workin' on the master plan

First things first: I was up 1.6 this week, no real shock there since I knew I felt a little off. I didn't move as much this week because of my ankle issues AND another damn birthday party was too late in the week to work off. Considering those factors, a 1.6 gain is actually not bad at all. Just ask my dad, he was up 2lbs. thanks to the birthday pizza.

I need to get a hold of myself and refocus. I need to start blogging more and experimenting more with food. I haven't had the urge to quit or go off the rails at all, which is fucking phenomenal for me. It feels so good to know that shit is getting under control, and that my old way of thinking isn't even close to being on my brain right now.

I have zero desire to do any covert eating missions, no desire to blow a bunch of points on something nasty, and I am tracking every single thing that I'm eating and drinking. It makes a huge difference and I can see it.

More and more I am thinking long-term. Why am I doing this? What do I want to do in the future that I can't do now? How is my weight excluding me from what I want to do?

A mental picture is developing of what I would like to eventually look like, and I'm really starting to think of my "to do list" for the not-too-distant future. I'm not talking about the heavy stuff like marriage, kids, sensible vehicle blah blah blah, at the moment that is all very much out of my hands.

I'm talking about exploring new activities and getting active. One of my best friends is absolutely insane about rock climbing and I always told myself that if I got fit enough to pull my ass up a bumpy wall, I would do it. So I will. Once I get fitter and stronger, I want to take my chance and conquer whatever fear is trying hold me back. This may take a while, but it's part of the master plan.

This week I make a disappointed return to the bone doctor about my stupid ankle. I have no idea what the eff is going on with that thing. It's only been four months since my last surgery and already it's starting to fuck up. I'm really tense and apprehensive about going there because I get the horrible feeling that he'll a) tell me there's nothing wrong with it (which would definitely NOT explain the pain) or b) tell me that there's no other option than to fuse it.

Now, fusion would be great from a pain elimination point of view, and I really do want to eliminate the pain, believe me. BUT the thought of two months of painful recovery is making me shit my pants a little because of, well, the pain and the loss of work. Part of me is prepared for it, the rest of me isn't, and if work stays as busy as it has been, me fucking off for two months isn't going to help either art department. All I can do is wait and see what he says on Wednesday. He might tell me to just suck it up (which would result with him getting a punch in the mouth).

The sun is shining, I need to get outside. I'm off in search of vegetables in need of roasting.

XO
LB

question mark.

Guh.

I feel heavy. Not bloated or unwell, I just feel heavy. I have no idea how tomorrow morning will go. I didn't move as much this week, and that makes me wonder how it will affect any sort of weight loss.

Add to the fact that I had a super-fantastic-holy-mother-what-the-eff loss last week, and I feel all sorts of pressure to achieve something close to that. Where that pressure is coming from, I don't know, but it's there.

Blah. I don't enjoy feeling like this. I just wanna feel cool with whatever may happen, but instead I'm nervous and leery, even though I've done nothing off the rails or binge-tastic.

I guess we'll see what the eff is going on tomorrow morning. Lamest. Cliffhanger. Ever.

xo
LB

Point, Counterpoint.

Please forgive my tardiness in posting my usual Saturday update. Since I got home from my meeting 8 hours ago, I've been watching the second season of the Australian Biggest Loser on youtube. It's snowing, I'm comfy, whatevs.

I can't decide if I love or hate the show. There's a lot of fat people in tank tops hugging, usually after physical activity. I would find that off-putting. I'm a fat person who isn't big on tank tops or hugging sweaty people I'm not in a relationship with.

It's great to see these people slog through four hour workouts and see how they're transforming their lives, but does it set up false hope for other obese people out there? They're losing between 5 and 12 kilos a week (I know, I had to look up what that is in pounds, it's 11-26 lbs). That is INSANE to me. But then again, power sprinting while tossing a medicine ball back and forth is fucking nuts to me.

