Parental Discretion Advised

At work today, some of us were talking about how evil photos can be, and how all of us have one that we wish didn't exist. I have one. I call it my wake up call. If I saw what's in this photo in the mirror every morning, I'd have started this diet long ago.

You see, the mirror lies. What I see in it varies depending on my mood and state of mind. When I look in the mirror I can prepare. Suck in the belly and the cheeks, twist the torso just right, extend my neck to make the extra chins go away, etc. If you see something in the mirror that you don't like, you can look away, walk away, or if you're desperate, you can smash it into a million pieces. I know I've had that urge before.

Pictures are awful. You don't always have time to do all that contorting before the flash goes off. Sometimes you get caught off guard. Unlike your reflection, when you see a terrible photo and walk away, IT STILL EXISTS! And it's probably on Facebook.

In the name of accountability, motivation, and a masochistic tendency, I'm going to post that photo here in all it's disgusting glory. When I'm really craving a cheeseburger, I can look back at this blog post and lose my appetite. Here is my most embarrassing moment:




And here are some images that come to mind when I look at it:








As God is my witness, I shall never be THAT hungry again.

Here Today... Still Here Tomorrow

My weight, that is. That dream I had of losing 50 pounds by Mother's Day? Just that. A dream. It didn't happen. Not only did I miss my goal, I lost a net .2 pounds in the last week. That's kinda crappy progress.

The good news is, I'm okay with that. Would I be happier if I'd lost more last week? DUH! Of course. But I am certainly not going to quit, so why get all pissy about one silly little arbitrary goal? I'm still sitting here over 45 pounds lighter and two jeans sizes smaller so I'm doing okay.

Some of you out there who know me might be surprised at my positive attitude in the face of adversity. (Sounds dramatic, right? lol) I know I'm surprised. I expected to be a lot more upset about not making it. God knows that's what my past experiences would suggest. But I had a fabulous Mother's Day. I spent all day with my family, played like a little kid, ate good food (but not too much), and celebrated all of the moms in my life. I guess a fantastic day like that makes what the scale is telling me a little less important.

Until next week when I show that b!tch who's boss. lol

I Could Have Sworn There Was Food Here a Minute Ago!

I've got to get myself back on track. I'm not doing too badly, but my resolve isn't quite what it was back when I started. My biggest downfalls are grazing and cleaning up after Nathan.

We went to dinner at Taco Hut with my mom and my aunt tonight. I LOOOOOVE me some Taco Hut and it isn't Bryan's favorite so I don't get it that often. I did okay ordering my dinner: two tacos, rice, a little side salad and some chips. A little more than I'd eat at home but not near what I used to eat there. The problem came after dinner.

We sat there chatting and watching Nathan boogie to the juke box and try on the fake moustache he got from the quarter machine. I had left most of the chips on my plate like a good girl, but I couldn't resist just a couple dipped in Nathan's leftover beans and some hot sauce. We sat and talked for quite a while. The next thing I knew all of the chips and beans were gone. Had we finished eating and then got up and left, I wouldn't have missed those chips at all. I was plenty full, but I ate them almost without noticing.

Not entirely without noticing mind you. I kept telling myself that I should stop and then I'd stuff another one in my mouth. Now I'm not hating myself or anything. Even with those extra chips and beans my calories for the day were probably within an acceptable range. It's just that I've GOT to break these bad habits. I've spent so much of my life overeating that I can sit there and polish off a whole extra helping of chips and beans without paying any attention or even ENJOYING what I'm eating. That's sad on so many levels.

I really don't have a lot of positive thoughts about being on a diet. I still hate it. I wonder if I'll ever get over that. There are a (very) few advantages, though. When I'm being good and sticking to my diet I appreciate my food so much more. I had a chocolate chip cookie the other day. I don't consider it a cheat because I planned for it right in with my meal, skipping the side items so I could have the cookie without going over my calories. It was just your run-of-the-mill store-bought chocolate chip cookie, but I think it was one of the best things I had ever tasted. It was sweet and chewy and yummy and best of all it came without a side dish of guilt. Back in the day I would have devoured three or four of them and barely remembered them five minutes later but now, I can still taste that fabulous cookie just thinking about it.

