and the feelings that come with it, all by myself. Every holiday season.

Well, not this one. I am going out on a big massive scary limb here, because I've been so honest in past posts. I did have a piece of baklava at dinner last night. But for the rest of the season I will not cave to the "It's the holidays!! Live it up!" mind-set. I know it's not "every other week" with the same mundane temptations. I know it will be harder. And I'm not saying I won't eat anything or be a big old party-pooper. But I will NOT gain weight this week.

Today I weighed 160 lbs. When I step on the scale on January 2nd, I will not weigh more than 160. I might not weigh less, and that's okay. But I will not weigh more. Not 162 or 165 or even 160.3.

Ugh. Wish me luck.

Sarah's Chocolate Cessation Program

2007-12-20T16:14:00.000-08:00

You know how there are all these smoking cessation programs for people addicted to nicotine? There are so many different makes and models, from 12-step programs, to gums, to hypnosis. I remember back in the day (not that I ever smoked) there was a philosophy that if you smoked a lot more than you were used to, it would make you so sick that you'd never want to see another cigarette again, thereby breaking the addiction and habit. I definitely had friends who were subjected to that "method" when their parents found a pack hidden in their coat pocket or under their bed. Well, apparently today I create and completed my own "stop eating chocolate" program based loosely around that idea, and I'm fairly certain it's going to "take".

It started last night. I read somewhere about the supposed miracle that is "No Pudge" Brownies. Just the fat-free mix, some fat-free vanilla yogurt and 34 minutes in the oven and SHAZZAM! fudgy, fat-free goodness. It sounds sooooooo good. Except for two things: 1.) When undercooked, even a little bit, "no pudge" turns into "no budge" and the mix and yogurt somehow turn to a chocolaty brick that won't come out of the pan, and 2.) yes, they are fat-free, but they contain eleventy-billion grams of carbohydrates, so unless you're going to eat them while jogging on a treadmill, you may as well inject some butter into your thighs--same difference.

Husband and I did end up eating far too many of them considering I said several times, "These are so NOT worth the calories" as I chewed, and chewed, and chewed, trying to get them to dissolve a bit in my mouth so I could swallow them. But this morning I ended up scraping the rest of them out of the pan and into the trash because I felt like I had to take a stand against the calorie-riddled monster sitting on my stove, beckoning me from bed (and yes, I had one before I threw them away, sue me).

So take a stand I did. Aaaaand then I went shopping at Trader Joe's where I sampled the French chocolate truffles. Three times. Um. How's that for conviction. At least those pieces of chocolate were worth the price I will have to pay for having eaten them, let me tell you. Deliriously delicious, my friends, that's all I can say about that.

As if that were not enough chocolate for my poor stomach to digest, I then had three (okay, four) peppermint chocolate oreos at our play group holiday party. Dear god, they were delicious.

Of course, I ate nothing BUT this all day because in my warped mind, as long as I didn't eat anything else then I wasn't getting an insane amount of calories (kind of like my "If weight-watchers chocolate cake snacks are only 1 point each and I get 24 points a day, can I just eat 24 weight watchers chocolate cake snacks?" question). Note to self: This is NOT a productive mindset at all.

I can't quite describe the nausea I am dealing with at this very moment. If I weren't obsessive about keeping track of my cycle, I'd think maybe I was pregnant and experiencing some seriously overwhelming morning sickness. But alas, it is just a billion grams of sugar trying to digest in my shell-shocked stomach. The stomach that has been so nicely adjusting to things like yogurt and grapenuts and apples and water and salads and smaller portions and reasonable amounts of sugar.

Seriously, I don't ever want to see a piece of chocolate again. And I really, really don't want to step on the scale tomorrow.

Meh

2007-12-18T08:18:00.001-08:00

160.4

Not the end of the world. I was dreading a 164 or something like that, so I should be relieved. But I hate that stupid 6. Hopefully it will be gone next week.

I bought myself a food journal today and am instating a strict, "you bite it, you write it" policy with myself. That means the bite of Ethan's french toast I had this morning and the handful of corn flakes I treated myself to during his morning snack have to get written down somewhere, much to my chagrin and embarrassment. Oh well. Hopefully it will make me more aware of how many stray, empty calories I put in my mouth every day.

And, it is going to be above 45 degrees every day this week, so we will walk every day this week.

Hopefully by the end of the week I'll be looking at a number on the scale with no 6's in it.

Who Am I?

2007-12-17T16:29:00.001-08:00

The strangest thing has happened. I can't bring myself to step on the scale. Me, the 3-time a day'er. I haven't been on a scale since Saturday. I know it's because I'm afraid to see the 160's still. I was so excited to see that 159 and the (oh god, how cheesy) the promise it held of less scale-anxiety and eventually cuter clothes and a re-discovered collar bone. Sigh.

When I stepped on it on Saturday morning and saw 160 again, I think some small happy dieter inside me checked out. I wasn't *bad* this weekend, per se, but I didn't go out of my way to be good, either. My family was in town and I cooked my first Channukah dinner, complete with massive hunk of red meat, cooked in onions, garlic and oil for six and half hours and served with an entire bag of potatoes and two bags of carrots. Granted, it's not like I ate the entire piece of meat or the whole bag of potatoes, but I feel like I did.

I am going to make myself step on it tomorrow; I find that I am obsessing about it more now that I can't bring myself to get on. If I see 161 or 162 tomorrow, it will break a piece of my heart, but at least I will know what I'm working with and hopefully that will get me back on track.

Wish me luck.

Whatever.