I dunno, I'm kinda torn on the show. Lots of breakdowns, hissy fits, giving up, pep talks, emotional unloading. It's a bit much. But at the same time, it's amazing to see the change happen.

So my sister gave me shit for not updating earlier today, sorry if anyone else was waiting with bated breath. I just wasn't feeling all that blogular this afternoon.

It is Saturday, so I had a hot date with the weigh scale. After the shit-tay week I had, I didn't expect much from the scale, maybe a half a pound or something. Completely high-stress week, all kinds of crazy shit went down at work and at home, and I just wanted to hide under the covers until it was all over. But I didn't, I soldiered through and dragged my ass across town this morning.

I stepped on the scale and actually made the lady's jaw drop. I was down 4.8. Holy sheeeyit. That instantly doubled my total weight loss to 9.6. FOUR POINT EIGHT. That is a lot.

Our usual leader is down in the Dominican so we had a substitute leader today and maybe half the usual number of people at the meeting. I shared what I had achieved this week and what I did to make it happen. Honestly, it was really a matter of eating all my points and switching stuff up. I need to change what I was eating every day and most importantly I had to be come less scared of eating meals with higher Point values. I've been struggling for a couple of weeks with eating all of my Points, and man does it ever make a difference.

EAT YOUR POINTS, KIDS. They're there for a reason. Get your metabolism going, give your body what it needs. Also, get moving. I've been walking to and from work even in the shittiest snowiest weather, it's awesome. The only thing that is sidelining me at the moment is the pain that is coming back like gangbusters in my orthopedic disaster of an ankle. But I still walk, because I feel like a slug if I don't.

So there you go, Norah. I did my homework and blogged for you. There will most likely be another one this weekend because it's kind of rolling around in my head, but I still have something like 45 more episodes of Biggest Loser to watch while I knit, so....you know...

XO
LB

We got a warning light, we got a warning light...

Saturday is here again, and we all know what that means: weigh-in day.

It has been a good week, lots of movement (walking to and from work almost every day) and sane food choices. Tracking is always a given. If I don't track, I get slack and that does nothing to help me in the long run. I knew there had been a couple of choices made through the week that were what I consider "orange flags". Not dangerous red flags, more of "tsk, I dunno Thusey..."

So, I stepped on the scale this morning and I was feeling alright about the week until I saw the ww lady write down that I was up one pound. It took her forever to get a reading because the scale reading kept flip-flopping back and forth, but the final verdict was +1. Fortunately that still keeps me in the 290's, I told her I would have sworn out loud if there had been a 3 at the start of my weight.

I sat there waiting for my meeting to start, glancing over my week 5 literature and I was mad. I was fucking cheesed off. All that walking, ankle discomfort be damned, and still I gained a stupid pound. What the eff?

Meeting started and the first person Moya called on was cheesed off too. The same goddamn thing happened to her this week. A whole week of exercise and tracking and good food choices and she was up 2 lbs. Inside I was so glad that someone else was as pissed off about it as I was, we all laugh it off but still, that's a pound that was supposed to go in the other direction.

I've started calling my dad every saturday after my meeting, and it feels good to have this support in place. We talked about where I might have gone wrong and he gave me a pep talk after telling me how he and his wife had done this week in terms of their own weight loss.

Dad: at least you didn't get in the car and punch the steering wheel so hard that you almost broke your hand.

Me: No, no I didn't. Mainly because I don't have a car. Why, did you do that?

Dad: Yeah, back when I was on weight watchers, I did it after I had gained half a pound. I didn't take the news too well.

Me: But the steering wheel took it like a champ.

I need to switch up my menu this week. This week was a blur of all the same. Same thing for lunch every day, same snacks, same everything. I love it all, but clearly some more variety needs to come in to play. I'm still having a lot of trouble eating all of my points (let alone the extra ones that I haven't even touched every week) so I need to change up the menu.

