18...

This is me.  The picture itself it a few years old, but I was at my heaviest weight, or at least I think I was.  My scale didn't go beyond a certain point, so I really don't know.  But gah.  I was SO big.  Sometimes, you just get so big, you don't realize how big you really are until you look back and then it's just an OH.MY.GOD. feeling.  Like why in the hell did I ever let myself go like that?  I mean, really.  I had let myself just go.  I ate whatever I wanted to.  I'd go to Tim Horton's before work, and get a large iced mocha latte along with a BLT bagel.  I'd eat a reasonable lunch, depending on the day.  And dinner, don't even get me started.  3 slices of pizza with some chicken wings.  Or McDonald's (always a double quarter pounder with a large fries..and sometimes I'd throw in a spicy chicken sandwich just because).  Or a burrito bowl from Chipotle with extra meat, and chips and salsa.  Just disgusting eating habits.  Really, I was completely out of control.  So, it's no wonder I got this big.  I've since sold this dress I'm wearing on eBay.  It was a 5X.  I remember having a hard time finding a decent outfit for that wedding too, because no matter where I went, anything I put on just looked like a god damn circus tent on me.  

This sleeve of mine? What a life-saver it's been. Honestly. At least now if I have a splurge meal (like I did yesterday for my birthday), I can't completely go all out because my stomach just doesn't hold that much.  We went to Ruby Tuesday, and I ordered the petite sirloin with lobster tail, grilled zucchini and baked mac n cheese.  I enjoyed a few bites of each and brought the rest home, to have a few more meals.  We ordered dessert, and I ate a few bites, whereas last year? I would of eaten my entire plate and the entire dessert and had at least 2 glasses of Diet Coke with my dinner.

So, having birthday money burning a hole in my pocket, I did a little shopping today.  All of my gym pants are getting too large on me. I am not one for huge baggy clothes anymore, because now, they just make me feel dumpy. A year ago, I preferred baggy, because I felt like it was hiding all my fat.  Now? Baggy clothes make me FEEL fat.  I've been wearing a size 20 for a little bit now, but have started noticing that whoa...these suckers...  I've been having to yank them up because they fall off my ass when I walk.  (I used to have this ass...like...an ASS! I used to call my ass the book shelf, because I shit you not, you could balance a book on it, it stuck out so far).  I'm sure it's a combo of weight loss and squats, but my ass is shrinking, and I couldn't be more pleased.  Anyhow, my jeans don't fit my ass that good anymore and constantly having to pull up my pants is annoying.  So, I went to Kohl's.  I thought hhmm let me just TRY on these size 18 jeans, to get a gauge if I'm getting close to that size.  I have a size 18 in my closet that I got at Goodwill, but they're a juniors 18 and dang, those fuckers are small, so I was just checking.  But, to my surprise, they fit.  Like a gloooooove.  Um.  Is this my life?  When I was in the 7th grade, I wore a size 20.  And that's many many many years ago.  So putting on a pair of pants where the size doesn't start with the number 2?  It's mind blowing.  And I cried in that dressing room today.  I cried because I'm happy.  I cried because I felt like holy shit! Is this really me? And yes, I took a photo too.  Because I am so happy.

Gloriously happy.

And, I got to buy my gym pants at Target today. I felt so normal, walking into just a regular department store, and walking into their regular athletic section, and grabbing some gym pants. Granted, they're XXL, but they fit and that's what was important to me.  I do have to say though...those Target dressing room mirrors? Jesus christ, is it really necessary to be able to view oneself from ALL possible angles? Holy moly. I saw more of myself today than I think I ever have!

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Non-Scale Victories

I really need to celebrate these victories just as much as the ones ON the scale!

Yesterday at the gym, with my trainer, I had a tough day.  I kept having to stop, and rest. Sure, she was working me hard, and I did have a NSV at the gym (more on that in a minute), but still. Having to stop, to catch my breath and drink some water sucks. I feel like the big fat fattie at the gym who can't handle a real workout. Especially when she's got me over in the juicehead section, with all the big muscly dudes, and I'm trying so hard to keep up and push myself, but I can feel myself sinking.  I feel the light head-ness, and I can feel the cold sweat and then my hearing starts to get dodgy and I know, I JUST KNOW any second now, if I keep going, I will pass out.  And I have to stop.

Yesterday I had several moments like that.  I had to stop and she had me sit.  She checked my pulse because she was getting worried and had a tough time finding my heartbeat. I had a tough time catching a breath and couldn't breath any more.  Finally, my breathing caught up, and my heart rate came back up.  And I decided, this is enough.  So, I called my PCP today and got right in for a visit.

Before my surgery, my blood pressure was out of control, and I was put on two medications for it.  Right after my surgery, I was taken off my water pill, and just left on my beta blocker.  Well, since losing almost 145 pounds, I have yet to be taken off of my beta blocker, or had that dose lessened.  Which is posing a problem.  It's working TOO well.  That, combined with my weight loss and how well I've conditioned my heart are now causing me to have bradycardic episodes.  Today, my resting heart rate after walking through the doctors office was 60.  Normal resting for an adult is between 60-100, so mine is on the low side.  At the gym, when I'm exerting myself, and needing the oxygen and all that other good stuff, it's WAY too low.  Which explains why I've been practically exerting myself to the point of passing out.  Because my heart is like oh hey, hey lady?  Yea! Stop!