2007-12-15T11:13:00.000-08:00

So fine. I am still at 160, but considering what I've eaten this week, what with Operation Gratuitious Hospital Stay and Husband's company holiday party last night, it is impressive that I only packed on 1 pound instead of 4-5.

Husband & I were going through pictures today, trying to find images to use in JibJab's holiday cartoons (dear god, they are pants-peeing funny people) and I have to say, even being down 10 lbs-ish in the past four months or so makes such a huge difference. I am still 20lbs more than I was for our wedding (and I can only blame 15lbs of that on the pregnancy; 5 of it is comprised of coconut shrimp and an elixir called a lava flow consumed by the pool in Hawaii). The embarrassment level suffered upon looking at pictures of myself as gone from the soul-crushing "horrifyingly" to the merely uncomfortable "very". It's far less painful to look at recent pictures of myself, but I am sure that, should my losing streak continue, in a few month's time the holiday pictures that are sure to come into existence in the coming weeks will seem hideously deformed in comparison. That's okay. I am willing to cringe later on if it means I am closer to my goal.

But for now I re-set my expectations for this week. More water, more walking. Maybe I will get to wave good-bye to the 160's yet again, for good.

One step forward, a half-marathon back...

2007-12-12T17:33:00.000-08:00

So, yesterday morning I stepped on the scale to see a 159 smiling back at me. It was a wonderful, joyous, yet short-lived moment. I didn't have time to revel in the ecstasy of there not being a 6 at the front of that number because I had to take my son to the doctor and then to the hospital, where he was treated for a nasty bout of croup.

In the stress of it all, I didn't eat breakfast, nor did I get lunch. In the back of my warped little head, this was a good thing and maybe I'd actually see an even lower number the next time I stepped on the scale. But once the situation with Ethan stabilized, I was overcome with that need. The need to stuff my face. Granted, I had limited choices at the hospital, but what I had, I took. A turkey sub, with the girl behind the counter's interpretation of "a tiny bit of mayonnaise" (read: mayo oozing out the sides like I had actually ordered a mayo sub), eleventy billion graham crackers and something that was supposed to pass for vanilla pudding. I even had a swig or two of chocolate milk out of a carton.

This morning, I was faced with my arch-nemisis, hospital french toast. During my pregnancy, I was hospitalized for 2 weeks in the second trimester with threatened pre-term labor. Hospital food is...well, hardly food, but for some reason the french toast rocked my world and I ordered it every.single.day, even writing it in when it wasn't on the menu itself (as a long-term patient, I knew they had it down there even if they weren't advertising it). Fourteen days of french toast--that's a lot of egg and milk soaked bread fried in butter, my friends. Man, did that taste good. So when it came this morning on my son's breakfast tray and he refused to eat it? I ate it. I cut off the crusts and offered every single bite of it to Ethan first, but I did eat it.

And when Husband brought me a grande chai tea latte? I drank it. And when Ethan wouldn't eat the muffin Husband brought for him? I ate half of it. Somewhere mid-way through that muffin the fog cleared and threw the rest of it away, like I was re-entering my body and realizing for the first time what I was doing.

I am the queen of emotional eating and it seemed no amount of "don't eat that, Fat Sarah!" in my head could counteract my hand from reaching for the food. It wasn't even good food. Most of it was utter crap. But I ate it anyway. Sigh.

On a side note, as I watched Biggest Loser last night I realized one of the women went from 168 to 160 this week. I had to laugh, as I lay there next to my son and digesting a mountain of crap food I didn't need to eat but did, that she lost in one week what I have spent an entire year trying to get rid of. Granted, if I were on the show and had the chance to work out that hard daily, with that type of rigorous nutritional plan, I'd be giving Nicole Ritchie a run for her money, but still....it was kind of a kick while I was down to see those specific numbers after having eaten my body-weight in junk.

I have no idea what I weigh today. I am focusing on the happiness of putting that hospital stay behind us and the fact that Ethan's on his way to a full recovery. I can step on the scale tomorrow and begin the marathon all over again if I have to.

This is the Week...

2007-12-09T08:33:00.001-08:00

I got up this morning and I was holding steady at 161. That means, if I can keep it up, this is the week I wave goodbye to the 160's. It's been a long year hanging out here--hopefully it won't take me whole year to wave goodbye to the 150's.

Although, if I'm totally honest, I hope that by summertime, I am watching the scale inch it's way (slowly) back up. It's difficult to know that this weight loss is temporary and really in an effort to get ready to gain again. I certainly hope a second pregnancy doesn't bring me another 40lbs (although, it was only 30 until my c-section and then they pumped me full of 10lbs of fluids). The plan is to get as much weight off before getting knocked up and then eating like I already have gestational diabetes from the second I see that second line.

The first time I got pregnant, I had been at such a comfortable weight for so long, and had lost the excess chub so long ago, I simply thought, "eh, I lost it once; I'll just lose it again!" in a cavalier sort of way. I had clearly forgotten the hours of hunger I had put myself through the first time, not to mention the sugar withdrawals that gave me headaches and made me go to bed with the sunset just so I wouldn't snack. Those things were not conducive to dealing with a newborn. So the weight (except for the 10lbs of water I got rid of over the course of 3 days) stayed put.

Oh, I also just assumed throughout my entire pregnancy that breastfeeding would melt away the pounds like "they" claim it does. Huh. I guess it's not until after you start nursing and noticing that the weight isn't going anywhere that all these women come out of the woodwork and say, "I know! I didn't lose an ounce until I weaned junior! Then the fat just fell off of me!" Well, nothing is melting off of me, I can assure you, but the scale did become a bit more pliable after Ethan weaned. So I will know this time around that I cannot eat that piece of cheesecake and assume that it will magically transform itself into breastmilk for my child when the time comes. It will stay cheesecake flab on my ass (or under my bra strap---mmmm, pretty).

