Pizza and Me

Meh.  I'm not so sure that I can tell that I've lost 100 pounds.  I thought it would look so much better than it does.  I just expected more.  I know I started out really heavy, but come on.  100 pounds is huge.  but it doesn't look huge.  So depressing.

Tonight for dinner,we ate pizza.  Let me tell you about me and pizza.  Prior to surgery, we would order it at least once a week.  It was my favorite food.  Pizza with chicken wings was ever better.  Pizza dipped in ranch?  Like heaven.  We had a free pizza coupon from Papa John's so I said fuck it...it's Halloween...I have to work tonight, let's just order a pizza.  So, we grabbed it and brought it home.  I put the glorious piece of pizza on my plate and noticed how greasy it looked, so I dabbed it with my napkin.  I ate 3/4 of a slice and was full - completely satisfied.  (But I don't lie...I ate another piece for my snack.)

I feel like crap.  I feel like I cheated.  I feel like hell.  I feel like the carbs are just on overload right now.  Too much fat.  Too much grease.  And allow me to tell you - without those chicken wings, without that ranch, without those two glasses of ice cold Diet Coke, dinner just sucked.  I rather would of had a chicken breast and an ice water.  Honestly. The pizza did nothing for me.  I will remember this the next time I have a craving.  And this is good.

What's bad?  How hard I'm going to have to bust my ass at the gym tomorrow to burn off that nearly 700 calories of fucking pizza I just ate today.  GROSS.

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Things

So I finally did it.  Lost 100 pounds.  I wasn't sure if it was ever going to happen.  I'm a really slow loser.  My surgery was May 16th.  5 months to lose 100 pounds.  I know I know. Some people think that's really good loss.  I'm not one of those people.  It frustrates me, because I know I can do better and do more.  But that's an average loss of over 4 pounds a week.  Much better than I've ever done on any diet, or eating/exercising plan.  So, I'm happy with it.  And, the fact that I'm wearing smaller clothes and getting compliments all the time is making it so worth it.

So what did I do when I lost my first 100 pounds?  Well, I got myself a tattoo.  I've been dying for a Hello Kitty tattoo for the longest time.  And I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before that my new stomach is named Godzilla.  It's purely because of the dang noises it makes.  It's like I have a monster living inside of my gut.  So, Hello Kitty as Godzilla seemed pretty fucking perfect.  She's adorable and perfect and I absolutely LOVE my new tattoo!!!!!

Last night, I was getting ready for bed, and noticed that holy cats...my pajama pants are really big.  They were practically falling off, but I could still wear them.  I thought let me try something here....and it worked.  I fit into one pajama leg.  All of me.  I think I need some new jammies!

I just have to add one more thing before I go.  I've had some people make comments to me that have truly been so meaningful, and so motivational for me.  Here is a small sampling:

"you are lookin awesome!  keep up the hard work and know that all your hard work is easy to see.  you inspire me..."

"Be proud of yourself, I'm proud of you!!!"

"I'm in such awe of your accomplishments. One day you'll have to tell me how the "new" Kelly came to power. I would kill for your success"

"I wish I had your discipline. You've been working your ass off."

"You've been working so hard :) Just want to take a minute to say how awesome you look........but mostly how awesome you are!"

Seriously, knowing how many people are behind me, supporting me and cheering me on means the world to me.  I never thought that people would even notice that I've been losing weight, or how hard I've worked, but I guess they have, and it feels good.

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Dun dun dun...failure!

Well, that was interesting.  Since July, I've been looking forward to running/walking in my first 5K.  One of my personal goals - and items on my bucket list - is to participate in a 5K. But in my mind, I'd be able to jog more than walk.  But, that didn't happen.

I started preparation in the gym a few months ago doing the Couch to 5K program.  I hadn't ran since high school, and I graduated in '94.  So it's been a REAL long time.  I would jog 30 seconds or so and just not be able to jog any more.  Then, I started working with my trainer, so I was no longer doing the couch to 5K program, but instead, I was doing strength training.  I thought it'd be enough to finish this race, but not so much.