So my beta blocker meds were cut in half today, and in two weeks I shall go back for a BP check. At that time we will determine if I can either completely stop the meds, or perhaps get on a different med that doesn't lower my heart rate so much.  I was noticing that on the treadmill especially my heart rate doesn't climb like it's supposed to, so there you have it.

Now for TWO NSV's!

My gym NSV: yesterday, my trainer shows me this exercise, where she binds my wrists in a band, and has me doing push ups on a Bosu ball.  When she first showed me this I was thinking is she fucking insane? But I did tell her I wanted an upper body workout. And I did tell her that I was up for anything.  Also, she knows what I can do before I do.  Like last week when she had me doing tricep dips, which I didn't think I'd be able to do either. BUT I DID IT! I did push ups! And not the sissy ones you do on your knees.  I did REAL UP ON MY TOES PUSH UPS!  Now, I didn't do many.  And I didn't go down very far. But dammit, I did them. I did them!!! And it felt amazing.

My doctor office NSV: My PCP was so pleased with my weight loss.  I saw him in January, and he was stoked that I've lost 25 pounds since then. He said when he walked in, he had to do a double take because I look so different. What's so funny is that this is the second time I have heard this, this week. We had a family photo taken at my step-dad's funeral service and I had shown it to one of my circles of friends. One of the girls commented that she didn't even realize it was me in the picture until I had said something. Now, I do not see the difference like that. At all. I think people are completely off their rockers. Surely I cannot look THAT different...can I?  Either way, it feels good when someone (in this case, my doctor) tells me that I have lost a tremendous amount of weight and praises me. It felt really really good today!

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Restriction

I love my sleeve. I really do. He's allowed me to lose almost 143 pounds now. I never in my wildest dreams thought I would/could lose weight like this. I'm still a far way from goal, but I'm getting there.

There are some days when I can't eat for shit. Today is one of those days. My restriction is so tight today. I can never predict it. Some mornings I can start with a cup of Cheerios, hit the gym, drink my coffee after and be snacking shortly thereafter.  Then on days like today, I can sit down to eat some steak, get 2 ounces in and be SO full.  Same with lunch. I started in on some chicken, figured I could eat 3 or 4 ounces because I was so hungry. After about 2 ounces, I was done.

I love tight restriction days. It lets me know that my sleeve is still working for me :)

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Whoa

I love jeans.  Love love love jeans.  The only time I can remember not really wearing jeans was after my son was born.  I had an awful c-section, a bad infection from that c-section and just was fat and sore.  So I wore baggy sweat pants like, all the time.  Also, when I was married to my ex-husband, I wasn't allowed to be too feminine or wear makeup because who knows why.  It's a long complicated mess I don't feel like discussing at the moment.  About 10 months after my son was born, I talked my ex into joining Weight Watchers with me.  After losing 45 pounds, I started to wear jeans again, because I could.  And they felt good, and let's face it, they ALWAYS look better than baggy sweat pants do.  Always.

As my weight dropped them climbed then dropped then climbed, one thing remained the same: I never went back to sweats, I always stayed in jeans.  I thought, if I can wear jeans, I must not be as big as I think I am.  I mean, they only make them so big right?  And I'd justify that as my 24's became snug and I needed to go up to a 26.  And when those became too tight, and I crept into 28's, I said the same thing "well, they make them in my size, so I must not be THAT fat".  Bahaha.  Yea, right.

Anyhow, once my weight started to come off after surgery, and my jeans got looser, I decided to keep the pair of my largest ones, so I could always look back at it.  In the photo above?  Size 28's.  The most comfy jeans I have ever owned.  I miss these jeans.  I put them on the other day just to see how they'd fit, and the results were hilarious.  Not only do they not fit, they don't even stay up anymore without me holding on to them. And, I love that.  It shows real progress and this makes me very very happy. Sometimes,when I feel like my weight loss has slowed down, or like I haven't come far, I'll take a photo like this as a reminder that I HAVE come far!

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Willpower

I have a wicked bad sweet tooth.  Before my surgery and weight loss, I ate sweets every single day.  A typical day would start off with a large iced mocha latte from Tim Horton's. I mean, what washes down a bagel and sausage sandwich better than that? I ate chocolate all the time.  ALL THE TIME. You know those gigantic Hershey bars you can buy? Not the king size ones - those are for amateurs. I'm talking the HUGE bars? I'd buy those, and eat it over two days. Most normal people, or normal weight people, wouldn't do this. But I did. Oh, and let's not forget my addiction to Diet Coke. At least a 2-liter bottle a day consumption habit. At least.

