Evacuate the dance floor!

Dear Internetz,

I have a new addiction. It's Dance Central for the Kinect. I just spent 1 hour and 45 minutes DANCING, doing everything I could to score 5 stars on each song, and beat the scores of my husband's Xbox Live friends. This is funny because I'm very uncoordinated, I look ridiculous doing 99% of the moves, but I'm extremely competitive and MUST BEAT EVERYONE'S SCORE! The last time this happened an obsession with Wii Fit was born and 70 pounds were lost. So, I guess I'll see you sometime next year as I will be taking up new residence in front the family room television once again.

Love,
Kate

2011 New Year Resolutions

I anticipate 2011 will be a year of  rediscovery and changing my frame of mind. Back in 2008 I reached a point where I really did not like the person I'd become and small step by small step I changed everything I hated to become someone I loved. I plan to do it again, and this is how: 

1. Be more positive.
I wish I could understand where this abundance of negativity is coming from. I've always been a "grass is always greener" kind of gal but what I've been experiencing and exuding this last year is ugly even for me. I feel like I never have anything upbeat to say and my thoughts are very, very dark. I've convinced myself it's all a conspiracy, that the whole world is out to get me and they want me to feel like shit. I've never felt so alone in my life and I'm pretty sure it's all my own doing. This year I need to promise myself that I'll stop jumping to conclusions and thinking the worst of people. I have to look in the mirror and not out the window.

2. Make time for myself.
I played with the wording on this one for a long time. I needed a resolution that encouraged me to take care of myself, to be healthy, to read books, to get a manicure, or take a bubble bath. I needed something to remind me to look after myself too, and when I stopped to think about why I haven't done these things in the last year it's because I don't have time. That's what I told myself anyway. I've put so much time and energy in trying to be Wonder Mom and Wonder Wife that I lost my own sense of self-worth in the process, subsequently destroying all attempts at being the best ME I can be for myself and my family. This year I need to make the time. I can't be Wonder Mom or Wonder Wife when I don't like myself or who I have become. I need to be proud of who I am and appreciative of what I have and I can only do that through rediscovering my confidence and slowing down just enough to look around and enjoy my life.

3. Continue to play and grow with Owen.
My son is amazing. He's taught me patience, love, understanding, and my heart grows a little bigger every time I witness him notice something new about the world. This past Christmas -- his first Christmas -- he looked at every package, took off the decorative bow, and turned around to play contentedly with his new "toy". He didn't need what was inside because he was more than happy with the free stuff on the surface. He has an appreciation for everything no matter how big or small and I want to be there every step of the way to enjoy this time and learn everything I can from this precious little boy.

4. Find a confidant.
My husband is my best friend but I've come to realize that my husband cannot handle listening to my worries and woes -- not because he isn't a good listener -- but because it tears him apart when he can't fix whatever worry or woe I've brought to him. I need to find someone I can vent to. I need someone who can nod their head while I bitch/scream/cry, tell me it will all be okay, and then we'll be on our merry way. Constructive criticism or advice are always welcome but not required. I think this blog will have to do for the time being but it's a lot easier to vent when I don't have to worry about making sense (or sounding completely sane) to the masses.

5. Cover my family in bubble wrap and place them in a padded room.
I know, I know, I'm only setting myself up to fail with this one because there is no way anyone in their right mind would let me cover them in plastic and lock them in a room all year, but given the losses we've suffered this year it's awfully tempting. What I can do is encourage everyone to make the time to take care of themselves too. I know a few family members who have made resolutions to get back in shape and I can help motivate them by providing advice and encouragement. Now that I'm a non-smoker (exactly 1.5 years smoke-free as of today!!!) I can take a stand and help motivate the last few family members and friends to stop smoking as well. I can't forcefully protect anyone but I can offer my time and experience as means to help make the most of their health.

Now that's what I call a workout!

Face the color of beets, clothes sticking to skin, and legs can barely carry my weight. Damn, that feels good!

Now for some Jimmy Johnson and Survivor...

Weekly Progess Report: Week 1

(This was written and should have been posted last Friday. I must have been working out so hard that I completely forgot! Yeah, that's it...)

Current Weight: 195 lbs (-5)

Average workout duration: 60 min.

Average daily consumption: 2100 calories

Feeling: Tired, but surprisingly good considering I have to wake up by 5:00 AM to maintain some semblance of a workout routine. What's that old saying? You have to expend energy to create energy? I think that's what I've done here. There were days this week when Jon turned to me and asked, "How are you still going?" It may shock him, but it makes me proud. I haven't had extra energy for a long time, and it feels so good! Actually, I'm kind of convinced just learning I was pregnant with Owen sucked all the energy right out of me for well over a year.

