tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71994090849089144112024-02-06T19:34:21.537-08:00Fat Chicks Blog, TooMy journey to find myself, at any size.Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-54871061485592558962010-10-02T16:53:00.000-07:002010-10-02T17:06:07.432-07:00Spare a Square?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPBcMJSgY1McvD8HvlPBhA1eFrtvjhifiJKYxJu9wPXBuHnaDtAwo31GNQRAwgQDD86dZayuD4qkUXzKpNpIXxRnZ4RjFQR4NdOc93VN9RbGc94b4hKbRGKX3dR6VgS3Gs0GLerZ93FN_Q/s1600/DSC08668.JPG"><br /></a><br />I'm on a strict diet. No taste, no fun, but a good rate of weight loss. But while my fellow dieters around me are dropping pant sizes like they change their chonies, my blubber loss seems glacial in speed. <div><br /></div><div>The problem is purely mathematical. Why didn't I work harder to get my rotunditude under control when I weighed 200 lbs? Even 230? Nope, I had to press pause on the plan until I hit a massive 260 pounds. Better late than never, I know. And while I've lost enough weight to count for a couple of infants ... maybe even a toddler? ... it's slow going to start with.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's my theory.</div><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 174px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYm5c6TiL1sJZLwkqppVQawe628A9oNGXz-S03OxC9oIMXdVMYqIBs68CruLEItT2VabRwwNy1paaklnxRCUbs2JnVGHDGpnMEQdUQrcAoRtjbo357skXPw-byPWe2I37KIVzXlpHTaoe5/s200/DSC08668.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523604220541783234" /><div><br /></div><div>Take a full roll of TP. Like this one.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now take 10 squares off of it. Doesn't make much difference, does it? Take a 1/2 empty roll and pull the same amount off. A little more dramatic, I'd say.</div><div><br /></div><div>So my peers who are trying to lose 50 pounds and knock off the first 10 drop eight pant sizes. OK, they're losing one pant size. Just feels like eight to me. I've dropped considerably more than 10 pounds, but I'm still just "more comfy" in my clothes. There are a few pairs of pants in a size smaller that I can manage, but I'm still mostly in 18s. Sigh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Yes, I'm frustrated that my weight loss is so far from noticeable. But I'm trying to keep in mind that it's not just my jiggly belly and thighs hogging all the fat. When I gain weight, even my ear lobes get bigger. I'm an equal opportunity gainer. So it stands to reason that my lobes will have some trimming to do, too, and that won't have diddly of a difference on my waistline.</div><div><br /></div><div>'Scuse me. Gotta go trim a few squares off the roll.</div>Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-74352285927510975022010-08-30T21:15:00.000-07:002010-08-30T21:33:51.991-07:0092 Pairs of Pants on the Wall ....OK, in <i>front</i> of the wall.<div><br /></div><br /><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4I6OYN7HdJwQ386sj2RblQtw1DElwtbicRUJ7zn0U95U3aKPjHOaiJ5S5hGKjpDs5qlpMsGIahbvuWiPQQhmci7olyJD2XkbPv2CA6zmvDjCiXwnbF2MHBgM6Gyr2uDl2okGbKsHSTPDa/s320/DSC08524.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511427426374938930" /><div>Hello, world. Meet my progress piles. What you're looking at is</div><div> 92 pairs of pants. Sized 16 on the left all the way down to 8 on the right. Right now I'm rotating through about five pairs of pants that are 18s and are reasonably comfortable. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't perilously close to having to move up to a size that starts with a 2.</div><div><br /></div><div>The last time I got super-de-duper motivated and lost a substantial amount of weight, I pulled out all my pants and organized them the same way. And then, after each 10 lbs shed, I'd pick up the upper left pair, take a deep breath (sucking it in, natch), and pull. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm one of those who really doesn't notice weight loss in myself right away. When co-workers or friends commented on the improved definition in my cheekbones, I'd stare into the mirror, wondering why I didn't see it. It wasn't until I had lost 40 pounds or so that I noticed that my back boobs (you know exactly what I'm talking about) were much less noticeable. I could see the numbers changing on the scale, but those were just numbers. Where I noticed weight loss was in my pants.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I recently decided to go spelunking into the farthest recesses of my closet to pull out the 16s... the 14s... the 12s... the 10s... and even the 8s. And I did throw a few into the donation pile, because REALLY ... if I would't wear it now no matter what size I am, it's time to say buh-bye.</div><div><br /></div><div>In a couple of weeks I hope I'm ready to grab a pair of britches and see what's what. A few of 'em even still have tags on them. Most, however, have been faithful friends that have rotated from the front of my closet to the back, and then to the front again.