Once upon a time, I was sitting on my sofa at 455 pounds watching a workout DVD I had put in. It was labeled “beginner” so I thought that I could do it. I didn’t even make it past the warm-up before flopping down on the sofa out of breath with tears running down my face. The next day, I was sore and my feet ached. This is what the reality is for many severely obese people who try to do exercise after months, or years, of being sedentary.

I’m so thankful that not everyone will know what it’s like to feel that desperation. How do you even start when you can’t even do the “beginners” workouts? What gives you the motivation to begin something that seems so physically impossible? It still makes me tear up just thinking about it.

Whether you have 20 pounds to lose or 200 pounds to lose, these are my tips for starting and exercise program:

• Start small. Don’t fall into the trap of thinking you have to enroll in a 30 day boot camp in order to consider yourself a success. I actually started by watching workout DVDs, but not doing them. I wanted to wrap my mind around knowing that I could do the moves. It was like psyching myself up for it. One day I did 10 minutes and was worn out. A few days later I did it again. Rinse and repeat.
• Don’t get discouraged. You are your own measuring stick, so don’t get discouraged if you can’t do what you think others can do. Focus on doing your best for the day, and then trying for your best again next time. Everyone wishes they could do more, lift more, run faster – it’s not just you.
• If you mess up, try again. Just because you skip a workout or only do half of it doesn’t mean you’re doomed to a life of being sedentary! You have an entire lifetime to keep trying.
• Listen to the doctor. Always consult your physician before starting a new program. Think about it- if you’re doing something to start improving your health, shouldn’t you make sure it’s okay with the other person (besides yourself) who looks after your health?
• Start in a place of comfort. Not everyone wants to roll into the gym on day 1 and get started with a bang. We’re afraid of being seen or of using equipment incorrectly. For me, I had to start working out with workout videos (as posted earlier today) because I didn’t want anyone to see me work out. I wouldn’t even let my husband in the same room while I did them. After I felt comfortable at home, I went to the pool at my gym. Since I used to be a swimmer, I felt comfortable in the water and knew it would be easy on my joints. From there, I started working out with a trainer and it’s amazing how natural going to the gym feels.
• Focus on the end goal. You are trying to change your life. Changing your life isn’t easy. You have to pick yourself up more times than you fall down in order to be successful.

 Anyone else have advice to share? Any specific questions?

I tend to not be a controversial person. I stay pretty neutral on a lot of topics because I like to be well-versed in both sides before forming an opinion. That being said, the controversy this week regarding the Strong4Life campaign running in Georgia has really affected me. Billed as an anti-obesity campaign for children, the message of the ads is to “stop sugarcoating it, Georgia.” Here’s one that literally made my heart hurt.

I WAS that girl.

I was born in Augusta, Georgia, and lived there until I was about 12. I was always big. ALWAYS. Always taller, always plumper (seriously, look at the bottom left photo- my friend and I were the same age!). My round face, cheeks, and belly rarely escaped a photo. I think I had cellulite when I was 12. Appearances aside, however, I was as active as a child could be. Nearly every day after school I had jazz class, tennis practice, swim practice (was on an all-year league), and Brownies (the Girl Scout, not the food). My mom cooked everything at home, and it was pretty standard fare: baked chicken, broccoli, rice. Sometimes my dad would cook stir fry. We didn’t have junk in the house, and didn’t drink soda. I took my lunch to school most days, with a Thermos full of soup and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. If I was lucky, I’d get a pudding snack pack.

I WAS that girl, but I didn’t know it.

This girl in the video will always know that something was so “wrong” with her that she was in an ad for it. A poster child for childhood obesity? What parent would sign up for their child to be that?

The one thing you can never get back in life is your innocence. Children are born unaware of hate, societal pressures, social norms, and unrealistic expectations. They only know love for their caregiver. As soon as people start pointing out differences, the innocence is lost. I distinctly remember when I realized that my dad was Chinese and my mom was white – they were different. I was about 8 years old and another Asian child at school said something about me having an Asian last name and Asian parent, but not looking like it. I was gobsmacked. Really? I’m half Chinese?

By no means am I saying that childhood obesity should remain unaddressed. I wish I had a solution for it, because I’d run around shouting it from the rooftops. As a formerly obese child, however, I have no idea what my parents could have done differently to instill different habits that would have made me smaller. I was extremely active, wasn’t eating junk, and had home cooked meals. My sister did the same things as I did and was always tiny. It’s just how it is. Don’t make me the poster child for poor health and poor food choices made by parents – that is 100% not the case.

This girl, and the others in the campaign, will have an entire life of knowing how different they are, and how wrong “society” thinks it is. It wasn’t until I was 14 that I started contemplating suicide over my appearance. I am so thankful that I was old enough at that time to reach out to someone for help. Thinking about a child any younger than that and the pressure, scrutiny, and shaming they might endure makes my heart ache.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

I had an emotionally raw post that I was going to put up tonight. It was about being frustrated and worried and overanalyzing everything as I normally do, both in my head and here on this blog. Reading it just now after the events of today means I’m shelving that for now as these are new things that will need processing.

If you’ve read this blog for a while, you have heard me complain about my ankle. In March, I had pain in my left foot and ankle training for the half-marathon. I sought out help from a podiatrist, who put me in some insoles and told me to rest up. Diagnosis: Overuse.

Fast forward 4 months: the pain was markedly better post-half marathon, so I figured it was healed. The more I was active though, the more it started hurting again. I make an appointment for an orthopaedic surgeon I saw when I had knee issues at 400+ pounds. We did x-rays and MRIs and I was put in the boot for 6 weeks. Boot helped and I felt much better after.