That being said, I feel good now, but I hope to feel even better in the coming weeks. I have a long road ahead of me and I hope to tighten my belt (no pun intended, har har) and see even faster progress soon.

Eating Excuses

I had come within 40 pounds of my goal weight before finding out I was pregnant with Owen. I realize 40 pounds still sounds like a long way to go but when you start out with 120 to lose, you can almost taste victory with only 40 left. You start letting yourself belief that soon you'll be able to shop in ANY clothing store, that soon you'll be able to put on your swimsuit and still feel confident, that it was only a matter of days before you'll feel truly comfortable in your own skin for the first time in your life. Well, that's how I felt at least. 70 pounds lost in one year and I was in the best shape of my life.

Most of you have known me long enough, or have been reading this blog long enough, to remember what I was like in those first 3 or 4 months of my pregnancy: scared to death. I was so completely convinced I was going to lose my baby, so convinced the second I became comfortable and let myself enjoy the idea of finally having a baby it would die in my womb and I'd be left with an incurable broken heart. I never mentioned it here, but I even stopped exercising completely because I thought the safest thing for my baby would be to lay around on the couch all day. I had just been laid off by Reader's Digest which only enabled the situation. I didn't have to work, I didn't have anywhere to go, so I hauled up on the couch and watched the Discovery Health Channel and rubbed my belly all day. It didn't take long before I was justifying nightly binge eating by thinking I may never have the chance to experience pregnancy again, so why deny myself anything? And while it is true--we may never be so blessed again--I have found myself 30 pounds heavier and really confused by how I ever managed to lose so much weight before! I don't understand where the discipline came from, or the energy, or the overall motivation. I obviously had more time. I recorded every morsel of food that entered my mouth, every calorie I burned in exercise, and worked out every day for 60 minutes or more.

I don't have that kind of time now, but I can take some time to look after myself. I have to take some time to look after myself. I crave being comfortable in my skin again. I want to enjoy shopping for clothes again. Most of all, Owen deserves a confident Mama. His life can only benefit by me improving my quality of life.

So, it starts now, while I'm sitting solidly at an even 200 pounds. I've been bouncing around between 190 and 200 since having Owen. My goal will be small and just shoot for the 170 pounds I'd reached before letting myself go during pregnancy. I may never hit the 120 pound goal I had originally, but I don't care about that anymore. I've spent most of my life accusing the world of being fat phobic, but I think I've finally realized that it's not the world that's fat phobic, it's me. Expect a short update and weekly weigh-in in the months to come.

Looking Forward

I just finished reading four months of archives (November 2008 - March 2009) and I've come up empty handed on any 2009 New Year Resolutions. Turns out I didn't make any, or if I did, they were never written down. I have to say I was a little surprised at first, but when I started reading through those archives I realized I didn't really need to make any resolutions. In my mind I had already accomplished the inconceivable: I liked myself! And the only reason I ever made resolutions in the first place was to map out a way of coming to terms with who I was by the end of the next year, and hope beyond hope that I liked that person a little better than the person I was when I made the resolutions.

That being said, I couldn't have possibly prepared myself for the multiple speed bumps 2009 had in store for me. I had no way of knowing that I would lose my job, or that I would finally become pregnant, or that I would find a much better job with better people and better pay and a better commute just to live in fear of whether or not they would freak out when I finally admitted I was pregnant. I couldn't have known that I would fly in an airplane or see the lights of Las Vegas for the first time. I never would have guessed I'd come within 40 pounds of my goal weight...even if it was just in time to see it replaced by a 30 pound belly that kicks back whenever I poke it.

2009 has been quite a journey. It has included the highest ups and some the lowest downs of my life, but I wouldn't change it for the world.

I won't even pretend to know what I can do to better myself in 2010. I can't conceive how different life will be with a baby, but I do know one thing for sure: I want to be the best mommy I can be. I want to be the mother who is madly in love, attentive, interested, and active in her child's life. I can't promise to lose the baby weight, or start saving for college right away, or to keep the house immaculate at all times. All I can do is promise to do my best, and love this little miracle for all he's worth.

Putting it all in perspective

I can't believe I'm about to say this, but here goes nothing:

I weighed in at 201 pounds at my 24 week appointment on Thursday.