Since my surgery, I've not eaten sweets that much. I have found that since eliminating the artificial sweeteners from my diet (Diet Coke), I don't crave them as much, and also, I've eliminated my migraines, which is awesomesauce.  Those used to be brutal.

Now, when I do want a sweet, it's done in moderation. Take for example my son's birthday party. We used to get those big cakes from the bakery - you know the kind - with that sweet, delicious buttercream frosting on top. And it wasn't a big deal to me to eat 2 or 3 pieces of cake a day. Come on! No wonder I was well over the 300 lb mark just a year ago. This year, we ordered cupcakes. I ate one, and was done. I didn't eat 3 or 4, or more. I ate my cupcake, and went on my merry way.

Saturday was the funeral service, and right behind me, of course, was the dessert table. People brought cookies, and brownies and cheesecake and cupcakes and lord knows what else. To be honest, I never once got up and even looked at the dessert table.  My son grabbed pretty much one of everything. I ate one bite of a brownie, and one bite of a cupcake, and make him throw away the rest. The old me? She would of taken at least two trips up there and stuffed her face, and of course, washed it down with Diet Coke.

Hell, at dinner, I didn't even put a roll, the pasta salad or the scalloped potatoes on my plate. I WANTED to. I really wanted to. But I didn't. I did my protein first and drank water all night. I was incredibly proud of myself, honestly.

I feel like I have come a long way. I know that every so often, I can indulge. Just last week I ate a chocolate croissant from Starbucks. I didn't binge, I didn't go on a rampage and eat a ton, I just added an extra workout into my day and went about my business. It feels good to finally have some control over my diet and my life!

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Dear Step-Dad...

Dear Step-Dad,

I still remember the first day we met. It was Christmas. My mom wanted me and my brother to meet you. She invited us to your house for brunch. My brother agreed to go. I decided not to - I felt bad for my dad (wow, the irony, looking back on that now!) Eventually, I decided to come along.

You were so nice. I remember thinking wow, this guy looks like a hard ass. And that's one word people often used to describe you. A hard ass, rough and tough guy. But to anyone that got to know you, you were the biggest, nicest, most kind and loving person I ever knew.

Eventually, we'd get to know you better over the years. You and my mom didn't marry for several years later, but you were always present in my life. I can remember countless times I spent holidays at your house eating dinner with you, or just seeing you stop over after work to give my mom a hug and a kiss. You were always present, which is something that over the years my dad ceased to be.

On my 18th birthday, you sent me 18 roses, and that meant the world to me. When you and my mom married, we all moved in with you, and you didn't have to let me and my brother come; we were both over the age of 18 and old enough to be out on our own, but you took us in because we were family after all.

Sadly, cancer would come into your life, and eventually take you from us. First, your bladder. Then your lungs, then brain. Then just random tumors here and there. You'd go through chemo, you'd go through radiation, and you'd get better. Cancer tried to kick your ass so many times, and so many times you said fuck you. Fuck you cancer, you're not taking me. But last December, with more lesions in your brain, and your lungs, and your adrenal glands, there was nothing more they could do. There was no more treatment options. There was nothing. And slowly, day by day, cancer sucked the life out of you. 

I came to see you the Saturday before your passing. I hugged you and told you I loved you and you told me you loved me too. You thanked me for coming to see you. I am forever grateful I got to tell you I love you one last time.  And then, not even 5 days later, you were gone.

You have left a tremendous hole in my heart. I will forever miss you and love all the time we spent together. Your funeral service was very hard to get through. Seeing the 40-ish Patriot Guard Riders stand outside the church with their American flags to honor you and your service; being presented with a plaque for your service, standing in awe at the color guard, presenting my mom with the flag they unfolded and folded for you - I was in awe. Seeing that tiny church packed with nearly 250 people - I've never been to a standing room only funeral service until now. And its a testimony for how loved and respected you were. 

Fuck you Vietnam War. Fuck you Agent Orange. Fuck you cancer. You took my dad away, motherfuckers.

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Feeling gross

Today, I am feeling gross.  It's not because I've lost 135 pounds. It's not because my close don't fit. It's not because I don't exercise.

Today, I am feeling gross because I ate like I did 135 pounds ago. I ate a chocolate croissant for breakfast from Starbucks.  I ate a chocolate chip walnut cookie from Wegmans after dinner.  I feel disgusting with myself.  And I ate today because I am sad and I do not care.

Thursday, at 1am, my step-dad passed away. He struggled with cancer for a long, long time.  In December, he was told there was nothing else that could be done for him. Last Saturday, I saw him for the last time. I hugged and kissed him goodbye and told him I love him.  He told me he loved me too, and thanked me for coming to see him.  I love this man. He treated my mother like gold. He didn't need to let me and my brother come live with him when they married. We were both over the age of 18. He could of told my mother no. But he didn't. He welcomed us into his home like we were his own kids. He treated me like a daughter, not a step-daughter or an intrusion into his home. He always used to say "hi sweetheart" whenever he saw me. I love him and will miss him every single day.  I hope he knows how much of an impact he had on my life.

So today I am sad. And I ate my feelings, and I feel gross. :(

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