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm making a minor adjustment this time, though. When I'm through the first stack of 27 (yes, 27 pairs of size 16 pants!!!), they're not going back in my closet. They're going in the donation pile and out the door. Followed by the 28 pairs of 14s (!!!) and the 17 pairs of 12s. The weight loss experts say to get rid of your "fat clothes" just as soon as you can, so you don't give yourself subconscious permission to wear them again. This time, I think I'll take that advice.</div>Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-77361897202427052010-07-17T11:34:00.000-07:002010-07-17T11:51:27.533-07:00Today I Choose Me. But Tomorrow???This has been a very revealing week for me. I've been to weight loss groups designed to tap into the deepest, darkest parts of your inner you-ness to figure out why I choose caramels (especially those with that happy little icing goodness middle) over carrots. I glean a little more about my drive, I try to watch out for my tendency to eat my emotions, to protect myself with food and flab.<div><br /></div><div>But I am clearly needing remediation. Keep having to re-learn that lesson.</div><div><br /></div><div>This has been a week of fat-lab experiments for me, it seems. My younger, fluffier shadow -- a German Shepherd of 2-ish years -- has been sick for quite some time. A problem she was born with likely, that we have known for a year that would cut short her time with us. This week we truly thought we were close to the end. Five vet/ER visits in 8 days, vet bills well into the four-figure range (six digits if you'd like to count cents), and sleepless nights. Our whole family was affected, natch.</div><div><br /></div><div>By my rough estimates I figure I've hit the drive-through around eight times in eight days. Some were just for a jolt of caffeine, others were for heart-stopping fare. Through some miracle of God, we all survived the week, and we're on a little upswing for my shadow. Short-lived, maybe, but an upswing nonetheless. And somehow, I managed to escape the week with just a couple of pounds up. </div><div><br /></div><div>Today I weighed in at 251. Sheesh. So not where I thought I'd be by now. But today I got out of bed and put on three things: my robe, my tennis shoes (yes!), and a better attitude. The robe lasted till I could get the coffee maker singing my song, then was swapped out for shorts & a T. The tennies are still there. When I wear them I stay moving more. The attitude is still going strong. </div><div><br /></div><div>Started out with a cup of Joe, a shake, and then whipped up some whole-fruit/veggie smoothies for me and the fam. </div><div><br /></div><div>I know that my staying fat isn't going to keep my shadow around longer. And it won't make me feel any better about losing her when that time comes. </div><div><br /></div><div>Anyone up for reminding me of that tomorrow morning?</div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div>Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-10361920902724780432010-06-23T18:11:00.000-07:002010-06-23T18:27:26.010-07:00Why I am NOT deleting this blog...I have a pattern. Shocking, I know.<div><br /></div><div>My pattern has to do with how I handle failure. You see, I'm a lot like every fat chick you've ever met. I'm afraid to fall flat on my arse. Not just 'cause it would hurt (uh, but it would), but because getting up is not a pretty sight.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've already talked about how I was thin through high school and college. I even lost all the extra pounds I packed on in adulthood once. That lasted about 15 minutes. Seems like it anyhow.</div><div><br /></div><div>When I lost the weight, I was at a previous job. A job where I made a lot of friends, was enjoying my work. I left to move up in the world, to take a promotion at another place of employment. I was already starting to gain the weight back, but I wasn't back to buying clothes at a tent supply store yet.</div><div><br /></div><div>It's been four years since I left that job. And I. Have. Not. Been. Back. That's sad, frankly. I've avoided social gatherings that I would have loved to attend, because I don't want them to see that I failed. Take my timeline a bit further back ... to high school. I have a lot of friends I keep in touch with from back east, where I am from, via Facebook. They see a close-up of my face ... never the whole bod. I never appear in photos with my family. When I go home to see my family, I don't advertise that I'm going, because I don't want people to see me. If they do get wind of it, I go out of my way to lie to them and say that, sure, I'll be there ... but I'm booked solid with things to do while I'm there. Why? Because I don't want them to see that I have failed. Why taint their memory of a thin me with the gruesome reality?</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm coming up on a year soon with this blog. Started in August 2009, and in November 2009 and February 2010, I came back with a vengeance. <i>I will be motivated! I will do the work! I will lose the weight!</i> And then I fall off the plan wagon. </div><div><br /></div><div>Pre-blog, I used to keep journals about my weight loss journey(s). I'd start out strong, lose a few pounds, then go back to my evil ways. The journals would fall down into the abyss between my nightstand and bed. I'd dig them out (usually when searching for my glasses or an earring), dust them off, and ... rip out the pages I had written on. </div><div><br /></div><div>Why? So I didn't have to read about my failure. And so that others, if they so happened on my journals, didn't know that I had failed.