I'm trying very hard not to worry unnecessarily about my weight during my pregnancy. The last thing I want is to have an unhealthy relationship with food when I have a very important responsibility to make sure that my baby is getting enough of it. Instead, I'm trying my very best to keep a healthful perspective by understanding that putting on too much weight could be dangerous for the baby, but not putting on enough could be even worse. That's how I justify a 29 pound weight gain anyway (10 of which were gained before I even knew I was pregnant).

It is a little disheartening, however, when I look back to this time last year and see how very hard I struggled to get below that 200 pound mark. It was nearly impossible with the holidays and constantly being surrounded by delicious food that I refused to deny myself. I just did the best I could to avoid overeating and I worked out like a machine. I don't think it was until late December or early January that the scales finally tipped to 198 pounds, and it wasn't until mid-January--when all of the leftovers had disappeared--that the scale remained that low. Of course, then I spent the next four months slowly, frustratingly shaving off another 26 pounds, and when the scale just wouldn't go any lower than 172 pounds for the entire month of June I stopped paying attention and took a break from dieting.

Little did I know my body was creating a cozy little home for an embryo and I had been pregnant for most of the month of June.

I never once thought I'd get pregnant before I reached my goal weight, not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't truly believe that I would get pregnant even after reaching my goal weight. I didn't think it was ever going to happen for us. I would lie awake at night wondering how horrific the argument would be when Jon decided to approach me about adoption and I would have to finally admit that I didn't want to do it. I would have to be that terrible person who said we either have our children, or we don't have children at all. There's a story and fear behind my feeling this way, but it's for another time. Bottom line is, Jon always said if we exhausted all avenues and I still couldn't get pregnant, then we would just adopt children, but I have yet to muster enough courage to tell him that I don't think I ever could adopt a child, and I've always feared that because he wanted children so badly, this conversation could be the end of our marriage.

So, here I am, at 201 pounds. Full of baby, full of life, and full of food that I've denied myself for a very long time. I'm thinking back to the days when a 29 pound weight gain would have made me snap, and I'm doing it while quietly sitting on my couch and watching my belly jump as our son kicks me from his womb. And I'm looking back at an entry from almost one year ago today and laughing at the irony:

"3 more pounds and I’ll be under 200. October was an absolutely terrible month weight loss wise. Damn you McDonald’s and your evil Monopoly pieces--Ronald should be hanged!"

"Dear God, it’s not like I have to get pregnant right now, it’s just, you know, a sign that I’ll be able to give birth sometime in the foreseeable future would be fabulous. Love, Kate."

This Could Only Happen to My Husband

I lose 70 pounds and my wedding ring is only loose on my finger. Jon loses 20 pounds and his slips right off his finger into a hole.

The good news: We know where it is.

The bad news: It's in his car door and the mechanic wants $65 dollars to get it out.

At least the ring cost more than $65.

Appreciating What I Have

The best part of camping is campfires and the warmth that comes from them, the conversations that can be had around them, and the irresistible food that can be cooked on them.

The second best part of camping is finally coming home to my own shower where the hot water is abundant and I don’t have to worry about whether or not someone can catch a glimpse of my butt through the tiny crack between the cinder block wall and plastic curtain.

Jon and I went camping with a few friends over Memorial Day Weekend. We drank beer, played Cornhole, ate s’mores, walked around the lake, and slept through a thunderstorm. It was probably the best time I have ever had while camping and it was a much-needed retreat from the stress and uncertainty of the last few months.

The weekend also marked the one-year anniversary of the beginning of my weight loss. I made exercise a priority after our Memorial Day Camping Trip 2008 and I started learning about nutrition and viewing my body as a calorie-burning machine as opposed to a nuisance shortly thereafter. Since then I’ve lost a total of 66 pounds. I weighed a staggering 242 pounds last May and I’m now down to 176 pounds. One year ago my favorite pair of jeans were a size 22 and I now fit into a size 12. I started off as morbidly obese and now I’m simply overweight. I used to look in the mirror and see a girl who had given up over a decade ago. Now I look in the mirror and see a woman who loves food but does her best to keep it in check.

I constantly have to do a double take when I look at those numbers because I can’t believe I—the queen of giving up long before trying—actually did this. I think my saving grace was that I actually found it all fun and interesting. Somehow I turned fitness and nutrition into a hobby so I wouldn’t see it as a chore. If I had done this before I was ready or without reading every nutrition-based book I could get my hands on I wouldn’t be where I am, and I certainly wouldn’t be so adamant and eager to continue on to my goal or sustain this new lifestyle. My moment was right and I can’t put into words how proud I am of myself for taking advantage of that moment and making the most of it.

