Why I Hate Resolutions...and Why I Made Some

It's almost the end of yet another year.  What they say is true; the older you get, the faster they fly by.  And 2013 really did.  At this time last year, I was patiently waiting for my health insurance to kick in so I could finally make my appointment with my bariatric surgeon.  It's hard to believe this journey of mine has been a whole year.  A year ago, I was almost 370 pounds, miserable, and just afraid I would keel over and die of a freakin heart attack.  I used to make deals with God.  I used to pray that when He did decided to take me, He wouldn't take me that way.  Any way but that.  Just the thought of going that way, being as heavy as I was, was just too humiliating.

Anyhow, a year ago at this time, I was just wishing and hoping that I'd get this last chance and saving my life.  Because dieting wasn't working.  The gym didn't motivate me.  And I was losing an uphill battle.

Now?  I'm down 117 pounds, very active, and loving life.  I'm not who I was last year.  I feel like I've been completely transformed, both physically and mentally.

So back to New Years.  I HATE people who make resolutions.  9 times out of 10 people are all "I'm going to lose weight this year...", "I'm going to exercise more..."  Blah blah blah fucking blah.  You know what?  No.  Just no.  No you won't.  You'll diet for the first week then realize what really goes into a lifetime transformation and get tired of it.  And those gym goers?  They're going to be hogging the mirrors in the locker room and all the good gym equipment will be taken.  Until February, when all those people stop coming to the gym.

It just annoys me.  I'm a weirdo.  I know.  But people who wait until New Years to decide to fix themselves....just drive me crazy.  You should start taking care of yourself the very SECOND you decide to change.  No waiting, no hesitating.  We get one go-round on this planet of ours.  One life.  One body.  That's it.  Take care of it man.  And don't wait until a frikkin new year to start.

Now, I know I sound hypocritical.  And I accept that.  Because that's what I always did. Waited for a new week.  A new month.  Waited for a birthday to pass by.  Waited because I knew that on such and such date, we'd be celebrating something and you sure as heck can't start a lifestyle change then...

So why did I make resolutions for myself this year?  I mean, if you prefer, we can call them challenges.  I made them because I know I can achieve them.  I know I can.  

The other day at the gym, my trainer asked me to jump up on these blocks.  I was like um yea, ok.  Not happening.  But, she knew I could do it.  And after a bit, I did.  She knows I need that mental push.  And I do.  Then, Saturday, we were working on the TRX and she hooked me up so one leg was in the stirrup things, and had me try to hop one-legged onto the bosu ball.  I couldn't do it.  I tried.  Twice.  And just couldn't overcome that.  But I know in time I'll be able to.  Because she believes in me, so I have to believe in me too.

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Merry Christmas!

I've been such a bloggy slacker.  But, I work for a Christmas company, and this year has been nucking futs with work.  I've been working 80 hour weeks all December.  I've totally slacked off on my diet and exercise routine (I've been between 254-256 lbs all month long).  I just haven't had time for myself.  I'd blame my employer, but I make my own hours.  This year, I worked my ass off so we could have one hell of a Christmas, and we are.  The amount of $$ I have spent on my son is insane.  The amount of $$ I spent on my husband is even more insane.  And he also spoiled me rotten.  I know this because me and my husband suck as waiting until Christmas to exchange gifts.  He gave me two new tee's, a Hello Kitty scarf, two new hoodies, several new ornaments, even more new Hello Kitty's, my iPad air, my new Keurig, books, DVD's...I mean I could go on and on, but I'll just stop there.  We spoil each other.  

This year is so much better than last year.  I actually had the energy TO work this many hours.  I'm excited about tomorrow morning, but I'm also happy that it's almost over. Now, I can get back to myself.  I have a goal of losing 5 pounds before 12/31 is over.  Nuts right? But if I do, I'll be at 120 lost.  And what a kick ass way to end 2013, by losing 120 pounds!

Lots of new goals for 2014, but that's a different post for a different day.

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Halfway there...

I'm halfway to my desired weight loss.  I've lost 101 pounds so far.  I guess it's ok for almost 6 months.  I see my surgeon next week and I'll find out if he's pleased with my progress, or not so happy.  I have no idea what he'll be thinking.

I have realized that I am halfway to my goal.  I went into this knowing I'd ideally like to lose 200 pounds.  When I started my journey, that seemed like such a daunting figure. Now that I'm halfway there, it still does.  I'm not so sure I'll be able to lose another 100.  I've worked hard for this.  I work hard all the time at the gym and the pool.

I'm a rockstar at the gym, though.  My personal trainer takes me into the "muscle head" section of the gym - the place I always avoided because I can't stand "those" guys.  The big goofy muscle heads who stare at themselves in the mirror while they flex.  I hate them all.  And I've never felt comfortable near those people.  And now I'm working out side by side next to them.  That's right.  I'm at the squat rack, and I'm one of those people who stands looking in the mirror when I do my squats or calf raises to be sure my form is correct.  Ugh!

Anyhow, I've heard that weight loss the first 6 months comes easy, and after that, it's a struggle.  This worries me, because I've been a super slow loser, and I seem to get easily discouraged by this.

I'm prepared to kick up my exercise.  I can't wait for this tattoo to finish healing so I can hit the pool hard again.  I've REALLY missed it, but I've been good and put in extra gym time.  I've even gone to the gym alone - by my frikkin self - when my hubby couldn't go with me, and that's something I never ever would of done before.

I'm looking forward to dropping the next 100 pounds - I just hope it doesn't take forever. :/

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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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