So there are lots of reasons for me to believe that I will be able to handle myself more cautiously with food the next time around and that I won't find myself stuck for eighteen months at essentially the same weight I was when I gave birth. But still, as I watch the scale put up smaller numbers by the week, I am starting to realize what a blow to my system it will be to see those numbers climb back up again.

Here's to hoping that the next couple of months of weight loss prepare me for a safer, healthier pregnancy, so I can actually get up and walk around this time (as opposed to 4m of bedrest) and keep the scale from bouncing up to the outer limits of the stratosphere...

It's the Little Things...

2007-12-08T08:47:00.001-08:00

It seems like every store I go into this season is trying to lure me to buy something with the promise of a sweet nibble at the register. I've seen it now in several stores, the latest one being Pottery Barn Kids (where I have totally bought into the idea that my child might end up torturing kittens one day if we don't prove our undying love to him with a personalized Anywhere Chair this holiday season--but this is a topic for another blog).

This morning as Husband and I exited PBK empty-handed (apparently everyone else also NEEDS this particular chair), we stumbled across a bowl of assorted chocolatey treats and I was faced with my first real temptation of the week. It is easy for me to walk past a bowl of hard candy. I'll eat a Wherthers or a peppermint if pressed (you know, by those gangs of roving peppermint pushers), but they aren't really something I find myself lusting after.
Chocolate, however, is a different story. Like most women (I hate to be so unoriginal), I share a certain connection with chocolate that to be umbilical in nature. I must have an entire section of the brain (the Happy-thalamus, perhaps) that thrives on the stuff and that part of the brain is apparently quite the addict.

So to see an entire bowl of mini hersey's and reeses peanut butter cups just sitting there for the taking....well, it was an ordeal of epic proportions for me, as hyperbolic as that sounds. It's easier, in my opinion, to turn down the giant slab of chocolate cake than it is to turn down a little, seemingly harmless, peanut butter cup. I tell myself, "eh, it's just one little piece of chocolate; I shouldn't always be denying myself, right? I mean, if I never let myself have any chocolate, I will end up just binging on it one day anyway! So I should definitely, definitely have this piece of chocolate."

The problem with that isn't the logic behind it. Of course it's good to treat yourself, on occasion, to the treat that is your passion. Everything in moderation is a fine way to live, no doubt. The problem is, I say that to myself EVERY.SINGLE.TIME I come across a piece of chocolate. So it's a flawed rationale because I am using it as an excuse to constantly eat that small piece of chocolate. And when you eat 3-4 small pieces of chocolate, my friend, you may as well have had that giant slab of cake.

Today, though, I took a deep breath and walked past the bowl of chocolate. And I actually feel kind of good about it. I know it doesn't mean that the numbers will necessarily be lower the next time I step on the scale, but I do know it means I took one little step to make sure they aren't higher...

Scale, Scale, on the floor...

2007-12-07T08:42:00.000-08:00

161.

Stupid yogurt and grapenuts for lunch & chicken and asparagus for dinner. They just make me long for chocolate cake.

But I'm happy with the scale today, so sigh...it's worth it.

The Devil Wears Denim...

2007-12-06T09:15:00.000-08:00

Or..."A fat girl's lament over trying to buy jeans"

I live in jeans. Since leaving the work force to pursue my life-long dream of being spit-up on and wiping a snotty nose, I have pretty much forgone the niceties of Anne Taylor Loft and Banana Republic for the more basic attire offered at say, Old Navy and the Gap. I am deeply entrenched in a "jeans and t-shirt" lifestyle these days and there are times when I long to bust out of that and wear a cute skirt and a kicky pair of heels. But it's not so convenient and honestly, it doesn't feel as good in my chubby body as it did in my thinner one. So I tend to think I will avoid cute skirts and the like until such time as I can feel a bit more flirty and less frumpy when cavorting in them.

So that leaves me with yoga pants (shamefully, there is no yoga happening in my life, so that's kind of false advertising), khakis (which I do own, but they've never been my style. I am not a fan of beige), and the ever-present jeans. Always mid-rise, always dark wash--because who needs to see the pooch and dark is always slimming.

But finding a pair of jeans that fit and feel good has always been an enigma to me. I see women who look so comfortable and natural in their jeans it's like they grew them right out of their own skin and I wonder, how in the hell did you manage that?

The first bone I have to pick is with the Gap. You and your whole "Long and Lean" line. Never has a line of jeans been so woefully misnamed, almost so blatantly a ploy at sucking up, it is pathetic. I walked through the Gap one time last year, post maternity jeans, pre-anything vaguely resembling the size 8s I'd been wearing for years. I was hiking up my yoga pants and blowing hair out of my eyes, no doubt, when the vulture of sales rep said from behind the counter, "You should try our Long and Leans! They'll look great on you!"

Please take a moment to note that she said this, with a straight face, to a 168lbs woman who stands 5'5''. I am, by even the kindest estimation, neither long NOR lean. And yet, here was this minion of the demin-devil smiling at me without a hint of irony, suggesting a jean whose named mocked me with wild abandon.

I humored her. I fished a size 12 out of the pile (wouldn't you know it, wedged in between a size 2 and a size 4--ah, the humiliation of it all) and wheeled Ethan's giant stroller into the handicapped dressing room. I thought, in a perfect world, when I tried them on, the lower 1/2 of my body would magically transform into Heidi Klum (she's had 3 children, I've only had one--it could happen. maybe. not).