The biggest surprise of the weekend came on Saturday night while we were all congregating around the grill. Our friends presented me with a small green envelope with “Congratulations Kate!” printed in cursive font on the cover. Inside the envelope was a card congratulating me on my weight loss, a personal, hand-written message from each friend, and a Target gift card to aid me in replacing my now defunct wardrobe.

It was one of the sweetest things anyone had ever done for me, and it was hard not to cry from the sheer surprise, kindness, and overwhelming excitement I felt running through me as I realized what had happened.

Thirteen long years ago I entered a bout of depression. The depression helped me convince myself that I didn’t have any friends and it packed on pounds faster than I knew possible. I was able to convince myself that nothing about me mattered. But here I am, thirteen years later, shedding weight by convincing myself that I do matter and receiving wonderful encouragement through friends I didn’t believe could exist. I can't help but be moved by the realization that they think I matter too.

Thanks, guys! What probably seems like a small gesture to you means more to me than I could ever say. I think I said it best with my initial reaction when opening the card--You all ROCK!

Back at Square One

I’ve been mostly focused on my fitness and nutrition goals lately. I think I hit rock bottom sometime in late April when I realized I had lost a whopping 3 pounds for the entire month, and while any progress is good, 3 pounds in 5 weeks is embarrassing. I have done and can do better than that. It was also in late April that I realized The Year of Great Weight Loss was nearing an end and I want to get as close to a 70-pound loss as possible. I don’t think I can quite reach 70—not in a healthy way at least—but I should be able to get pretty damn close.

I stopped in at Target last Saturday to see if I could finally fit into a size 12 jeans. I was disappointed that the only size 12 I could find were distinctly labeled as “skinny jeans” but I tried anyway. I was nearly out of breath by the time I got the jeans over my calves (the most muscular part of my body) but the rest was a breeze. They looked good in the thighs, butt, and yes, finally, my waist. Despite losing a quarter of my original body weight I am still the ashamed owner of the world’s largest muffin top and even the slightest pinch at my waist can magnify the muffin top by a thousand. That means I’ve spent the last 3 months wearing an extremely loose fitting size 14 because a size 12 made it look like my circulation was getting cut off at the waist. I contemplated buying the skinny jeans for sentimental reasons, but then I vetoed the idea after a moment panic and nearly calling the dressing room attendant to help me pull the jeans off of my calves. I guess I’ll have to wait until I can find them in boot cut.

During the same shopping trip I realized I don’t know how clothes are supposed to fit. I’m constantly afraid that I’m missing some unspoken rule about how much “fitted” is acceptable. For example, I found a very basic, black, fitted shirt that I felt truly showed my weight loss and that’s saying something because it’s still a rarity for me to notice the change in my body shape. The only problem I found was there was still the faintest hint of muffin top and love handles down around the waist. I felt perfectly comfortable in the top, but there was this tiny voice in my head that said if I wore it in public I would be pointed out and laughed at for being the fat girl in a little shirt.

So I ask you, dear reader, where do you draw the line? Is the outline of a few small, visible chubs and curves acceptable, or am I doomed to where tent like t-shirts down to my knees for another year?

To all the fat haters

My biggest pet peeve with being so open about my weight loss is having people come to me with common nutrition information that they don't think I've heard or read about somewhere else, and more specifically with complaints about "ghastly" fat contents. It could just be that I'm an evil, ungrateful person, but a lot of the time I feel they're coming to me with information just to impress me but they're actually doing the exact opposite.

I can't claim to be an expert on weight loss, but I have lost 60 pounds in the last 10 months which makes me feel like I do have a general knowledge of what it takes to shed weight (albeit slowly but diligently) and I haven't done it by counting fat grams with the exception of trans fats. The first things I look for on a nutrition label are partially hydrogenated oils (trans fats), high fructose corn syrup, and enriched flour, but the last thing I look at is the saturated and unsaturated fat contents. I'm far more interested in the total calories, protein, sodium, and carbohydrate versus fiber ratio.

Fat does not make you fat, overeating and sustaining a sedimentary lifestyle does. Your body needs fat to function properly. In my opinion, the only reason you should be hung up on fat grams when trying to lose weight is because you're avoiding trans fats as much as possible and getting more unsaturated fats than saturated fats. My logic has always been get the proper amounts of protein and carbohydrates in your diet and the fat will fall into place.