Fast forward to 2 weeks ago: the pain in my ankle is getting worse again, and this time to the point it hurt to just walk. I put the boot back on for several days, but no relief. Made a follow up appointment with the orthopaedic surgeon and he wrote me a prescription for custom orthotic insoles and shoes after seeing the flats I was wearing with my work outfit. He said I had to get better shoes and sent me to a fancy shoe guy. He said to wear the shoes for 3 months, and if it was still bad, he would have to refer me to a foot and ankle specialist to consider surgery.

I had to cancel my appointment with fancy shoe guy due to a conflict, and after I did so, started thinking. I’m only in my work shoes for going from my car to my office (about 50 steps), and from my office to the bathroom (about 20 steps). How could that really make my ankle hurt so bad from poor support? Something wasn’t right, and I really couldn’t bear the thought of 3 more months of waiting and hoping… why not go ahead and see a specialist and get a 2nd opinion?

Fast forward to this morning at 8:20 when I am getting more x-rays and trying to stand on my tip toes (impossible on inflamed foot). The specialist explains that she and first doctor have come to similar conclusions, but she advised treating it differently due to the severity of my problem (posterior tibial tendon dysfunction where my tendon can’t support my arch and is flattening my foot – phase 2). She explained that I needed a cast. “Like, a cast-cast?” I asked. She said “yep.” She went on to tell me that after 6 weeks in the cast, I will need 6 weeks in another immobilizing boot, and then physical therapy and prescription orthotic shoes.

This is what I felt like:

I had jeans on and they said they wouldn’t be able to fit over the cast if they put it on then. I didn’t want to walk out of the doctors office wearing a pair of paper shorts, so I returned in the afternoon with a skirt on to get my cast on. At least I got to pick a color…

the boot is for helping me walk

I’m glad I have an answer and an aggressive treatment plan for solving the problem. I’m glad I’m able to walk on my foot. It’s not ideal, but better than armpit pain from crutches. Still, I’m really, really frustrated.

not so happy camper

Count this among another set up gut-checks I’ve had about my health this year. Thankfully, I’m still standing (literally) and it can only go up from here.

Now… who wants to come over and help bedazzle my cast?

Thanks for listening. xo

My history with binge eating is long, sordid, and something that I never acknowledged until a couple of years ago. I just thought I ate a lot – I never took the time to identify that I was using food to feel better emotionally, while making me worse off physically.

image via equinoxefr on Flickr

The last 2 days, I made poor food choices at dinner (pizza, and then Taco Hell – BLECH). These would have been, in my previous life, massive binges. My food choices this past year have been pretty on-pointe. Yes, I’ve experimented with different meal plans and such, but they were all calculated efforts to see what makes me feel best.

These poor dinner choices I’ve made have caused warning lights to go off inside me:

ALERT: Something is wrong. This is not what you do. This is not what makes you feel good.

As I’ve done many times on this long road to health, I had to stop and think hard about the WHY behind my actions. I had a lightbulb moment today: TRIGGER > CIRCUMSTANCE > ACTION.

Trigger: I’m an emotional mess. My current health issues mean I’m turned all upside down. I feel discombobulated, tired, and frustrated. I had a case of the “why me” syndrome – why, after all of my really hard work, am I facing all of these issues? Of course I know the answer: these have been around forever, they’re just coming to a head now. It has nothing to do with being deserving or not deserving. It’s much easier though to just blame yourself and hold in all the anger and frustration. Perfect triggers.

Circumstance: A perfect storm of justifications to make decisions that normally don’t even exist in your head: An empty refrigerator. A busy schedule. A drive thru on every corner. No meal plans or dinner ideas. Hunger. Quick fix.

Action: Search for a quick fix: poor food choice and overeating. Hoping for some satisfaction and release from my trigger but finding only guilt and a stomachache.

In the end, I am overfull of food, full of regret, but still emotionally empty. Nothing is solved, and the cycle continues.

So why do I ramble on about this? In the pursuit of living a healthy lifestyle, you can’t always be perfect. You do things right many times, and other times you slip up. Use every opportunity to learn and use the knowledge to do better next time. You can’t fill an empty tank with decisions that will only make you feel worse.

I have many things to say yet I’m still sick and without any energy (although no longer eating like crap), so my bandwidth to produce coherent content is just not there right now! Hoping you all can help me keep the discussion going with this one. 

Tonight over on FitSugar, I saw the headline “Is Being Overweight More Acceptable Today?”

The question was raised after a new Gallup poll released that American’s weigh on average 20 pounds more than they did  20 years ago, and that those surveyed also said that their perception of what the ideal weight is has increased by about 10 pounds in the past 20 years.

The word “acceptable” is something that really bothers me. In definition, the word means “able to be agreed upon; suitable,” which doesn’t seem like the context that it’s delivered in. For example, Fat Acceptance in my mind doesn’t mean that fat is agreed upon as suitable by everyone. It has more to do with tolerance than acceptance. So for this discussion, I’ll jump to TOLERANCE.

A few questions for open discussion. No bashing or I’ll delete your ass. My site, my rules.

• Do American’s tolerate higher weights today because they’re more prevalent?
• Do American’s tolerate the poor food choices that are presented in schools and at the grocery stores, and is that why tolerance of higher weights is more widespread?
• Do you think that as an overweight person, you are more accepted now than you would have been in the past?
• If you aren’t overweight, do you have more tolerance for overweight people?

This is a topic I haven’t touched here before for fear of being pro- or anti- weight loss surgery. That is totally not the point: I believe people have the right to do whatever they feel they must do to get healthy and live their fulfilled lives. Totally just sharing my personal thoughts right now.