Yeah, that didn't happen. I stayed 5'5'' and 168lbs. But, lo and behold, the jeans did fit. Nicely. I was distraught at the size on the tag, but as a chubby girl, you learn not to focus on the number on the tag, just how you feel and look in a particular item (how sad that I could teach a class--Chubby Girls Self-Esteem 101).

I realized as I was shelling out my $60 at the checkout counter that they had totally gotten me. These jeans weren't for women who ARE long and lean. They are for tubbers like me who want to believe we CAN BE long and lean. The name is such a temptation--"ooooh, chubby girl, try on these jeans and you, too, can look tall and skinny." If Eve had been a chubby girl, the snake could have easily offered her these jeans instead of an apple and who knows how the history of the world would have turned out.

So fine. I get home with my Long and Lean (and it may even be Long 'n Lean, which is even more obnoxious). And I love them. They are exceedingly comfortable and they look great on me. But then they do this thing after I've worn them maybe a 1/2 dozen times. They stretch. A lot. I'm not talking, a little give so you throw them in the dryer and *poof!* tight jeans again. No, I mean, they stretch so much that I've been known to pull them off without unbuttoning or unzipping them--they just wooosh! slide right off.

This may be good in some circumstances, like shaving nanoseconds off of foreplay when your kid FINALLY goes to sleep at night, but could wake at any moment and probably will. I am grateful for the ease with which they slide right off on those occasions.

BUT, it is not such a welcome thing when you are carrying your child in one arm, a bag in the other, walking through a parking lot.....and your pants start to fall down. Right off your ass. Even with a belt. Ah yes, good times.

So, you say, "Fat Sarah, it's time for a smaller size jean! That's great!" Except it isn't. Because no brand under the sun makes a size 10 that I can fit my ginormous butt into (and it's not the butt actually, it's the pooch; 10s fit nicely everywhere else on me, but I can't sip them. Sigh). I have even started a habit of randomly trying on size 10 jeans when I go shopping, to see if, just in case, some line has decided to take into consideration the sizable buddha-belly that many moms are left with after having kids. And I've tried on size 12s in other brands and lines. All too big.

Sadly, my friends, I am no clearly identifiable size.

So, if you see a woman on the streets of DC, wearing jeans that really seem to be several sizes too big for her, and muttering to herself, "stupidfuckingjeans" while she tries to hike them up...that could be me. Just do us both a favor and look away because it just ain't pretty.

ssssshhhhhhhh....

2007-12-03T05:31:00.001-08:00

I don't to jinx it, so I should keep my ginormous mouth shut.

Still 162.

Two Steps Forwards, or Lighter,

2007-12-02T07:31:00.000-08:00

as the case may be. Today when I stepped on the scale, I was at 162. That's 2 lbs down from the last time I stepped on the scale (maybe a day ago?). Normally, one would be thrilled at a 2lb loss, wouldn't they? Sure. Not me.

It's not that I'm greedy and need to a bigger number of shed pounds. It's that I know the next time I step on the scale, it could say 165 or even higher. Even if I step on the scale 45 minutes from now, it won't say the same thing. It never does. My body weight fluctuates 3-5 lbs by the minute. So while I rarely see anything above 164 these days, I often see readings between 161 and 164. They all mean I really weigh 164. Not much point in getting excited about anything that doesn't mark a distinct 5lb difference.

Sigh. I know, I know. "Fat Sarah, you aren't supposed to get on the scale more than once a week!" Clearly, anonymous voice trying to speak sense, you just don't know me. I have a tendency to obsess and I am, sadly, all about instant gratification. If I want to make a particular purchase, I must do it immediately. I can go months without getting my hair cut, but the minute I decide it's time for a trim (or a radical new 'do), I must get my ass to the salon that day. So it is difficult for me to ponder my weight and then convince myself to wait until next week to find out what it is. It's just not happening.

So I step on the scale often; sometimes 2-3 times a day (*hanging head in shame*). I know it's not right, but it's who I am and it's actually made this process easier to deal with to just accept that. Before, when I was a closet-weigher, I not only felt guilty about my weight, but also the fact that I was constantly on the scale. Now that I've given in to that part of my nature, it's easier to see the numbers, refocus my intentions and not beat myself up over the fact that I need to see the numerical proof that I am indeed, a bit of a tubber. I've actually found myself, (and I don't honestly know if this is healthy or not) curbing a craving for mindless chomping by running up the stairs, stepping on the scale and coming back to reality when the digits appear. Again, I'm not sure if it's the healthiest way to go about it, but hey, at least I ran up the stairs, right?

But it is Sunday, and that's only a 1-weigh a day-er. So it's nice that I at least have the image of a 2-lb weight loss in my mind for the rest of the day, even if I know it isn't a number I can rely on to be there for me tomorrow.

So, let's have a Dr. Phil moment...

2007-12-01T09:15:00.000-08:00

Don't get me wrong, I am not a fan. Dr. Phil, in my opinion, has no right to give anyone advice on how to lose weight (hello, "Dr", you're a bit of a tubber yourself, no?), but I have to admit, much as he's gone the way of Springer and Povich in recent seasons, I always admired his whole, "How's that working for you?" and "It's time to get real about your life" mantras. You know, back when he was trying to actually help people change their lives rather than cramming Klansmen and African Americans together in the DRPHILHOUSE, just to create a spectacle akin to a massive train wreck.