I had one goal.  ONE FUCKING GOAL.  Finish.  That's it.  I didn't care how it happened, I just wanted to finish.  And I MOTHERFUCKING FAILED.  :/

We got there this morning, and had to stand around an hour waiting for the race to start. The old me never would of been able to handle this, because my back would of been in so much pain, and it would of gone numb.  Thankfully, since dropping 95 pounds, I don't suffer from that problem so much anymore.  But, this morning, it was cold.  I was cold. And after standing there an hour, my lower back was starting to feel it.  

Right at 10, they lined up all the racers and let us loose.  I remember commenting to my hubby "holy shit, look at how far up those runners are!"  Yea...we were slow.  The race was held at a cemetery  and the road was not paved.  It was loose gravel mixed in with rocks and stones.  It was unstable and muddy from the rain.  We walked the first mile in 16 minutes.  I'm sure there were some people who ran the entire way around in that time frame, but I don't give a fuck.  16 minutes for me is a personal best.  I can tell you that at the gym, on the treadmill, it usually takes me 22-25 minutes to go a mile.  So, this for me was awesome.

Now, a 5K is 3.1 miles.  By the time we got to the starting line (where we were supposed to walk around the entire thing a second time), we had walked 2.7 miles.  So, I call shenanigans.  It was NOT a true 5K, because one lap was 2.7 miles.  And I was whooped. My back and knee were killing me.  So, my husband and I said fuck it.  

And?  I feel like utter shit.  I feel like a failure.  Sure, I was "faster than everyone else who sat on the couch."  Great.  Big fucking deal.  Sure, the "old me" would of been at home, on my couch, likely pigging out on something.  Great.  Big fucking deal.

I WANTED and NEEDED to at least finish today to feel successful, and I didn't do it.  So now?  I feel like shit and will only use this to fuel my fire.  I will hit the gym harder next week.  I will get on the treadmill and beat 2.7 miles in 44 minutes because now I know I can.  I will not, ever again, take more than 16 minutes to walk a mile, because now I know I can.  I have to do better!

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My Sleeve and Me

Sometimes, I wish I could eat like a normal person.  But, thanks to my sleeve, I cannot. I'm not complaining.  I'm truly not.  I'm happy with how things are turning out.  I'm about 20 weeks out and my restriction is weird.  Like...sometimes I can eat what I feel is a lot, and at other times, I can barely eat at all.  

Last Friday, me and the fam went to Pizza Hut.  Yep.  Yours truly ate pizza.  We ordered breadsticks (I ate one), and we each ordered a personal pan pizza.  My guys gulped theirs down.  I was able to eat 1.5 pieces.  Which, I felt like was a lot.  But, then I considered that for me, sometimes, bread products seem to behave like sliders.  (And at other times, bread swells and I can't deal with it).  But considering how I also ate most of a turkey burger on a lite bun (with most of the top portion of bun removed), I'd say bread is a slider for me.  I know that crackers are, and cereal, so it makes sense that bread is.

Anyhow...I'm getting off topic.  Back to Pizza Hut.  I always talk about my former self, and my current self in regards to food.  My former self would of made sure we ordered a double order of breadsticks, because I would of eaten at least 3.  And for sure, we would of ordered a large pizza, because I would of packed away a good 3 slices.  Also?  I would of drank at least two glasses of Diet Coke with it.  But the new me couldn't do that.  And you know what?  I was perfectly ok with that.  

In 20 weeks, I've lost 90 pounds.  That's pretty good, if you ask me.  I have a completely different relationship with food than I did months ago.  I don't eat because of the enjoyment I'll get from food.  I eat because I have to, in order to survive.  It's so different.

Tonight for dinner, my restriction was awesome.  I mixed up a can of chicken (2 oz.) with 1 tbsp. low fat mayo, and then sliced a baby cucumber, a few mini heirloom tomatoes and threw a couple snow peas into the mix.  Typically, I can pack away all that chicken. Tonight, not even close.  It's funny how much it varies for me.  Some days I'm so close to going over 800 calories, and I find myself obsessing about it.  Other days, if I hit 600 it's a miracle.  Funny how this sleeve business works!

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