My main approach to losing this weight has revolved around not denying myself the things I really, truly want. My family is having a large, undoubtedly unhealthy dinner for Easter Sunday and am I really going to sit there and watch my family eat platefuls of ham and potatoes and buttery rolls followed by pie and chocolate bunnies while I nibble on a salad sans dressing? I don't think so. Am I going to work out harder for it and take smaller servings? Absolutely. I'm going to eat every fattening, starchy, creamy food they put in front of me and then I'm going to get right back on track again Monday with whole grains, fruits and vegetables, and a healthy dose of fat-laden dairy products that make my body want to shed this extra weight. If I didn't allow myself the freedom to stop dieting on special occasions or sometimes even just for the heck of it, I wouldn't be able to sustain this lifestyle. Not to mention, the abundance of extra calories actually revs up my metabolism after running a deficit for a while.

I digress. My point is, you should not be afraid of fat grams. You should be mindful of fat grams, but a slice of pie or a candy bar every once in while is not going to turn you in to the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Au contraire! It might actually make you more fun to be around.

Boob talk

"Okay, Katie, I know you're my aunt and all, but it's just that, well, I'm shorter than you so they're right there, and I have to ask...how big are your boobs now and how big were they before?"

"Hunh. Ummm, I was a D cup and now I'm a C cup."

"Really? Because if I'm being honest, I don't think they look that big. They look way smaller than they were before. And I'd be really upset if I lost my boobs."

"You know, I honestly don't mind. If I'm only a B cup when it's all said and done I won't have a problem with it. Besides, all the cute bras are in smaller sizes!"

"I think you better plan on becoming at least a B, 'cause they are shrinking."

What I know now

I didn't subscribe to Seventeen magazine when I was seventeen. I was closer to thirteen when I was tossing the latest issue into my mom's shopping cart at the grocery store. I liked the magazine then because at thirteen I thought life could only get easier if I became beautiful and all of the Do's and Don'ts, hair and style secrets, and personal accounts of love were going to put me on the fast track to a world of only beautiful people.

I waited patiently each month for the new issue. I read those magazines cover to cover. I stayed up late in to the night to complete all of the quizzes and memorizing the tricks to controlling frizz. And when I say I read them cover to cover, that includes all of the adds in the very back of the magazine where I once found an advertisement for the "secret" to weight loss. The ad was very discreet. I wasn't sure if I would be ordering pills or a personal trainer, but it was only $10, promised I would lose the stubborn fat, and it would be shipped to my address in a plain brown envelope for secrecy. I mailed off two weeks of my allowance on that very day.

When my plain brown package arrived a few weeks later, I immediately snuck it up to my bedroom to open in private. Imagine my surprise when I found that I'd bought a small book. It was purple with white lettering, the size of an appliance manual, and guaranteed results or my money back. I read the whole thing in minutes, and couldn't have been more disappointed. The book told me to keep a food journal, writing down every little bite I took through out the day. It explained calories and the importance of exercise to burn those calories. It told me to count calories, eat fruits and vegetables, and get at least 30 minutes of exercise a day. I was so angry I found a hiding place for the little booklet and never took it out again. This was not a lose weight quick secret. I was never going to be able to do what they were asking of me (vegetables were EVIL when I was 13) and I was doomed to be fat forever.

I just remembered that top secret delivery yesterday while I was driving around town, and I couldn't help but laugh. Here was a book that was ahead of its time, containing the only healthy, successful way to lose weight and I might as well have thrown it in the garbage. At the age of thirteen I didn't want to waste my time working with numbers I didn't fully understand. All I wanted was something that could make me look like Tiffany Amber Theissen tomorrow.

As of this morning's weigh-in I am down 56 pounds since June 1, 2008. I am officially over the half way point for my 110 pound goal. I've done it by keeping a food journal at The Daily Plate, counting calories, and exercising as much as I can. I've done it by doing everything that book tried to tell me to do, everything I rolled my eyes at for years.

If I'd lost 56 pounds at the age of thirteen I would have been severely underweight. As it is now, I'm just crossing over that line between obese and overweight.

So I guess there will be nothing left of me

Co-worker: “I have to ask…how much weight have you lost now?”

Me: “53 pounds.”

Co-worker: “Wow. Well you look great. It must be fun shopping for a whole new wardrobe!”

Me: “Actually, I’ve only been buying bits and pieces that I find on clearance. I don’t want to buy a lot of new clothes because I still plan on losing quite a bit more weight.”

Co-worker: “How much more?”

Me: “Umm…about another 50.”

Co-worker: “Really?! There will be nothing left of you!”