So I guess that's what I have to do--I have to sit back and stop rationalizing. I have to stop making bargains with myself ("you can have your chai and muffin on Saturdays and Sundays if you don't during the week. Oh, but you can have sugar free hot chocolate every day of your life. And a splash of that peppermint creamer won't hurt. As long as you're not having chai and muffins!!").

I have to stop going through the "Okay, I will only eat South Beach diet bars for breakfast and lunch" phases because, sure, I might be able to pull that off, but those are the stretches of time when dinner consists of my body weight in pasta and 2 more South Beach bars before bed.

I have to stop the "Let's see how long I can go without eating" game and congratulating myself with a binge when I make it 5-6 hours, because, well, that just smacks of After School Special: The Eating Disorder.

These are all things I've done in the past year; all with little to no results. Don't get me wrong, I've also gone on long walks, eaten lots of vegetables and fresh fruit. I've turned down unhealthy foods on inumerable occasions. I even bought Nutrition for Dummies. I just haven't opened it yet. And if Dr. Phullofhimself were to ask me about all these silly little games I play, "How's that working for you?" I'd have to admit--it's not working at all.

I know I have to stop playing victim to my own behaviors. I had to do that 6.5 years ago when I lost the weight the first time. I got down to 135 at my lowest and felt downright skinny (even though that's in the middle of my "where you should be" range). The only problem is, I really don't remember how I did it. I know I moved from NH to here. I had lost almost 10 lbs before moving, just with the business of life that comes when planning a major life change. I didn't have time to obsess and fret about every bite. I had even less time to take those bites.

And I guess that's how it was when I first moved here--the stress of the new job and the hours I put into it necessitated far fewer snacks and rushed, tiny meals. I did, however, have time for the gym and I ran, for the first time in my life. I am, not a runner. I am not even close to what one might call a runner. But I did it. And the weight did come off. So perhaps that's what I have to do.

See...that's what I am talking about. "Perhaps". Duh. Um, that's what I have to do. Period.
I'm pretty sure Dr. Phil would call me on the use of the word "perhaps". I'm also pretty sure I've watched way too much Dr. Phil in the past.

Oh, the cruel humiliation of it all...

2007-11-30T23:55:00.000-08:00

Here I am again (thankfully talking to no one, I am sure). It is a multitude of months later and alas, I am still fat.

How is it possible that one can obsess about one's weight, be conscious of every bit of food that goes in one's mouth and yet, almost a year later, still weigh essentially exaclty. the. same. thing?

Yes, in a feat of unprecedented suckiness, I have been losing and gaining back the same 5 pounds for almost a year. This morning, the scale said, 164. The lowest I have managed to get it to read in the past almost 12 months was 159. And that was for one measley day.

Le sigh...

The training? Yeah. Not so much. Don't get me wrong; I did it. I wrote checks for upwards of $1200 and hauled my ass to the gym for the pure humiliation of it all 2 times a week for 3 months. I did lunges the entire length of the gym, holding 12 lb weights in my hands, and I ran flights of stairs until I thought I was going to puke. I really thought I was doing everything right. And I didn't lose a pound. Not one. So, in essence, I spent over a grand to wake up early twice a week, sweat and feel like shit about myself because the fat stayed fat.

My trainer gave me grief about not coming to the gym more and it would have been great if I'd been able to. But I am not a stay at home wife. I am a stay at home mom. That means my entire day is taken up with my son and my evenings are either, a.) pieces of lost time where I space out on the couch because the child has sapped my every last drop of energy or b.) the point in the day where I look around and realize a tornado has hit my house and I have to attend to that mess now that Husband is attending to the mess that is our child. So getting to the gym more than 2 times a week really wasn't an option (rationalize, rationalize, rationalize).

Why not take Ethan to the gym and put him the "casual child care" room? Um. Because they're freaking lunatics. My trainer's estimation of her facility's child care was a vast overstatement, considering the first time I walked in, an angry old lady was yelling at a six month old for crying. Yeah, I sensed from the beginning that this was going to be a place where Ethan would thrive, right? He didn't last long; 20 minutes here and there, but not enough for me to get in a work out and I couldn't leave him there during training b/c the sessions were over an hour from start to finish and the "casual child care" can only be bothered to ignore your child for one hour at a time each day.

So here I am, still in the 160's, still feeling generally like ass about myself and wondering what it is going to take to get rid of this weight. I spent most of my 20's fat. I spent my early 30's happy with my body and now here I am again, mid-30's and fat again.

The reality I have to come to grips with is, this is my life. I do not want to look back and realize that I spent X-amount of my life looking this way, feeling this way, worrying this way. I will never get my 20s back to do over, to be thin. I can't get this time back, either. I have to find a way to make a change.

And let's be clear on one thing; I am not a junk-food, fast-food junkie. I love to treat a hangover with an egg mcmuffin and hashbrown as much as the next person, and on a road trip, I've been known to give into the nutritional sesspool that is Cracker Barrel, but we're talking a couple times a year, tops. I have never purchased a twinkie or a devil dog, nor I have I eaten a chocolate bar in FOR.EVER. I managed to get through the entire month of October this year without eating so much as one piece of Halloween candy. And yet there is still a roll of chub sticking out under my bra that compels me to wear clothing a size too big for me.

So I tend to pout and host all kinds of fabulous pity parties for myself that I eat, in general, very healthfully, and as a matter of fact, have friends whose diets consist of far worse things than mine and yet they are able to slide into size 6s and 8s without ever going to a gym or passing on dessert, while I remain tubby. I bitch and moan about how unfair it is and then, I try to find the ice cream with the lowest sugar content in the grocery store freezer and end up taking a few bites and throwing the carton away when the guilt sets in.