I stared in disbelief. The beautiful, yet 100 pound overweight friend had transformed into a stunning, svelte fraction of herself in the time it has taken me to lose 25 pounds. Automatically, the insane jealousy kicked in. I want that. I want to have my hard work pay off like that. I can’t even fathom how looking “normal” would feel. I’ve never been “normal.” From the husky kids section to Junior Plus and then plus sizes by high school, “normal” has never been in the vocabulary of me talking about my size.

I’ve seen similar weight loss surgery success stories from acquaintances and have always wondered what it would be like for me to go through the process. A few years ago when I hit rock bottom with my weight, health and happiness, I went to one of the introductory seminars at a local surgery center. I entered the room a sweaty mess from trying to find the place and rushing because I hate being late. There were only a few seats left, and they were right in the front of the room. I dragged hubs with me (he was still “boyfriend” at this point) and we heard stories of people who had some surgery or another – RNY, Lapband, gastric sleeve, etc. They stood next to photos of their former unrecognizable selves.

The doctors spoke about the process from insurance approval to post-surgery life. They showed photos and diagrams and I think were pretty thorough in their review. No smoking, must take supplements, get your protein in, don’t drink during meals and don’t drink soda. After their presentation, hands went up and questions were asked. I stared at each person and though “Do I look as big as they do?” “Am I the biggest person here?” “These people all look sickly. I’m not sick.”

• “Well what happens if you smoke after the surgery?”
• “What do you mean no soda? Diet soda has nothing in it!”
• “How fast can I lose 200 pounds?”
• “Why do I need to lose weight before the surgery? That’s why I’m having the surgery!”

Of course, these are the only questions I remember. I’m sure there were very serious questions asked that didn’t make me think: “Are you really serious?” when they were asked. These questions, however, blew my freaking mind. People were already asking questions that led me to believe they would be non-compliant after surgery. I told myself that I wasn’t like that. I would do it all to the letter and I would be hugely successful.

I submitted my insurance information, and found that I had a direct exclusion to my policy forbidding any procedure of the sort. Even with medical necessity with co-morbidities. I tried about a year later when I had different insurance. Same thing. I tried again after I got married and had hubs’ insurance. Same thing. 3 different insurance policies, and none would cover it. The surgery center talked to me about payment plans and portions of the prep that might be covered. I didn’t want it though. I didn’t want monetary stress because I (at that time) felt too defeated to do anything proactive about my health besides have surgery. Something didn’t feel right about it.

Of course, there are the stories of deaths. Inevitably all my friends of friends knew people who died from internal bleeding, etc. I didn’t want to die due to surgery, but I was willing to die from my declining health and growing size.

Then there are  those who lost all the weight and then gained it back. A family member of mine did that, as well as some other acquaintances I’ve had throughout the years. Did I want to surgically alter myself only to not feel strong enough to keep on the plan to keep the weight off? Would I be a fat, unhealthy person with a tiny stomach pouch that was overstretched and bypassed intestines?

In the past 2 years throughout this journey of trying to find my “Skinny Emmie,” I’ve thought about weight loss surgery. Of course, it’s always when things are tough – I never think about it when things are awesome. When I was at the Walk From Obesity, I wore my Skinny Emmie shirt that said I had lost 110 pounds. I was stopped by one of the volunteers who worked for one of the surgery centers that was sponsoring the event. “That’s great!” as she pointed to the shirt. “When was your surgery date?”

I explained that I didn’t have surgery. I know some people think that surgery is the “easy” way out, but I disagree. What is easy about going through a surgical procedure and then having to adapt their food and lifestyle? We all have to do that anyway, surgery or not.

I couldn’t help but think though, when I answered that I didn’t have surgery, what would have happened? Would I have become “normal” or be even more active and happy? Would I have died? Would I have the same struggles? I’ll never know.

When I got home from Indianapolis and watched the video of me talking, I was slightly horrified. “How in the world am I still that big? How in the world will anyone take me seriously like that? I need to have the surgery.” These toxic thoughts have run on repeat in my head the past 2 weeks.

This weekend, my fog has lifted. The truth is that I felt good about the progress I made without surgery. I could have been told “no” to surgery and then just continued down the road to destruction. Something in me wanted to fight, and all it took was a tiny spark to start this crazy emotional journey I’m on now.

Surgery or not, these truths are the same:

• You have to address the reasons behind the weight. It’s ugly and messy and extremely difficult, but how can you change something you don’t understand?
• You have to be proud of your path. Offer no apologies for not meeting others expectations. Yours are the only ones that matter.
• The road you take will never be identical to anyone else. Own the path and the uniqueness that will take you to success.
• Recognize and own your accomplishments. If you never check the rear view mirror, you can’t see the perspective of the distance traveled.

No matter the vehicle you take, focus on health and happiness, and I will celebrate your success with you.

Sometimes things are better communicated verbally than written. Therefore, I made a vlog where I ramble my thoughts: I’m quitting The Biggest Loser. For those who really don’t want to hear me yammer about this, a quick summary is written below the video. But please watch

My love affair with the Biggest Loser started from season 1. People my size were on TV, busting their butts, and losing incredible amounts of weight. I cried with them in bad and good times. All in front of my television, munching on some salty, processed food.

Season after season, I watched faithfully - mesmerized at the incredible, rapid transformations. I watched the casting videos of each contestant eating crazy amounts of calorie-laden foods. I watched them go out with their families to get donuts and instead be greeted by Bob or Jillian instead.