The Little Victories

I still don't see myself as looking any different than I did 4 months and 45 pounds ago. BUT I DO. I keep telling myself that, and this weekend I got more evidence. I went to my favorite fashionable little boutique (Walmart) for some retail therapy. I needed some capris because the only pair I own are now 2(!) sizes too big. I found some really cute ones that didn't look like clown pants so I was super stoked. Why do clothing manufacturers think us fat girls want our capris to fit like bloomers anyway?

Moving on: I decided to get a new shirt too, so I hit the $9 table because I'm a big spender like that. I'd already forced Nathan to sit in the fitting room and be patient while mommy tried on several pairs of pants, so I didn't want to go back. It's hard to try on clothes while wrestling a three year old away from playing with the door handle and exposing me to the world or trying to crawl out under the door and taking off. I can just picture him escaping and me half-naked yelling, "Somebody trip him and slow him down please!" I found a cute --and cheap-- orange knit shirt with a ruffly collar and chose what I thought was the right size using the hold it up to my boobs and see if it'll go around test, so we headed for the check out stand.

The next morning when I was getting ready for work I put on the new duds. The shirt was big. It was like a tent. I think I could have fit two of me in it. That's when I realized that in my head I'm still the same size I was four months ago. I still look at a 4X shirt and think it's going to fit. I'm slowly figuring out that I'm not a 4X girl anymore. And I like it.

Mood Swings Anyone?

Since I started my diet I've been on the mother of all emotional roller coasters. For the first three weeks or so, I was PISSED OFF! It was the kind of PISSED OFF that can only be expressed in bold caps. I hated the diet. I hated that I needed to be on the diet. I hated myself for letting my weight get so out of control. I hated salad and anything healthy, and just looking at a green leafy vegetable (which I've always enjoyed even when eating like a horse not dieting) would sent me into a rant about hating this stupid diet. I'm sure I annoyed the hell out of anyone who would listen. Even when the scale was moving downward I still hated every minute of it.

Around the one-month mark, I realized I was just being a spoiled, sulking little baby. It was my fault I needed to diet and I just needed to suck it up, put my big-girl panties on, take it like a man, and various other cliches. I got into the diet. I took it on like a science experiment and researched the hell out of calorie counts and fiber intake and whatever else I could think of. I talked about my diet constantly. I'm sure I was still annoying everyone around me.

Most recently, as I neared 40 pounds lost (43 now!) I kind of liked my diet. I went down 2 pants sizes, and I can actually wear a 2X in some stores! I was feeling good and fairly happy. Then we had a Family Fun Day this weekend and at some point during the day I had a lapse of judgement and relinquished my camera to my loving husband.

There were exactly two photos taken of me and neither were the least bit flattering. When I looked at them I felt like I'd been kicked in the face. I could see no progress at all! I know that I've lost weight because the scale tells me so. I can't wear any of the pants I used to wear to work because they will literally fall off of me as soon as I let go of them. My bras are too big, and my jeans are so loose that my friend at work keeps calling me baggy butt. Still, when I look in the mirror the only change I see is that my boobs are becoming less and less attractive by the day. (TMI?) It is so terribly frustrating!

I think I'm suffering from emotional ADD. One minute I'm feeling pretty good, enjoying the way my new smaller clothes fit. The next minute I'm seeing myself in the mirror or heaven forbid, photographic evidence(!) and I can't figure out how I can actually be two sizes smaller and still look the way I do. This psychological whiplash is giving me a very non-psychological headache.

I'm Being Haunted by the Cake Balls in my Fridge...

I helped my mom host a bridal shower this weekend, for which I dipped cake balls until after 3am on Friday night/Saturday morning. There are a few in a ziplock bag in my fridge, and every so often I can hear them calling to me. It's really hard to ignore those sweet little devil-voices calling out Come and enjoy our velvety-chocolate squishy deliciousness. You know you want to. We're your friends and we're lonely in this cold old fridge. My husband just looks at me funny every time I suddenly cover my ears and yell "Shut-Up! Shut-Up! I just can't love you anymore. It's not you, it's me. We can still be friends on special occasions!" I don't think he can hear them taunting me. They must be doing it telepathically.

ANYway...

My good friend Trish over at Just the 6 of Us blogged about her weight loss today and addressed the topic of "secret eating." While I was reading it I felt the hot rush of shame that comes when you recognize your own bad habits in someone else's writing. Before my diet I was routinely guilty of secret eating. I wasn't hiding bags of candy like she was, but I was worse. My dirty little affair was with fast food.