I'm also planning on joining the Y this week. I've made the transition to working in the downtown shop full-time, so it will be incredibly convenient for me to go there for yoga a couple of nights a week and to work out on the machines after work. I'm looking forward to it. More and more I'm getting a mental picture of what I want to achieve with myself and it feels good, it feels attainable.

And hooray. It's a long weekend in these parts. "Family Day" is what it's called. Insert eye roll here. I love the day off but christ almighty, what a laaaaaame name. Last year, on the first ever Family Day, I don't think I spoke to a single member of my family.

Dad told me a few days later that he was going to start an Anti-Family Day. I asked him what it would involve and he listed the following: liquor, whores and wills. With that, you needn't ask me why I love my dad so much.

xo
LB

Adult Education

In this week's meeting, we briefly discussed the desire to set example for kids in terms of physical activity and fitness. People talked about the gym, family outings, etc and it made me think about my dad.

I come from fat. Heavy, big boned, whatever you want to call it. That's what I come from. We were a band of horse thieves in Scotland, and when you have horses, you don't need to jog. This is what spawned us.

15 years ago, my dad had had enough. He decided to get rid of his fat. He, too, started Weight Watchers. This was back when you could follow either Selection Plan or Fat & Fibre. Dad chose F&F and was on his merry way.

In addition to ww, dad also joined a gym. So help me, I still laugh at this because my dad is neither a gym type of person or mechanically inclined. I can just imagine the blue streak uttered as he attempted any sort of workout machinery.

He referred to that place as the Torture Chamber, and with that, I do believe he decided that it was not for him. However, being who he is, he refused to let his money go to waste and he went, if only just to walk around the track.

This is where it started.

After his membership ran out (one of the happiest days of his life, I think), dad started to walk. Each evening after supper, he'd head out for a little while. Soon, this became ritual, eventually it was obsession. Every night, twice daily on weekends. Now, he spends two hours walking in the morning (retirement is nice like that) and sometimes at night. He can cover more distance in those walks than anyone I know. He has certain routes mapped out in his brain for variety and he is out there by hook or by crook. Only an injury or bizarre weather can keep him inside.

He has kept his weight off for those 15 years and this is how he does it. This is so inspiring for me, because I saw the man who introduced me to such delicacies as Peanut Butter and mayonnaise sandwiches, fried bologna, cheeseburger pie and "disgusting stuff from a can night" go from fat to svelt through the power of self-discipline and determination.

He learned new behaviours later in life, just like I'm attempting to do. He had to do a 180 when it came to food, just like me. He had to get his ass off the couch, just like me. If my old man can do it, so can I. I have to find my method of movement, be it walking, swimming, whatever.

Pops has shown me it can be done, even by us lazy peanut butter lovin' horse thieves. There's no way I can let an example like that go to waste.

XO
LB

Dogs and cats...living together...mass hysteria.

Ghostbusters is on this afternoon. If that's not an indication that I should sit my ass down and do some knitting, I don't know what is. I am woefully behind on my current order and want to get it out the door ASAP. It's time to kick out the jams.

It's Saturday and that means it is weigh-in day. After last week's whole heap of jack screw on the scale reading, I was feeling pretty blah about the possible outcome this week. I had such a problem eating all my points all week, I felt like shit and I took on more water than the fucking Titanic earlier in the week. But I went. And I stepped on that scale and stood up straight, not looking at the reading. I warned the lady that it had been a watery week, but before I knew it, I was getting a high-five (I can never resist an old-lady offering me a high-five. I find them hilarious and endearing).

I have a new number at the start of my weight. The three is gone. I managed to ditch 2.4 lbs this week taking me down to 298.2. I cracked the cursed 300 mark. Fucking right.