</div><div><br /></div><div>So--I'm not here today to announce grand intentions. I'm not going on a bandwagon to say that I've figured it out, that I've made a decision to choose health and activity instead of junk and tv-watching.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm here just to say that I'm not going to delete my blog. I'm going to have to just be OK with leaving it all out there, for people to count the months between blog entries and count how many pounds I didn't lose.</div><div><br /></div><div>That's actually a heckuva start for me.</div>Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-6129780385523617242010-03-21T20:23:00.000-07:002010-03-21T20:31:50.891-07:00Months Flown, Pounds FoundSo here's the thing. When I've journaled in the past about weight loss, and then fallen off the wagon (and then got dragged behind it for a few miles, then left behind, then ... well, you get the picture), I normally press "re-set."<div><br /></div><div>Re-set, to me, means a complete do-over. I tear the journal pages out and shred them, black out the goals I had set, re-stock the fridge and pantry, and generally just try to forget my failure. Again.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not this time. I am more than a little chagrined to look at my initial blog entry here, from wayyyyy back in August, see my <i>gasp</i> at hitting 229 lbs. </div><div><br /></div><div>Truth time? Again? Right now I'm at 247. I'm darn near an eighth of a ton. It's probably not healthy to look at it in ton fractions, but I'm trying to scare myself a little. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've been noodling around with different options, reviewing all of my diet gains and losses, looking for the next road to travel down. I know that what is most important is that I find ME again in the process. I've taken a couple of classes on raw foods, and as a family, we're really enjoying some of those recipes and techniques. Can I go 100% raw (which also means vegetarian, of course)? Probably not. At least not yet. But I figure that getting way more natural, unprocessed foods into my body can't <i>not</i> be healthy, right?</div><div><br /></div><div>Who's with me? Heck, I'm a little more worried about making sure that <b>I'm</b> with me, but the more, the merrier!</div>Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-16654639754209967242009-11-08T18:55:00.000-08:002009-11-08T19:06:54.829-08:00I am not who they think I am.I was at a workshop this week where we were asked to do a short free-write based on the prompt "I am not who they think I am." No other guidance than that. I rolled my eyes, hating this type of touchy-feely crap. but as soon as my pen touched paper, I ran with it. Here's what came out:<br /><br /><em>I am not who they think I am. I am weak. I am afraid. I am a person behind a person. I am looking for me, the one who can be comfortable in her own skin. My relationships surround me, but they don't all get to see me. I don't let them. I am on a journey to myself. They say that it's not the destination, it's the journey. Nope. I just want to get there. I want to plant my flag in the soil that is me, the me within. Who I am. Wherever that is.</em><br /><em></em><br />Even though the workshop didn't have anything to do at all with weight, self-esteem, or any of that inner/outer self stuff, I knew when the first words were written that I was speaking of my weight loss journey. I've been thin before. Four years ago I visited size 8. Didn't stay long, though. I got cocky, careless, and ate my feelings and stress. Sooooooo much to learn.<br /><br />Time to hit the road. I've loaded up the car, pulled out my map... just gotta check the tire pressure, windshield wipers, traffic, look for gas stations ... wait, where are my keys???Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-5095945580926499152009-11-08T18:41:00.000-08:002009-11-08T18:54:54.470-08:00Groundhog DayHi. Me again. It's been two and a half months since my last entry. And boy, have I ever sinned.<br /><br />Before I get into today's story, let me get this out there into the universe ... today when I woke up, I weighed 243 pounds. Technically, I probably weighed more than that, but I refuse to weigh until I've tinkled. Every little bit helps, right? So I was bummed, of course. Huge number. Biggest I've ever seen on my home scale.<br /><br />I tried something new today. I decided that I needed a person. Someone who knows my number (243 ... gasp!) and can therefore appreciate when I've dropped a few or sigh along with me when I've gone the wrong way. Someone who I can be accountable to. Someone who won't judge me, 'cause she's dealing with the same issue. Not my husband, or my son. My weight loss counselor knows my number, but she doesn't really count. She doesn't love me the way my person loves me. I called my sister.<br /><br />I shared my number with her, out loud. It scared me. 243 pounds is a BMI of 41.7. Both numbers are equally frightening. What's scarier, though, is the possibility that I'm now closer than ever to being 250 pounds. That's an eighth of a ton. What?!?!