So fine. I'm back. I'll probably end up disappearing again in 4 days, so I won't make lofty and embarrassing promises about writing daily. But just maybe if I am putting it all down here, I'll find some source of motivation and inspiration to shed these 2o pounds.

Elliptical Ride to Hell...

2007-04-24T18:39:00.000-07:00

So I met with my trainer last Thursday. Doomsday. It was not pretty. On their handy-dandy scale, I weighed 169lbs and my BMI is way super high. Bottom line--I'M FAT. And now I really see it. I knew I was chubby and that I weighed more than I wanted to and that I couldn't suck in my tummy anymore. But now, when I look in the mirro or walk by my reflection in a window--I can really see it. I am fat.

Le sigh...

Before doing any weights, my trainer has me jump-starting my poor pathetic fat booty on the elliptical machine. For 40 minutes, at level 7 and 120-130 rpm. If you've not done that--let me tell you, it sucks. Not for the first 10 minutes, mind you. for the first 10 minutes you're like, "This is it? Pffffttt...I can totally do this! Maybe I'm not in such bad shape after all! Yay!" Then, somewhere around minute 11, you begin to feel like someone has attached sandbags to your legs--oh, and those sandbags are on fire.

There is a plus to bringing Ethan with me to the gym. I am supposed to spend 40 minutes on the elliptical trainer, pedaling my way to a heart attack (but a lovely permanent flush in my cheeks), but Ethan generally only lasts 30 minutes or so in the playroom before he has a grade-A meltdown that requires the babysitter to hunt me down and save me from my misery. This is my sneaky way of getting out of those last 10 minutes. Yes, yes--I know, I'm only cheating myself. Yadda yadda yadda....I like to think of it as saving some energy for the next time.

And next time is tomorrow at 7:30am...aren't I usually sleeping at 7:30? Yeah. Oh well, I"m usually fat, too. Guess the times are a-changing...

Personal trainer, take two...

2007-04-14T10:36:00.000-07:00

So last week while I was in Whole Foods getting whole milk, bananas and frozen blueberries to use for smoothies in an attempt fatten up my baby (ah, yes, the cruel irony of fat mama, skinny baby), Ethan's former swimming instructor approached us. She was in the little cafe attached to the store and saw us, and wanted to say "hi". Very sweet. She made me want to take swim classes and I HATE swimming classes (bad memories of Nurse Ratchet style swim instructors from my own youth).

Low and behold, I notice she is wearing Gold's Gym gear. And then she tells me that she's on her lunch break and that she's a personal trainer at one of the Gold's near my house. Gold's gym is the Starbucks of the fitness world. There is practically one on every corner in this town. I can think of four off the top of my head that are within 5 miles of me. That's a lot of muscle-bound meatheads in a tiny space, people. No, wait--there are five. I forgot about one. Yikes.

Anyhoo, I made a passing comment about trying to get back into a routine, but being nervous about the childcare at my current Gold's and she got all excited to tell me how fabulous the childcare is at the Gold's she works for. I figure this is a woman who teaches 6 month olds how to play in water, she's probably got a good idea about basic child care. She said that there are always at least 2-3 sitters on site (as opposed to the one sitter with 12 kids I encountered last Friday at the other gym) which pretty much sold me right there. It's not like Ethan is a monkey climbing the walls or playing with knives. He just needs someone to keep an eye on him and that's hard to do when there are 11 other kids in the mix and only one set of eyes.

Long story short, Jenny is my new personal trainer. I cancelled the appointment I had for today (which I would be at this very moment. What a bummer that I won't know exactly how fat I am until this coming Thursday. Damn). Hopefully she will whip me into shape and I won't have to be pre-occupied with thoughts of my child being trampled by fifteen muscle-bound, sweatband-wearing toddlers while I work out.

If...

2007-04-10T19:20:00.000-07:00

If weight watchers mini chocolate cakes are only 1 point a piece and I am allowed 32 points a day, can I just eat 4 boxes of mini chocolate cakes?

Biggest Loser..

2007-04-09T18:49:00.000-07:00

I think this show needs to be on ALL. YEAR. LONG. I am always so inspired by it (and constantly grateful that the people on the show weigh so much more than me). I think if it were on, say, every night at dinner time, I would be able to maintain some motivation. What is the hot trainer's name? Bob? I want to be on his team. I can totally see myself vomiting after running an 8 minute mile and doing 100 crunches just to impress him (with the physical activity, not the puking).

The only thing that horrifies me about that show is when I see the women start to get close to my size at the weigh-ins. Secretly, I want to be at a weight that is untouchable to them. When they get to 170 or so, I start wishing them ill, like maybe they'll fall off the wagon and sneak a pint of Ben & Jerry's when no one is looking. It's not nice. Go ahead and judge me, internet.

And then, they come back and do the final weigh in and the girl who wins always weighs less than me. And I realize, if I had just stuck to eating less and working out more, in the amount of time she went from 240lbs to 130lbs, I could be like, Nicole Ritchie. Sigh.

But it's Biggest Loser off-season, so I have to find my motivation elsewhere. I am toying with the idea of putting a picture of Jessica Biehl on my fridge, but that seems a bit eating-disorder-ish and hello, she's like 22 years old. I think my days of aspiring to a stripper's body are probably pretty much over. But hrm....Halle Berry's older than me, isn't she? So is Demi Moore....Again, sigh....

Today was all right. Husband is out of town for business, so dinner consisted of a bowl of cereal. Of course, we were out of skim milk, so I had to steal some of Ethan's whole milk. Good god, that was a tasty bowl of cereal. You never realize how skim is basically white water until you are treated to whole milk. It was like having cereal ice cream....yummmmm.