Watching the lard odometer wind down into the 200's does wonders for my mentality right now. Something is happening, progress is being made. I am managing my food, and most importantly, I'm moving more. Walking to work 3 days a week makes a huge difference in terms of my mood and how my arthritis treats me. (Side note: I have very bad degenerative arthritis in my right ankle after annihilating it on an icy sidewalk almost 6 years ago, and after having 4 surgeries on it, walking can be an unpleasant task at times)

To celebrate my little victory, I took the time to buy a yoga/exercise mat for the days that I don't get to walk to our downtown shop. If I can even just get myself to do the 8 minute tae-bo tape at night, I'll be happy. Hahahah remember tae-bo? There's a trend that lasted five minutes. But I'll tell you this: when I did the 8 minute workout in the morning and followed ww program all day, I lost inches off my arms and legs. I figure this will give me a head start for when I finally suck it up and join the Y. I'm very gym-o-phobic, hence me being a total procrastinator when it comes to signing up.

I'm in love with the 2 in front of my weight right now. It's the number I needed to see today.

XO
LB

Pheasant under glass, spaghetti in the trash

I just dropped my dinner on the floor. Perfectly good whole wheat spaghetti with incredibly good veg bolognese sauce. Cooked and measured, now in the garbage. SIGH. That's what kind of day it has been. A spaghetti-in-the-garbage kind of day.

I'm having a hard time eating my points this week. I'm either not hungry or totally not into making a lot of food. I used to feel like this all the time, but the huge difference now is that I'm not sporadically shovelling shit food in my mouth out of laziness. Nope, no mashed potato main courses, no bacon and cheese disasters, no shameful phone calls to Domino's, no skipping real food and just eating dessert.

No siree, I'm getting back into vegetables, protein, fruits and yogurt. Reading the labels and using my fucking brain. Being accountable to myself. I know what I'm eating. I know how much exercise I'm getting. I can see the effort I'm making to change my life. I'm sticking with it and I feel good about it.

I was digging around in a forgotten box of books and I found my copy of "Passing for Thin" by Frances Kuffel. Since I've been cutting back on knitting and spinning because of my back and shoulder problems, I decided to read it again, and I am getting way more out of it now than before. So incredibly insightful and inspiring.

It's so well-written and real. She entered a 12-step program when she hit bottom and managed to lose half her body weight. The book isn't a how-to manual, and it's not her patting herself on the back. It's about her struggle to fit in to a completely alien world of fitted clothing, girly life and the attitudes of family and strangers alike.

As I read the stories of her childhood as a fat kid, who took solace in food and loved it like no other, I found myself nodding in recognition of the fact that I did so many of the same things. It made me think about my childhood and acknowledge just how incredibly lost and lonely I really was as a fat kid in a skinny world.

I've been a fat girl for as long as I can remember. There are photos of me from the ages of 2-5 that tell a different story, but as soon as you look at the Mrs. McCumber's Grade 1 class photo circa 1981, you can see the shift as plain as day. I went from the tanned, blonde haired little cutie-pie to a fatter, paler kid with dirt brown pig tails. It only got worse from there and before too long, I was a kid with a problem.

My mom, god rest her soul, tried to help me. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't. My sisters were older and beautiful. Two of them were best of friends and tortured me like all sisters do. I spent a lot of time on my own, a lazy lump in front of the tv or wandering up and down the street visiting the old shut-ins who would give me baked treats. Franklin Ave was awesome for that. Tons of old people with a wicked collective sweet tooth.

When I think back to those days, it brings such a feeling of sadness. Part of me yearns for those simple days, but more of me wants to run back and just hold on to the younger me and tell her it would be alright. Honestly, I would also tell her to smarten up and get outside and play. I would do the same for my teenaged self. Hell, I'd do it if I could even just go back to last week. I need that slap in the head every now and again.

There will always be a bit of that fat kid in me. She'll never leave, and I don't think I want her to. She forced me to be smart, she forced me to develop my brain, my humour and interests that did NOT involve the mall and douchebags with Bennetton shirts and Tretorns. Her fear and sadness gave me strength.

Her struggle is still my struggle, but all these years later, I'm out to finally overcome. Stay with me kiddo, I can't do it without you.


XO
LB