<br /><br />I've spent much of my adult life looking for the trigger, the epiphany... <strong><em>the moment</em></strong> when I finally realize why I should lose weight, the motivation. And it's bothered me that it's never really one thing. But I think what I'm learning -- finally -- is that in order for me to conquer THE BEAST I need to have an epiphany every single day. Maybe more than one. Whatever it takes for me to realize that I've never done anything so bad in life that I need to punish myself with poor health... that I'm worth good health, and my family is worth it, too.<br /><br />Today's revelation? Just that ... that I can have as many as I need to get on track and stay there.Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-20733249885404696352009-08-21T18:54:00.000-07:002009-08-21T19:00:59.966-07:00Putting an APB out on my motivation... againThe month of August has really sucked big-time for me. Home life has been crazy, work life has been crazy ... heck, my driving life has been crazy.<br /><br />And I've gained 7 pounds since July 31. SEVEN pounds!!!!!<br /><br />I know me. If I could just get on board with this plan and really give it 100% for two or three weeks, my natural drive to succeed with it would really kick in.<br /><br />Come on, come on, come on!!!!!Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-36083523791692937922009-08-11T21:15:00.001-07:002009-11-08T19:08:02.385-08:00Motivation Found?I was cleaning out my closet and found this belt. It came with a pair of pants I bought in late 2005, size 10. For kicks and giggles, I decided to see how far it goes around my waist now. I guess it should be some consolation that you could at least see the ends of it ... even if they came nowhere near meeting.<br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPo1TPYx8vg-EBnDlnyo40UH4lV7qgcZKcckpOXzM-G9p_RksbxcTdvghosyqqMoHuEytmxWKdC9UZSSNyglTX1GirvJKuqcW2YjlQLdinCZU9klbPYFgua1SEHuWqiliTV2_wnwK7E4r/s1600-h/belt.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 166px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 139px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368927375578290290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglPo1TPYx8vg-EBnDlnyo40UH4lV7qgcZKcckpOXzM-G9p_RksbxcTdvghosyqqMoHuEytmxWKdC9UZSSNyglTX1GirvJKuqcW2YjlQLdinCZU9klbPYFgua1SEHuWqiliTV2_wnwK7E4r/s320/belt.JPG" /></a>It's not a glamorous belt, just kinda cute. I've used a lot of tools as motivation ... photos of myself in a thinner year, size 8 pants hanging on my bedroom door, lists of reasons to lose the weight, and soooo many more.<br /><br /><br /><br />But maybe this silly little belt is just what I need to "whip" myself into the state of readiness I need. Stay tuned.Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-83510794989008244012009-08-09T15:39:00.000-07:002009-08-09T15:52:29.273-07:00PLAY With Your Food!In church today, I saw a little girl eating Cheetos.<br /><br />First, I was driven mad by the fact that <strong>a)</strong> really? Cheetos? and <strong>b)</strong> they were so loud during the service. But as I watched her eating her cheesy snack one nibble (a rather loud crunch, really) at a time, truly enjoying each tasty morsel, I found myself remembering a time so many years ago when I really <em>tasted</em> a Cheeto.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, I've had plenty o' Cheetos in my day. I mean, have you read my other posts? Clearly I've partaken of a Cheeto or a million. But when I eat something like that now, I mindlessly inhale them. Like my snack mix the other night. Watching <em>So You Think You Can Dance</em>, I nearly polished off a honey-flavored snack mix bag that had <strong>seven servings</strong> in it! Did I really taste the honey-baked goodness? Not so much.<br /><br />I find myself constantly harping at my son to stop playing with his food. He wiggles a french fry, pretending it's chasing his carrot. He dangles a donut from his finger and and nibbles around and around until he breaks through to the hole in the center. {Yes, we're trying to get away from donuts and french fries altogether these days!}<br /><br />But in the time that he has taken to enoy a donut, I could physically polish off four and not really even taste them. On the rare occasion that I would take him to the donut store, he would pick out one cake donut and a few donut holes. I, on the other hand, would select a muffin, a croissant, a cinnamon roll and maybe a whipped-topping delight. Don't panic... the muffin was for my husband.<br /><br />By the time my carb-laden delights were history, my son would be mostly through his one donut, and might have picked up one donut hole. But he would <em>always</em> leave something behind. And I can guarantee that he enjoyed his breakfast way more than I enjoyed mine.<br /><br />So I think I need to figure out how to get back to playing with my food. I can remember my mom giving me a pack of Starburst candy on a road trip. Instead of eating it, I would unwrap one of each color at a time and use it like Play-Doh. I'd make a penguin, a turtle, a caterpillar ... and then eat each creation one at a time. The candy could last me for a couple hundred miles. A pack of Starburst now would last me about eight minutes, and that's being generous because of the occasional wrapping snafu.