Whenever I hit the drive thru on the way to someone's house, I would order two sandwiches and eat one on the way so that no one would know about it. I even did it on the way home, keeping it secret from my husband. I was always careful to hide the wrapper in my car so it wouldn't be discovered in the sack. I can remember times when I would grab a burger on the way to dinner at someone's house so that I could eat less while in front of other people.

Now it just seems silly that I went to all that effort to hide my overeating. It's not like the rate at which my fat ass was expanding was a big secret. ANYONE could see that. It's like I expected people to think, "Poor Miranda. She eats so little, yet she's still so fat. How sad." Hiding what I ate was certainly not hiding the results.

It's scary to read back through this post and realize I sound like a P.S.A. about eating disorders, but it's also a little empowering. I'm realizing that I care a lot less now about what other people see me eat and more about how my food choices affect my weight loss progress. And that, my friends, IS progress.

The 500th Time

I decided it was time to start documenting my weight loss in the form of a blog. I've been thinking I should for a while now, and my baby sister (she hates it when I call her that) started her weight loss blog this weekend, Fatgirl's Journey, and motivated me to get off my butt and get busy.

In January of this year I started dieting for what must be the 500th time (hence the title) and for some reason this time it has stuck. I've never stuck to a diet for more than a week until now. I have to give some of the credit to my wonderful husband, who's lost over 65 pounds since last June. He's doing great and looking mighty fine these days, I must say. His success awakened my competitive spirit about the time he started weighing less than me. (wth, right? Rude!)

I've been posting my weekly weight loss every Monday morning on Facebook, but I've never had the guts (figuratively, of course) to post my actual weight, so I'm going to bite the bullet and do it here.

On January 11, 2010 I weighed in at 287.6 pounds. As of last Monday's weigh-in, I'm down 36.0 pounds for a current weight of 251.6 pounds.

Whew! That was harder than I though it would be.

I'm not doing any specific diet. I'm counting calories and trying to avoid sweets and fried food. I've made friends with lettuce and I think I eat it by the pound. I used to make fun of all those girls I liked to call "Salad Eaters" and now I've become one. I use an app on my Ipod called Lose It to track my weight loss and calorie intake. When I first started the diet, I was militant about recording my calories. If I couldn't figure out how many calories were in something, I didn't eat it. I have relaxed about recording everything, but I do try to track it all to stay within a daily calorie window. I try very hard to keep my daily intake between 1500 and 2000. I still haven't adopted a regular exercise regimen but I walk, workout with resistance bands, and have a lot of no holds barred, blinds closed, wild and crazy dance parties with my three-year-old son. Those are my favorite workouts, and let me tell you, I feel the burn. When I get tired he tells me, "You just dance really slow and I'll dance really fast."

My weight loss goals have less to do with weight than with feeling better about myself and wearing smaller (read: cuter) clothes. I'm doing it as much for my mental health as for my physical health. My Inner Voices were starting to sound like the mean kids on the playground, and I was inwardly saying things to and about myself that I would never say to my worst enemy. Like most women, I've never been completely satisfied with myself, but in the last year my self-image has taken a real nosedive. I knew I had to do something about it before it became a more serious problem.

The other biggest motivator in this whole weight loss thing is my son, Nathan. Like most moms, I'm completely head over heels in love with my baby boy, and if you follow this blog you'll probably get really tired of hearing about him. I want to be able to run with him, dance with him, play with him, look good so he won't be ashamed to be seen with me, and most of all, I want to live long enough to see him grow up and get married and become a neuro-surgeon (because he's totally that smart). I plan to have more children soon, and I can't even imagine how much better the whole pregnancy experience will be when I'm not carrying around all of this extra weight.

So that's it in a nutshell. In closing, I'll list some of my weight loss goals right here in black and white. This blog is about holding myself accountable and that starts here:

1. I want to shop in stores that don't even have a plus-size section. I continually bitch and moan about how hard it is to find cute clothes in that section, and it doesn't look like the stores are going to change so it has to be me.

2. I want to be able to wear free t-shirts. I never again want to ask, what size do they go up to, and is that a mens' 3X or women's?

3. I want to be able to look at a photo of me and not cringe. A candid photo where I didn't have time to suck in, turn to the best angle, and push out my chin to hide the other chins.

4. I want to be able to keep up with my kids and not have to say "Slow down! Mommy's having a coronary!" when we race across the playground.

5. I want to love myself again, and feel worthy of the love of my husband and son.

Thanks for reading this and thank you for supporting me in my journey!