All that Glitters...

2007-04-08T14:58:00.000-07:00

So I have a membership at Gold's gym. Surprising, you might think, considering I do not wear shiney spandex leotards a la Charlie's Angels when I work out. Nor do I wear a big terry cloth headband with matching wrist bands and step on the treadmill with a full face of makeup meticulously applied. And clearly I'm not a protein-shake drinking muscle-bound body builder. So I don't really fit the Gold's Gym stereotype, but they offered teachers in my district a killer membership deal a few years ago, so every afternoon around 4pm, you can find a gaggle of academic nerdy types sweating along side the veiny, muscley gym rats and permy-coifed, primary colored lycra set.

I started going again this past week, before I recommitted to humiliating myself daily in this blog. On Friday, in a rush of motivation and on my "runner's high" (yeah, I'll give you a minute to stop laughing, because I am giggling, too at the ridiculousness of it! it is so not possible to get a runner's high after 20 minutes of trotting on the treadmill) I put my name down for personal training sessions. I then scooped Ethan up from the "casual child care center" next to the front desk and went about my day, completely forgetting that my name was sitting on that list, just waiting for perky Liz to see it and call me with her triple dog dare to get in shape. Damn Liz.

She called on Saturday AM. I can already tell she's totally type A and that I'm going to want to kill her. Be prepared for entry upon entry about how much I want this woman to burn in hell for telling me what my body mass index is (code for "how damn fat I am") and for making me use the elliptical trainer on like level 10.

Anyway, I have my first session with her next Saturday at 1pm. So I celebrated today by having pancakes for breakfast. I know. Shut up.

Seriously, people. This is bad...

2007-04-07T07:19:00.000-07:00

So it's 4 months later. I haven't posted at all; had you noticed? I also haven't lost ONE. DAMN. POUND. I swear. My body is stuck. Stuck. stuck. stuck. stuck.

People keep telling me, "you look great! Are you losing weight? Have you lost weight?" Um. No. You're just being nice and we both know it because I look as fat as I did the last time you saw me. Just as fat. No thinner. Still the same weight.

So here it is people: renewed accountability. I will post, even if it just a boring list of the crap I ate, every. single. day. ALL OF THEM. And I will tell you if I worked out, for how long, what I did and how much I hated every single minute of it. And you have a job, too, if you are bored and desperate enough to read this silliness---if I don't post or if I don't work out or if I admit to eating crap---KICK ME IN THE ASS FOR IT! I need the internet to tell me I'm a fat blob (in a "I'm doing this for your own good" sort or way, not a "haha! I hate you, you big fatty!" way, please!) to motivate me to lean it up.

Hopefully this will become more than just a collection of boring food and exercise lists. I have battled with weight for my entire life, so I probably have tons of witty and insightful ideas to share. Maybe.

So what are my big trouble spots, you "might" ask? I still like to say that at least 10 of my 166 lbs are in my boobs and while they are still a food source, there's not much I can do about that. So I would say my boobs are a "trouble" area, but that's not really fair, right? (this is called "rationalizing" & it is my forte).

I also am cursed with ginormous upper arms. Lovely if I were part of a crew team or an Olympic swimmer. Unfortunately, I am an almost middle-aged housewife with arm-flab. Being almost middle-aged has nothing to do with it, actually. When I was in college and fat (as opposed to when I was in college and skinny, which was earlier), I was in two weddings where the bride wanted the bridesmaid dresses custom made. Both seamstresses measured my upper arms as TWO full dress sizes bigger than the rest of my body. That's purty! Blech.

And whose thighs are these?? Seriously. I have NO idea where they came from or who they came from, all I know is someone is walking around with MY thighs in what can only be the most unfair trading of thighs ever in the history of the world.

And then of course, there is the curse of the post-pregnancy belly. I've always had a bit of a buddha-belly and I've made peace with that because you know? We can't have it all. I figured my strong, fit legs and reasonably rockin' ass were a fair trade for a bit of pudge in my belly. Well, now the strong, fit legs and rockin' ass are sporting an extra layer of insulation, as is the belly. Sigh.

So there you have it--boobs, arms, belly. I'm still okay with the legs and the butt, mostly because if I admit that those are trouble spots as well, I've basically admitted my entire body is crap right now, and I'm just not prepared to do that! :-)

I did go to the gym twice this week. Felt fabulous, but I admit I spent more energy worrying about Ethan in the "casual child care" center than I spent running and doing the weight machines. This might be more rationalizing....

Week One...

2007-01-09T18:41:00.000-08:00

The scale this AM read 166. I am down 4 pounds. Yay! that is a good start, no? It doesnt' mean I'll be wearing a slinky black thing to the wedding I am going to in Hondras in less than a month, but it's a start. I had planned on buying those Spanx sucky-innie things (their technical name, I believe), to camouflage all the wobbly bits. But it was pointed out to me that it might be a bit hot in Honduras for all that lycra and spandex. So I will be sucking it in all night without any elastic help. Damn. I guess lunch tomorrow will be a scrumptuous piece of lettuce....

What have I done differently? I guess I've just eaten a little bit less. No Starbucks during the week. Smaller portions. No ice cream at night. More salads.

This week I will drink more water b/c man, I am parched.

First day...not a banner day.