<br /><br />So come on, peeps ... PLAY with your food! Enjoy it! Savor it! Take your own sweet time with it! And maybe by the time you're done with one tiny little thing, you'll have gotten your fill and your brain will be alert enough to tell your mouth to shut itself.Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-33911052602691052362009-08-09T08:15:00.000-07:002009-08-09T08:19:59.537-07:00Motivation, Where Art Thou?Day 1 (sort of) ... woke up semi-refreshed, then remembered I needed to diet today. Is it a coincidence I suddenly need a cuadruple shot of espresso to even put my contacts in?<br /><br />Down 1 pound. That mac-n-cheese must have been powerful. Probably not. Just another coincidence.Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7199409084908914411.post-77318107600735471162009-08-08T23:50:00.001-07:002009-08-09T08:21:30.794-07:00Non Voyage<div>Here I am. My shrink (OK, a psychic I went to on a whim) said that I should start journaling. Journaling? Pen to paper? Where my family might pick up my looped and lined thoughts, my shredded emotions, and read them? Not my style.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWcYb0-hc6vqKYlPoTO8iqDsrTE29IhseMU3hjyTNgpWXDIIxtq1nLsSsxlsrQm5OIqP7u1fciD4a_szBOhHAQzepfLHboUHR-s6ipRQNrJLEYz5VRbxoMQ6lzY-3H_4msER_2aLD1N7t/s1600-h/cakes.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367984285052460866" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 145px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 201px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzWcYb0-hc6vqKYlPoTO8iqDsrTE29IhseMU3hjyTNgpWXDIIxtq1nLsSsxlsrQm5OIqP7u1fciD4a_szBOhHAQzepfLHboUHR-s6ipRQNrJLEYz5VRbxoMQ6lzY-3H_4msER_2aLD1N7t/s320/cakes.jpg" border="0" /></a>So here's my take on this. I've been a fat chick since I graduated college. I started gaining weight the minute my car hit the open road to head out on my own, and I never looked back. Well, OK, I DID look back. But I started my love-hate relationship with food and my own body right then and there. That was 15 years ago in June. I was a size six at my college graduation, and a year later I was a 12.<br /><br />Since then, I've gotten married, started a family, and packed on more pounds. Can't blame baby weight for the mess I'm wearing. Baby weight should have melted off years ago. This is just me.<br /><br />Growing up, one of the things I remember most about living at home is that my mom was <em>always</em> on a diet. Now, my 7-year-old son can say the same thing about me.<br /><br />What I can say with 100% certainty is that my adult life has always centered on weight. I think about food (what I'm eating or should not be eating), exercise (how much I hate doing it), water (how much I need to drink it, but don't) and my own discomfort untold dozens of times a day. I find that I orient myself to some stage of dieting at all times. I'm always thinking about the most recent time I was "fit" ... I had a dieting success four years ago, hit size 8 in November, and was back up to size 12 by March. I'm always counting ahead how many months it would take me to get back to that size if I could just start <em>tomorrow</em>.<br /><br />I constantly compare myself to the woman in the next office, car, pew, dressing room, or conference room chair.<br /><br />What I need to start doing is to compare myself to me. What am I doing to make myself happy? What can I change to get my health under control and my energy back? What am I willing to make happen so that I can run with my son? And who am I doing this for? I've figured out that it can't be for my family, my co-workers, my high school friends. It's got to be for me, or it's not worth doing.<br /><br />Something else I've learned: the <strong><em>diet</em></strong> doesn't matter. Yes, I'm signed up for a plan. But what plan isn't as important as what I do to stick to it. I've done everything under the sun before, from Weight Watchers to HCG injections. What I'm doing now is a low-calorie (but not drastically low), monitored diet plan.<br /><br />So here I go .... my weight, as of this morning, was 229 pounds [<em>cringe</em>]. That's a BMI of 39.3 [<em>double cringe</em>]. That's actually down from where I started this latest phase a couple of months ago. I started out at 241 pounds, a BMI of 41.4.<br /><br />What's my goal? Of course, when I started this latest diet, I had to profess a long-term goal. And I did. But I'm not even naming it now, because yet another thing I've learned is that looking at the finish line is too far away for me. My ultimate goal is to be healthy and active again ... oh, yeah, and feel sexy :) ... but right now I'd settle for a weight that starts with a <strong><em>one</em></strong>. And to be able to wear clothes from a department not labeled "WOMAN."<br /><br />Step One ... get over the fact that I just inhaled half a bag of Cheerios snack mix and a microwaved mac-n-cheese. And realize that I don't just start this thing tomorrow ... I need to start <u>right now</u>.</div>Fat Chicks Blog, Toohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924288109233770409noreply@blogger.com0