1. Who says that being obese means you eat a dozen donuts at a time or go through different drive thru’s back-to back? (as seen in the audition tapes)
2. Who says that being obese means you have to have some sort of crazy, life-altering trauma that caused it?
3. Who says that working out for hours on end and getting yelled at is the most effective way to drop pounds?
4. Who says you have to puke in your workouts in order for them to be effective?

Would love your thoughts on this.

This week has been insanity for me, and I’m so ready for the weekend! I read this article earlier in the week and bookmarked it to share here because I read it with tears going down my face (and not wearing waterproof mascara- mistake). It is from Richard Simmons. I don’t care if you think he’s awesome or he’s whack-a-doo, in order to get the rest of this post, you’ll need to read it. So, clicky clicky. I’ll wait.

You know what is freaking awesome to realize?

I’m not going to die.

At least not anytime soon (God forbid), and at least not by complications from my size. I won’t be a Rose, Tommy, or Sarah as Richard spoke about.

Richard said he woke up from his dream with these thoughts in context to those who had passed:

“…what else could I have done? What more could I have said? Did I fail them?”

What if you tweaked this a little bit and said this aloud, after it’s too late:

“…what else could I have done? What more could I have said? Did I fail ME?”

Could I have tried harder, been smarter, or take little actions to help? Could I have simply said to someone: “help me?” Did I fail myself?

Listen – I know many of you all have never experienced the weight, mobility issues, or emotional issues I have. Even so, I think everyone can relate. We can all try our best and correct course as we need to. We can always ask for help, no matter what we’re struggling with. We can always say YES to ourselves. Many of us are so focused on doing everything else but helping ourselves that we end up bearing the impact of choosing them over us.

This week I’m readjusting course once again. I’m not saying “yes” to everything and I’m clearing my calendar. Family and friend dramas will have to just figure themselves out. I am not saying yes to any more volunteer opportunities this year. I’m not volunteering myself for extra work. At some point, we must replenish ourselves of what we’ve given away to others.

When I started this journey 113 pounds ago, I chose to focus on me. Stalls, injuries, emotional setbacks: they’re all minor. Every day my life gets a tiny bit healthier, and with each step, I am choosing to live. Thank you Richard for the reminder.

Edited to add this photo from Halloween, 2006. I went as “Mrs. Federline” – darn Britney for going all “normal” again! This is the closest I’ve been to Richard Simmons, with friend Blake.

I’ve had a draft post started as an update to my last “Mental Matters” post where I talked about my history of depression, anxiety and plan of seeking more assistance for it. It’s languished in my “drafts” folder for two weeks as I simply didn’t want to write anymore about having depression. It’s painful to talk about sometimes, and is fiercely personal to some. Yet today, something happened that has me crying my eyes out at the computer screen because someone died who had thousands and thousands of people who wish they had said and done more to help.

I work in marketing, and as many of you know, love all things social media and branding-related. One of the big players and experts in the field was Trey Pennington. He had hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers and a huge following on Facebook, as well as six children. I didn’t know Trey. I’ve interacted with him perhaps one or two times, so I cannot even begin to say I know anything about him beyond his wisdom and expertise he shared on Twitter, his blog, and at speaking engagements. I have managed about 10 Twitter accounts for various companies, and he was always one of the first people I would follow on each one of them.

Today, Trey committed suicide. His last tweet about an hour before the news hit is haunting. He posted a bunch of photos recently on Facebook, and hours ago left commentary on many of them, speaking about happier times with his wife and family. Looking at them now, you just want to scream because the pain is there, but is masked.

Sure am thankful for online friends who are real friends offline, too. Love you.

September 4, 2011 9:21 am via TweetDeckReplyRetweetFavorite

@treypennington

Trey Pennington

If you want to know more about Trey from those who knew him, here are a few links:

• Post from Olivier Blanchard
• Post from Kris Colvin
• Post from Steve Woodruff

Hear me? YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

Ask for help – it is brave and honorable to do so.

image via Pinterest

I was at work today and 3pm hit. As the minutes ticked past, I realized how freaking hungry I was. I had a satisfying lunch at noon, but was really, overwhelmingly hungry by 3:15pm.

I have a stash of about 5 Larabars at my desk to eat if I need them. Today, I was going straight from work to workout, and had planned on eating 1 Larabar right before leaving work.

I thought to myself: “It’s 3:15. You can’t have a Larabar now and another one later. You just can’t. It will make you gain weight. It’s too many calories. It wouldn’t be good.”

In a moment of clarity, I realized the harsh fact:

I was afraid to eat.

After counting, measuring and tracking, my mind was taking over if I should eat something or not. I’ve analyzed things like crazy lately, and this new neuroses popped up.  Am I “supposed” to eat this at this particular moment? Am I “supposed” to be hungry right now? This had zero to do with the mental issues of binge eating: I wasn’t trying to mindlessly consume 1000+ calories in one sitting.

At 3:20pm I had a stern talking with myself.

• You’re assuming you will be hungry again at 5:30pm. Perhaps you will, or perhaps you won’t. Either way, no big deal.
• If you are hungry, you should eat. End of story.

So I ate. And I wasn’t hungry anymore.

image via Pinterest

I know this is such a rudimentary thing – so basic. Yet, I feel like this is another “aha moment” on this long road to healthy living.

Does this make any sense? Has anyone else ever felt this way?

This frustrated mind of mine has been very loud this weekend, when not being distracted by my awful ear infections and vertigo that have me feeling drunk on top of a hangover with a headache that won’t stop. Between my boot (still in for 1 more week), my ear infections and vertigo, I am a non-exercising, overanalyzing mess of thoughts.