2007-01-02T18:19:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I started strong. At least in the "deprivation" category, which is soooo wrong. We had nothing for breakfast. Nada. Zilch. Not a good plan, I know. Rule #1 of the diet--be prepared. I, on the other hand, scavenged. There wasn't much to eat, so breakfast was a tiny little muffin and a glass of low sugar OJ. Then there was copious cuddling and napping with my little man. Lunch consisted of a turkey, cheese & mustard wrap--fabulously in keeping with the spirit of the diet. Then I complimented my health lunch with a 3 mile walk to Starbucks to meet a friend. I managed to avoid all manner of tasty treats at Starbucks and settled for a cup of herbal tea w/ a Splenda packet.

here's the problem: lunch was at noon. Tea was at 4pm. After tea, (um...not filling to begin with, by the way), came a great empty space where no food was cosumed again until 7pm. This is a bad idea. That was 7 hours with nothing to eat. Seven long, hungry, food-deprived hours that turned on the "beast" in me. Dinner consisted of a Baja Fresh burrito, 1/2 a muffin and all the M&M's I could shove in my mouth before I started feeling guilty (surprisingly, that is a LOT of M&Ms).

Alas, I fear today was a bust. But I will not fret. Tomorrow I am all about the grocery shopping and the planning. My goal tomorrow is to drink the whole 8 glasses of water thing b/c aside from being a smidge of a porker these days, my skin is hearkening back to 7th grade, which class photos can prove was NOT my most attracitve year, skin (or hair) wise. Maybe that's what I should do---tack up a picture of my fat, zitty 7th grade self on the fridge. Yikes. That might keep me out of the kitchen altogether....

Buh-bye, Fat Sarah

2006-12-29T07:00:00.000-08:00

So let's just say I'd like to blame the pregnancy and the months of bedrest for my backfat and my jiggly arms and all my other "wobbly bits" at Bridget Jones would call them. But let's face it--the product of that pregnancy and all that bed-lounging is going to be 8 months old next week. One would have thought that somewhere between May 5 and December 29, Mama could have shed a few pounds. And she could have. Had she not been enjoying chai tea lattes and ice cream and Chipotle. But she has been enjoying the aforementioned treats as well as anything else chocolate-y and yummy she can get her chubby little fingers on. And thus, what was 185 pounds immediately after delivery is now somewhere in the vacinity of 170 pounds. A far cry from the 135 of my wedding day (and even then I wanted to be 125).

But Sarah, you've lost 15 pounds! That's not bad! This could only be said to me by people who don't realize that technically, given the water weight, the placenta and all that jazz, I should have walked out of the hospital 20 pounds lighter immediately. And the lovely mantra of "9 up, 9 down", which I chanted to myself daily until about 7 months post-partum when I realized that meant I only had two months left to lose 35 pounds. And Nicole Ritchie, I ain't. Mama likes her food.

Initially I planned to gauge myself against two of my pregnant friends, each due just days from now. I told myself, "Well, I'll be at my pre-pregnancy weight by the time they have their babies." I figured that gave me oodles of time to get all svelte. Hmmmph. One of them, at her heaviest in her pregnancy hasn't managed to pack on enough pounds to even touch my wedding-day weight, so even if I were at my pre-pregnancy weight by the time she delivered, I'd still look like a big old fatty conpared to her! My other friend gained like a happy and hungry pregnant lady, so she weighs about what I weigh---now.

So here I am--170-ish pounds, three days before the new year. I say "ish" because I am one of those women whose weight varies by up to 3-4 pounds by the minute. Everytime I step on the scale I am likely to see a number different from the one I saw 20 minutes ago. And that is stripped down, bare-naked weight. It's not like I'm wearing a thicker sock at one weigh-in. I don't know how it happens; but an extra couple of pounds just appears and vanishes (they always come back, though, the pesky little fuckers).

My goal: 135 pounds. My time frame: January 2nd-May 5th.

My strategy: Um, I'm still working on this one. I know that when I get to a certain weight, my body has an easy time staying there unless I totally binge and junk out. So I am probably going to do some pretty restrictive eating until I get to my goal, then slowly start seeing what my body will tolerate to stay in a certain weight range. We are having a New Year's Day brunch on the 1st, during which I plan to eat like it was my job. People will leave our house muttering, "No wonder she's such a cow; did you see her with that quiche?" And I don't care. Because the next day, a mulititude of food items that make me swoon with pleasure will cease to be food items to me for the next several months. Chai tea lattes will have all the consumability of a wooden chair leg. (This is how my kosher friend explained to me how she doesn't feel she's missing out by not being able to eat lobster, shrimp, etc.--"to me, its as absurd to eat those things as it would be for me to go gnaw on that table leg; it's just not food." Damn her, and her skinny kosher ass.)

There will also be exercising. A long time ago, I belonged to a gym. Then, when I was hospitalized for preterm labor last March, I had one of my doctors write me a note to "get out of gym". If you read my other blog, you might remember that. Well, I got the note and all, but I never sent it in; so officially, I still belong to the gym. I even went once, back in July. So, yes, I went to the gym ONCE this year. At $40/month, that was a really pricey trip to the gym. So perhaps now I will start taking advantage of that as well as getting myself a jogging stroller (since we're clearly not going to have a flake of snow or a daytime temperature below 40 this winter in DC). I tried to job once with our metrolite stroller....let's just say one shouldn't jog with a stroller that has a break located at the natural fall of your foot. More than once, I almost took a header over the stroller as it came to a complete stop and my huffing, puffing body just kept on going. I hope it was at least entertaining for the little one.

So wish me luck. I will be ranting and raving with the sugar withdrawals and bitching and moaning when I dont' weigh 120 pounds by January 5th. All of my patience is consumed by the little one these days; there is not much to go around, least of all to myself. But, a new year, a new Sarah.