Conversations like that remind me what it's like to be on both ends of the spectrum. I've been in my co-workers shoes many times, telling someone they couldn't possibly need to lose so much weight--they couldn't possibly be as heavy as they think they are--and I truly believed it. But now that the tables have turned and I'm on the other side I'm having trouble understanding how they can't see this extra 50 pounds hanging around on my hips, thighs, and mid-section. I stare at those extra pounds in the mirror every morning, willing them to come off as quickly as the first 50 did--the first 50 that I still have trouble seeing--and hope that by the time I've reached my goal I will finally see a more confident, beautiful person in the mirror.

I suppose my biggest problem is I don't know what I can expect to see at the end of this. Some mornings I hope I'll come out with Kate Austin's body, and other mornings I think I'll be happy with Callie Torres. I've never tried to lose weight before. I don't know what my body will look like without the extra cushion, so I'm just kind of making it up as I go. My goal is to lose 110 total pounds for a final weight of 132, but it's a loose goal, because I only have to get down to around 140 to get to a normal BMI, and that's my ultimate goal.

Every once in a while Jon will accuse me of having an eating disorder but I don't think that's the case. I think sometimes I have a bad relationship with my body--a disagreement if you will--where I let all of the numbers get the best of me and I can go one of two ways: contemplate running to the nearest convenience store for a bag of Doritos and a box of Little Debbies, or out of spite, decide that I'm just going to starve the fat off instead of jumping through hoops to figure out how many calories are coming from what sources. I've never done either of those things though. I usually just walk away and start over again the next day. I don't have an eating disorder. I have The Fat Kid Complex and I am an impatient fat kid.

I'm making it sound like I'm having a tough time, and sometimes I do mentally, but most of the time I think I got this. There are times when I'm convinced the scale has been lying to me all along, but more often than not, I think if I just stick to it--this new lifestyle I've created--I'll have no problem reaching my goal. Besides, even if I can never lose more than the 53 pounds I've already lost, I think I'm still doing my body a world of good by not surviving off Doritos and fudge rounds like I've been known to do in the past.

How I Know I Wasn't Adopted

"So, I hear you're down 30 pounds already. What kind of foods are you eating?"

"Fruits and vegetables."

"Oh..."

"And whole grains. I try to avoid enriched flour."

"Hmm..."

"I also eat lean meats like chicken and ground turkey. And I've read that you should look at beans as little diet pills, so I eat a lot of black beans."

"Oh, well that won't work for me."

"Why not?"

"I don't like any of those things."

"But Mom, that's why it was hard for me at first--I had to make myself like them."

"Yeah. I can't do that. I'll have to find something else."

Girl Disappearing

“I know this is a personal question, but are you losing weight?”

“I am.”

”I thought you looked slimmer! How are you doing it? Weight Watchers?”

“Nope, I’m just eating right and exercising.”

“Well good for you! It sounds so easy, but it’s hard, isn’t it?”

“It was hard at first, but it’s gotten a lot easier with time.”

“Well, you look great. It’s really starting to show.”

I’ve lost 31 pounds since May 22, 2008. Even though 31 pounds sounds like a lot, I don’t see much difference in the mirror other than smaller hips and more defined leg muscles, so I have to rely on comments like the one above from a co-worker, and the fact that I am continually moving to a smaller notch on my belt every couple of weeks as reassurance that I’m doing this whole weight loss thing right. 31 pounds doesn’t show a lot on me, because in the big picture, I have a total of 110 pounds to lose before reaching my ideal weight. Of course, now I only have 79 to go, but that’s a piece of cake, right?

Actually, with the exception of that first month when I lost a lot less than I had hoped, it has been relatively easy. Once I was able to accept “slow and steady wins the race" where weight loss is concerned, and that losing nearly 8 pounds a month actually rocks, I began to look at all of this as second nature. I have changed my life. I have changed my relationship with food. Food was once something I ate because it tasted awesome and made me happy for a few hours, but now it's something I eat to fuel my body and help it run as efficiently as it can.

I also learned very early on that I shouldn’t deny myself anything, even absolute junk, because depriving myself of something I really, really wanted was an express ticket back to my old eating habits. I have to watch portion sizes, but because I eat junk less frequently, and because I still find a way to work it in to my daily calorie allotment, it hasn’t slowed my progress at all. I’ve lost 31 pounds even though I still eat at Chipotle once a week on average--I’m just not having McDonald’s for breakfast, and Burger King for lunch beforehand.