On Friday, I went to the doctor for the 2nd time in 2 weeks. Last time I went, I asked for blood tests just to get a quick read on how things are performing within my body. My pulse and blood pressure have been excellent in my past 5 months of doctor visits, but I was curious about other things as well. The doctor had the results but hadn’t reviewed them yet, however he pulled them up and sorted through them and declared “you’re perfectly healthy!”

Me: “Well, what about my cholesterol?”
Him: “Why are you worried about your cholesterol? Did your parents have high cholesterol?
Me: “No, I just wanted to make sure it was okay since I’m over 300 pounds.”
Him: “Of course it’s okay – everything is completely normal with you – very good results.”
Me: “You say ‘normal’ like it’s nothing. How can somoene over 300 pounds be normal?”
Him: “Why not? You are taking care of yourself – why can’t you be normal?”
Me: “Huh.”

image via Tobo on Flickr

So hooray for normal. But this had me thinking.

Between the past few months of stalls, eating frustrations, workout frustrations, and the scale being a complete bitch (pardon me), I wonder: “What if this is it? I stay this weight forever?”

How would I feel if I still exercised regularly and ate well, yet didn’t lose a single more pound. Would I be okay with this?

Part of me that is trying to remain positive says “you’re healthy, girl! That’s all that matters. Accept your health at any size, because you really are healthy!”

The other part goes “Hell no, screw that! You can’t stay this weight and be a success. You need to figure out what is wrong and fix it, now.”

So, that is where my brain is at. It’s a literal dizzy (vertigo) mess of yelling at itself. Throw in this past weekend’s eating incidents and the yelling inside my head is deafening.

I’m going to keep pushing on, but would be curious of your thoughts on this.

Blah. Writing this in a full-belly haze. Pardon the rambling, as always.

I have been living in a bubble. Of course, it’s a clear bubble beacuse I am so transparent about everythng I’m thinking. (Some might call it oversharing, I call it transparent). I suppose it could be like the bubble boy, only the bubble blogger, and without an illness that would kill me if I got contaimated by other people.

image via Ali Smiles on Flickr

In my former weight-gaining-like-a-mofo life, I would go out and eat all the time. I never prepared my own food, never portioned things out, and didn’t consider the quantity or quality of what was going in my piehole. I learned quite a bit ago in this journey that I had to remove myself from situations where I wasn’t in control. This meant very litle eating out by myself, picking food up to eat by myself (unless as a lunch for work if I couldn’t run home), and a lot less eating out with people.

I didn’t isolate myself on purpose. I actually realized that throughout my weight gaining period of ultra depression and destruction that I had removed myself due to those things – just a straight depression of not wanting to be around people. Social anxiety was high, and it was easier to just tell myself to stop even trying. Not that I disliked who I was around – I just hated who I was becoming – the hugely fat friend who always wore a smile and had to secretly fret about fitting into whatever space we were going to, whether a restaurant or a bar or club.

As the weight has come off, the social anxiety has eased considerably. Most the time, I’m great if I go to lunch or grab coffee with people. Dinner is an entirely different story.

I haven’t been going out for dinner in quite a while just due to a hectic schedule. There are never enough hours in the day to get everything I want accomplished. When I’m home, I don’t have a problem controlling my eating. Over the past few weeks at the advice of my Registered Dietician, I’ve worked hard to recognize my hunger cues and also realize when I’m satiated. There have been a few breakthroughs in that regard this week where I felt like things were clicking.

Last night, I went out with Lydia to dinner and a movie (The Help, highly recommended if you read the book!). I hadn’t eaten much all day, in essence “saving” my calories for dinner. I had 1 beer (Stella) and… steak and beer cheese nachos. And a side salad – not that it mattered. The good? I ate only half the nachos and took the rest home. Also good? Didn’t get anything from the movie theater to eat or drink. I wrote it down in my food journal as a rough guess of 1000 calories. The bad? I shouldn’t “save up” calories. I should always maintain balanced eating throughout the day so my body has sufficient energy to efficiently do what it needs to.

Tonight, I went out with a large group of awesome Lexington twitterati, and to get to meet Robin. We went to the amazing Columbia’s Steakhouse downtown, where the lovely Manager Flo took great care of us. Like yesterday, I hadn’t eaten much for the day besides 3 peaches from the Farmers Market and 4 ounces of gluten free pasta with garlic and olive oil, also from the Farmers Market. No protein, not much water, and an overabundance of coffee.

As soon as my butt hit the table, I wanted what I always get in large social gatherings – a dirty martini. We were waiting on a few more people to show up and I was hungry, so I ordered fried green tomatoes. Thankfully, my table mates helped me not eat all of them, and they weren’t nearly as greasy as I thought they would be.

Another martini please!

It’s a steakhouse, and I wanted steak. I ordered the famed Nighthawk, which is probably 8 ounces of steak, sitting in a pool of garlic butter. Oh, and a salad. And steak fries. I can’t believe me and my jabbering mouth had time to inhale it all, but it did. It tasted freaking fantastic.

I ate and ate and ate. I wasn’t really present in the moment of enjoying my food – I was so busy enjoying everyone’s company. If I had been by myself in my bubble, I would have quickly realized I didn’t need nearly that amount of food. Instead, my brain kept telling me how hungry I was and how I didn’t eat all day. My stomach was probably trying to tell me something else, considering how it feels right now.

Another martini please!

Flo is known for her pies. I’m not a big pie person. But I LOVE cobbler. And blackberry cobbler I had. With ice cream. And of course I sampled the dozen or so pieces of pie that were circulating the table. A bite of peanut butter, a bite of something with cononut and pecans (Arthur’s pie), and a bite of key lime.

As soon as we were finished and people were figuring out where to go for a nite cap, I quickly realized the pit in my stomach and the sweaty reaction I used to get when I would binge. Totally overdid it.

So now I sit in my pajamas with a forgiving elastic wasitband and wonder when my body and mind will connect. Am I destined to just stay in my bubble forever because I can’t seem to properly monitor myself over these decisions? For so many months, this journey hasn’t felt like a major struggle – there hasn’t been much conflict between my mind and my actions. Things have been – dare I say it – easy. Yet as the scale doesn’t move even on long stretches where I think I’m doing everything right, and I go out and interact with people as I love to do yet feel awful afterwards, I am getting frustrated with myself.

I’m writing all of this down while my stomach is so full I can’t suck it in, and my legs are starting to swell from the sodium. I want to take it all back except the time with people whose company I enjoy.

I swilled 2 liters of water and am off to bed, in hopes that tomorrow, my mind and body will start to connect again.

I had a conversation via text today that sparked this post. The timing of the discussion was pretty serendipitous because I’ve been feeling some of the same things he was talking about in the past 24 hours or so (and a good portion of my life up until now). Bear with me while I try to formulate the words to explain what I’m thinking.

image via Kapungo on Flickr

My friend explained how excited he was over the success he’s having on a project. Excitement and giddiness but also disbelief. He’s always worked hard, but nothing has paid off nearly as much as what is happening right now. Why had he stumbled in previous endeavors? He’s had to fight like hell to try to get things done, and hasn’t achieved the greatness that was anticipated. Now, however, there is momentum – no more scratching and clawing up to establish something – the ball is rolling down the hill and all he’s got to do is hold on and steer.

Oh what a familiar feeling!

Yesterday when the newspaper article came out, I expected awful things. I knew I had my regular cheerleaders here who faithfully (and crazily) regularly read about my roller coaster ride to fitness. Exposing myself to the general public not just with my story, but with my own words? Completely different and completely terrifying! I willingly published my weight in the newspaper, and declared myself a success. I plead temporary insanity.

I braced myself for the backlash of ignorant, anonymous comments I might get. My phone chimed notifications all day long. Each email, text, Facebook message, tweet and blog comment was read holding my breath. I waited for a massive flood of suckage to hit me. Glutton for punishment, right?.

Wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever said “thank you” so many times in one day. Each one was accompanied by a voice in my head going “this is crazy, I don’t deserve this.”

As I read the texts from my friend today, it hit me. I wondered why he was so surprised at the success. He has worked hard for it. He deserves to be excited, and he deserves to feel damn proud of himself.

Isn’t it funny how we never listen to our own advice?

<Cue the lightbulb moment>

I earned it. I deserve it. I must own it.

Saying those words makes me feel conceited. I’m a mucho fan of humble pie – so much so that I’m not frequently proud of myself. That negative self-talk always finds its way into the core of my soul. In the past, this had led to destructive behaviors which result in a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure.

I wonder how many others go through these vicious mind games? How do we move past this disbelief and allow ourselves the praise or success we must have earned in some form or fashion?

I earned it. I deserve it. I must own it.

So tonight I drift to sleep repeating the words, knowing it will help fuel my success tomorrow.

I know this is a jumble of thoughts, but do you understand what I mean? Can you relate?

PS: How do you like the facelift my blog got overnight? Many thanks to Ryan (No More Bacon) who jazzed things up around here! Seriously, I LOVE it!

This weekend, I’ve been in a super-reflective mood. Just very introverted and in my own head.

I have a Groupon to get some photos scanned to disc and also for old 8mm camcorder tapes to get put on DVD, so I spent several hours yesterday looking through my childhood things, trying to pull out photos that I didn’t want to fade with age.

I came across something in the closet, and knew I just had to read it:

Journal, circa 1996

Like many of you, I don’t ever remember NOT being on a diet. NOT worrying about my weight. It was ingrained in me as I attended my mom’s aerobics classes in the 80s (just as a spectator, but knowing that this is what you did to lose weight), did every fad diet with her imaginable, and had to shop from the “husky” section as a kid.

This journal gave me lost insight into my younger self, and the self-image I held.

Day 1. December 23, 1996. 15 years old

December 23, 1996.

Fat Grams: >20 (I suspect I was supposed to say “less than” 20, not “greater than”)
Hours between last meal/snack and bedtime: 3
Number of meals: 3
Number of snacks: 2
Minutes of exercise: 115
Level of exercise: 8/10
Weight: 250

This starts my “new diet.” I’m taking fen-phen for now and it feels like it’s helping me with my hunger. I had the hardest swim practice ever and I did step aerobics with sets of pushups and sit-ups. I am determined now to get the weight off. By the time I turn 16, I could have lost around 50 lbs (3 lbs a week). That would be a great present for me (A car would be nice also!) But I feel I need to do this for myself now – not anyone else like before.

Reading this in my pajamas 15 years later as 343 pound person who has just lost 112 pounds, I am in shock. I knew that I was on fen-phen when I was a teenager. I knew that I was always on a diet. I seem to have forgotten though that I was 250 pounds. In comparison to now, that is so small. It’s nearly HALF of my highest weight. Yet I distinctly remember feeling like the largest person on the planet. I came across this photo also from that same time period, my “after” photo from summer fat camp, and felt ridiculously huge.

I read the rest of the journal entries in the book, and just shook my head the entire time. I was working out at least 1.5 hours 5 times a week, eating less than 20 grams of fat per day, and still feeling like there was something wrong with me. I desperatley wish I could go back in time and talk to that young Emily.