I don’t know why I’m rambling about this. I’m not trying to sell you on anything, I swear. I think I’m doing this more to satiate my own shock, actually. I can’t believe I’ve come this far and I’m not miserable or ready to give up. As someone who resigned herself to being fat for the rest of her life, I’m shocked I didn’t give up the first day. I wasn’t happy where I was even five months ago--I was inconsolable, in fact--but I didn’t know how to change something that had always been, so I just accepted it, and appreciated the fact that my husband loved me exactly as I was even if I didn’t understand why.

I’m ashamed of how stupid I was, to have yielded as easily as I did and not trying to do this sooner, but the truth is I was defeated back in elementary school when I was called to Principal Kimbal's office and told that someone with thighs the size of mine should only wear shirts that came down to their knees. Yes, I just typed SHIRTS, not SKIRTS, and it was on purpose. Apparently, my childhood thighs that fit into a size 10 jeans (no, not an ideal size for an 11-year-old, but not nearly bad enough to merit such attention) were too hideous for her to stomach and should be covered, completely, and preferably by a bulky sweater. Principal Kimbal tried to teach me about modesty, but really only walked away with a huge chunk of my self-esteem. A few years later, in middle school, a scrawny kid named Josh asked if I wanted some butter to go with my rolls. He was just trying to be a jackass, and I knew it, but he may as well have dealt me his best right hook and shattered my cheek bone, because he left me with an ugly scar to carry all these years. And while I can’t blame my old principal or Josh for letting myself get morbidly obese—I’m the only one to blame for that—they, and the comments of a few others, broke me mentally.

As a result, I disappeared into my own little world. I tried to become invisible thinking people wouldn’t comment or poke fun at something they couldn’t see. The problem was I couldn’t hide from myself. I am my own worst enemy, and I am a brutal critic.

But in the last 4 months I’ve found myself again. I’ve found real, honest to goodness happiness within myself. I’m not willing to let it go anymore. I’m not giving up. I look and feel phenomenal, and having people notice only provides that much more validation.

I started this little journey at 242 pounds. I was 242 pounds of blubber with eyeballs and a big heart. I am now down to 211 pounds with some muscle definition and a relatively tight butt. My ultimate goal is to get down to 132 but that’s not set in stone. I’m taking it 1 pound at time and if I decide I’m happy at 150, I’ll stay there.

I’m still a girl disappearing, but this time it's not into my head, it's in my own clothes.

Veggies Don’t Bite

Vegetables and I have a very strange relationship--carrots especially. My parents never did a very good job of force feeding fruits and vegetables (of course, I never made it an easy job to force anything so I can't blame them) and as a result I've grown up to be an especially picky eater who literally has to shove any vegetable, excluding the simple canned variety of corn and green beans, down her own throat. I only have one very old and vague memory of actually choosing a carrot as a snack and it was when my brother and I were much, much younger. We were building a snowman in the backyard and we ran back into the house for the finishing touch--a carrot for a nose--only we grabbed three carrots from the vegetable drawer; one to complete the snowman, and one for each of us to eat. My memory of eating raw vegetables abruptly ends there, some 20 or so odd years ago.

I asked our family doctor at my last check up if it was a safe and practical idea to force vegetables on myself in the hopes that one day I would actually enjoy them again. Her response was comical and helped me realize how silly my fear of edible plants was--she cocked her head to the side, the edges of her mouth visibly straining to keep from smiling too much to not leave me feeling too ashamed for asking, and she said, "Katie, I can tell you, in my own professional opinion, it is not going to be harmful to you, in any way, to eat more vegetables."

So, with my doctor's blessing, I have faithfully packed 18 baby carrots (two servings) in my lunch every day for the past 3 months. The only problem is I don't always eat them. I find myself eating around them instead. I'll dig through my lunch sack for an apple, or tuna sandwich, or yogurt, pushing the carrots further down each time until around 5:00 when I reach in for the last time and come away with only a bag of vegetables. I swear it's a psychological problem, because all I have to do is get over the hurdle of eating the first 2 carrots and then I remember, "Oh yeah! I really like these!" and the other 16 are gone within minutes. So, in theory, my plan worked, I really do like them, but the habit of not initially cringing is proving to be hard to break.

I did it again today. I spent my last hour at work staring at a ziplock bag of carrot sticks wishing they were Cheetos--one of the most tasty yet nasty of my old food addictions. The whole time I was trying to reason with myself, explaining to myself that I needed the fiber, I needed the vitamins, I needed the vegetables to complete my food pyramid for the day, but it was looking like another day that they would go uneaten. But eventually I broke down--I must have gotten hungry enough--and ate the first 2 carrots fifteen minutes before it was time for me to leave. I spent half the drive home munching on carrots and singing along to music until eventually I reached my hand in the bag and came back with nothing. The carrot sticks were gone, and I was disappointed.