Dear Emily,

You are beautiful. You are strong. You are healthy. You are loved. You are smart. You are caring. You are kind.

Love yourself. Love your body. Love your curves. Love your strength. Love your athleticism. Love your family.

Your worth is not in your weight, no matter what anyone has told you or made you believe. They’re pushing their insecurities and problems onto you. 

Living life is not about struggling through a day analyzing every calorie or minute of exercise. Right now life is about enjoying the time you have on this earth to have fun, being good to yourself, and being a kid! 

As you grow up, just work on maintaining your healthy self, just as you are. Stay active and do things you love because you WANT to, not because you’re trying to fit someones mold of what they think you should be. Move, play, run and have fun. 

You are beautiful. You are strong. You are healthy. You are loved. You are smart. You are caring. You are kind.

You know what the irony of that letter I just wrote is? It’s just a applicable now as it was 15 years ago (except for the “being a kid” part). It’s something I need to remind myself daily.

For a moment last night, I started to play the “what if” game, wondering what would have happened had I achieved whatever level of “success” I wanted back then. What if I didn’t use food to mask my emotions and gain 200 pounds more? I quickly stopped myself. I can’t play the game of what-if’s because this is a life of this-is. This is where I am, at this moment, and must accept it. I can use the reflection time to remember where I’ve been, but can’t let it determine where I’m going.

Each day we make thousands of choices that add up and lead us down one of the infinite roads life has to offer. Our pasts can help guide us down the right path, but we can’t go back and change where we’ve been. Here’s to enjoying the journey.

I’m a recovering food hider.

In my former fat life, I would go through a drive-thru and pick up enough food to feed a family of 4. Literally. You know how it seems impossible to go to Taco Hell and eat more than $5 worth of tacos? I could throw down $15 there, easily. I would sit in my car in shame, often times in a vacant section of a parking lot where I thought no one would know me. I could eat mindlessly, finishing every last morsel of food that was sat patiently in its big bag on my passenger seat.

Hiding food wasn’t limited to the car, however. I could get a box of cookies and eat them when no one was home and hide the evidence. This is something my mom often did, although I wish she had been better about hiding it as I would always find the wrappers. Fig Newtons were her favorite (the entire container), followed by those pink-sugar-wafer-thingies (what is IN those things anyway?!) I liked Soft Batch cookies and Lay’s Sour Cream and Onion potato chips- an entire big bag.

At some point, hiding food just became difficult so I just ate. I would buy whatever, whenever, and just eat. I didn’t care anymore if pizza boxes stacked up or if my entire grocery cart was extremely unhealthy items like stuffed cheese bread, loads of chips, a box of donuts and ice cream. I didn’t even have the energy to keep the facade intact. I know I recently wrote about this nasty past of mine, but something today brought it back to light for me. It’s been about two years since I’ve practiced those behaviors. Reading those words I just typed make me so sick to my stomach. I couldn’t see the illness when I was in my stomach-filled haze. I never saw it as being dishonest with myself or with anyone else – no one ever monitored what I ate, why should I hide? Yet, hiding seemed like the right thing to do.

At the beginning of this journey, I followed a super low carb lifestyle. I liked it because it gave me very strict boundaries of what to eat and what not to eat. I also didn’t have to watch my portions much on things like steak, eggs, fish, etc so I could get my fill without worrying about calories. Back in January, I added carbs back to my life. I didn’t feel satisfied anymore with my food choices and really wanted to fuel my body (which by then was working out at least five times a week) with fruits, whole grains, oats, etc. I realized that I could lose weight without restricting myself so much, and it felt wonderful. I felt satisfied.

Since May, things have been slow-going – my consistency has been off. My workouts have been good, but I just realized today that I was hiding food again. This time, however, I was hiding it in plain sight, and from myself. I’ve dieted for so long that I know my portion sizes. I know rough calorie estimates of many foods, and have the resources available online to check for anything I’m not sure about. I’ve never liked counting calories, and after counting carbs for so long, I wanted to eat without always obsessing over if it was good or not. Some people I know have made great strides with intuitive eating. I would love to have that ability one day. At this moment in time and in my vast work-in-progress mode, I’m not there yet.

Instead, I’ve been unintentionally hiding food from myself. I would say that I’ve been doing great on my eating and exercise. I would think back to what I had to eat for the day and feel good. Nothing was particularly “naughty” (and I hate the idea of “good” versus “bad” foods) so I did good. I would selectively forget that I had 2 cups of rice instead of 1, coupled with 7 ounces of salmon instead of 4. I would eat 2 packs of oatmeal with twice the normal amount of almond butter. Little things that add up to major numbers. Even taking the numbers out of it, I realized I was reverting to old behaviors of the mindless eating and stuffing myself. I would read, tweet or watch TV while eating what would be deemed “good” foods. I didn’t realize how much I was putting into my mouth until I was done with my very large dinner plate realizing that I have no idea what that food really tasted like.

So, I’m doing what many people do: food tracking.

image from Pinterest via trainingforhealth.tumblr.com

Can I tell you how much I LOATHE food tracking? I can remember having to write down everything I ate as early as age 11 when my child psychologist thought it might help me get rid of my weight problem. He even would let me use his monster computer to find the foods and enter them myself. Fast forward to years of bouncing up and down on the scale and many different “tracking” methods later, and I just got tired. Who wants to have to obsess and write down everything that goes into their mouth? Not I. I’m beginning to realize that I don’t have to track to see if I’m going over X amount of calories per day. The number for me isn’t important at this moment. The important part is just being honest with what goes into my mouth. I don’t need to restrict what I eat, I just need to be MINDFUL of what goes in. Maybe I can recognize behaviors in how I eat, and what foods I eat when i feel certain things. Or maybe it will just keep me present in the moment and realize what exactly I’m fueling my body with.