Yesterday, I told my little sister that she shouldn't feed her son Cheetos, and I still think it's sound advice, but I also think it came out a bit too harsh, so Kristin, if you're reading this, I am proof of why you shouldn't feed your son Cheetos, so that one day when he's an adult trying to lose a few pounds or just looking to be as healthy as he can be, he's not staring at a bag of cancer-fighting carrot sticks and wishing they were fried corn meal sprayed with a powered cheese of unknown origins.

I Should Have Had a V8

So I've decided that losing weight is an awful lot like paying down old debts. I'm in this position due to years of bad choices and the only thing I can do is pay it down as best as I can and patiently wait for a light at the end of the tunnel.

I've lost 16 pounds in 9 weeks which is a perfectly healthy average of 1.8 pounds per week. I've dropped almost 3 points off of my BMI. I can officially put on and take off every pair of jeans that I own without unbuttoning or unzipping them, and yet, I woke up this morning with the mind set that all of this weight, all of these rolls, should just fall off, right now, I don't want them anymore. Just like the credit cards, I felt I've been putting so much time and energy into this that I should be farther than I am. This debt should be lower than it is.

I think part of my problem must lie in my obsession with studying weight loss and where all of the numbers should be. I'm not only tracking the calories that I eat, but also the calories that I burn, and my intake of fat, cholesterol, sodium, carbs, sugar, fiber, and protein. I think I'm driving myself mad looking for the perfect combination of all these numbers and I'm not even sure the perfect combination exists. My mind looks a little something like this:

"Reduce calories"
"Eat 5-7 servings of fruit/day"
"You're starving yourself. You have to eat more"
"I said NET calories!"
"Don't forget your veggies"
"By the way, drink lots of water. But not too much or you'll die."
"Eat nuts. Did I say any nut? No, no - you have to pick from this list."
"Don't forget your fats - but not too much fat. Make sure it's the good kind of fat or you'll be obese."
"Fat, check. Calories, check. Water, okay."
"Woah woah - that's too much salt - you're going to be swollen!"
"Eat your protein. How much - 30%. 30% of what, 2000 calories?"
"Too much protein - you're going to shut down your kidneys."

I had a dream the other night in which people all over the world, young and old, were dropping like flies because they didn't get at least 30 grams of fiber every day. I was frantically searching for more sources of fiber to save our lives and screaming at Jon for only eating Big Macs. The last thing I remember is totalling up my fiber for the day and falling short at 27 grams, much like I do on a daily basis.

I'm not giving up. I'm going to get the hang of this one day and I'm going to be the thin, level-headed, nutrition-conscious person I want to be, but today is not that day.

Why I Couldn’t Join a Weightloss Challenge

Two words: I'm Hungry.

No, really, about 5 hours ago all I wanted was a Burger King Original Chicken Sandwich with gobs of their 210 calorie mayonnaise oozing out from under the bun. That sounds disgusting, I know, but it's just so freakin' good!

I resisted the urge. I couldn't do it. I've worked out everyday for 2 weeks straight and I couldn't ruin it all for a slab of microwaved chicken covered in the world's unhealthiest mayo. Nope, I ordered a cheese burger with ketchup, mustard, and pickles instead, and at only 340 calories, it was a much healthier choice. Baby steps, I guess.

All in all I'm getting a little discouraged by the scale's unwillingness to budge anymore than 3 pounds lower, but I've learned a very valuable lesson: exercise makes me feel wonderful. I feel healthy, optimistic, and, wait for it...happy...all the time. I swear 2 weeks worth of positivity is a new record for me. Who knew that when Psychiatrist Number 4 recommended yoga as a cure for my depression he actually knew what he was talking about?

While the scale may not be moving much I am noticing very subtle changes in my body like the return of my quadriceps whose appearance went MIA about 6 years ago--I can actually see them again. Oh, and my butt is lifting, looking a little more round. I've practically had to beat my husband off with a stick on more than one occasion in these last couple of weeks. I haven't seen much of a change in the spare tire though, but I'm holding out hope that it will start deflating soon.

I guess in the big scheme of things being hungry and denying myself the food that I should have been swearing off all along is small potatoes. And whether or not I lose 3 pounds or 20 pounds doesn't really matter as long as I'm taking care of myself, being the healthiest I can be, and feeling more confident, which I do and I am.

Now if only Burger King would fall off the face of the Earth I might have a chance at reaching that 22 pound goal...19 more to go.