So, for now I track. This means I even tracked that fun size Butterfinger bar I ate from the front desk candy jar at work. No shame. It went in my body, and so it goes down onto the monitor. I’ve said in the past how much I don’t want to share exactly what I’m eating. In full disclosure though, to myself and to others, I’ve got it all public. Please realize that I’m not following any particular program, or say that what I’m eating will help you lose weight. I’m just eating what I feel like, and my documentation is just to keep a record. My primary tracking will be through MyFitnessPal, so if you’re there, feel free to friend me.

Coming out of hiding. Another not-so-fun step in this weight loss journey!

Do you track your food? Does what I’m talking about make any sense?! Are you still awake after reading this post?

A while back, I asked if anyone had questions for me. I was searching for something to write about as I’m suffering from a bout of writers block and immediately wanted to respond to this question:

Jennifer asked:

I have been reading your blog about a month now and have felt very inspired. My journey is very similar but I am just getting started on a hopeful 175 pound weight loss. I am about a couple months in, and beginning to see the weight loss stall and come off SLOW, if at all. I really fight the just cave in for this meal/day and start again tomorrow or next week. I have the will power and the commitment to fight this feeling and not give in like I have SO many times before. I hate this feeling and this has been my cycle in the past that I couldn’t ever get out of.

My question is this, have you had these moments and what got you through them?

I want to hug Jennifer right now because I’m feeling exactly as she is feeling right now. I’ve been strong the past several weeks as the scale has not budged. Same weight, every week. Today, I weighed in and was up 5 pounds.  5 pounds! Panic set in. Cue the voices in my head:

• OMG, how could you let this happen?
• Why are you so lazy?
• You’re never going to finish losing this weight
• Look, it’s just all a joke- you’ve gained weight.
• You can’t do this – throw in the towel!
• You are so gross.

Typing those things out now make me feel ridiculous, because they were so fiercely negative and knee-jerk.

image via kwdesigns on Flickr

In boxing, you’re supposed to keep your stance and protect your face. You have to be agile and quick to adjust. The same is true for a long-term weight loss journey.

The first few weeks of a stall are like weak jabs that knock you around a little, but don’t deter you. You get your hands back in position and keep fighting.

The next couple of weeks are more challenging. You start to get a little loose and sloppy. Your mind tricks you into believing that you can still win even if your defense is down a little.

After that, it’s blow-by-blow, with each meal or workout time feeling like another round in the ring. After getting knocked down by the scale a few times, your weakened state falters even more, and your defense goes down. A jab (larger portions), uppercut (dessert), and cross (missed workouts) later and you’re down.

For people in the mind-set that Jennifer and I are in right now, we can make a choice. Do we jump back up before the count or lie there in defeat?

The difference between success and defeat can often be found in how well we rebound and how we protect ourselves against future punches.

Don’t get me wrong: this whole health/weight loss journey SHOULD NOT always be a fight. There are so many great days, weeks and months where it is pleasant, and dare I say, easy, to progress in. How soon we forget the easy-going, weight-dropping weeks as soon as we’re faced with adversity.

So today, my hands are back up and protecting my face. I don’t know if boxers examine their tape as sports teams do, but I hit the “rewind” on the past 2 weeks to see where I was faltering.

• Workout frequency went from average 5 days/week to 3 days/week
• Calorie creep through a regular “snack” of Starbucks banana nut loaf, which I mistakenly had thought was 290 calories versus the nearly 500 it is. Not that it was good before – white flour and refined sugar are never a good combo for me.
• Calorie creep through less measuring of portions and grabbing nibbles of things here and there: a bite size candy bar from the bowls at work; a handful of tortilla chips from my husbands snacking pile; beer enjoyed at FitBloggin’ local…

My game plan:

• Fully stocked fridge with awesome fresh food
• Pre-prepared lunches for 3 days in advance
• Orthopedist appointment to check out my ankle (which has been an excuse for not doing higher impact activities)
• 1.5 liter bottle of water that travels with me everywhere
• Tightly scheduled days that will hopefully eliminate the “no time to workout” excuse
• Logging all my food (here’s today’s entry)
• Sitting down at the table without distractions for each meal (I was eating on the sofa, tweeting, reading, etc and mindlessly going through meals)
• Mindfulness: Knowing that I CAN do this and that I WILL do this. Look back at previous success and remember that you made it happen
• Continue looking for a Registered Dietician to see if I can refine my eating habits and choices
• Continue my Bikram yoga
• Work on new strength training program
• In bed by 10pm every night

I’m not going to get down on myself or get frustrated. I have the tools, and it’s up to me to use them in a way that will allow me to win.

I hope this helps, Jennifer!

I’m sure others have faced this predicament before – how did you get back up when you were knocked down?

Can you believe it’s JULY already? Oy, the year is flying by. Time to look at where I’ve been and where I want to go for the rest of the year. Reflecting back on the past 6 months, I’m not where I thought I’d be… but not in a bad way. Let’s reflect:

image taken by my friend Anne, who caught me primping

You know what the worst type of battles are? The ones you have with yourself.

I’m going through a battle royalle of my own right now. Another week has gone by with zero weight loss, and my patience is wearing thin. This battle is between  Number-obsessed, Frustrated, Fat-itude Emmie versus Positive, Happy, Fit Emmie.

Here’s how it works:

• Fat-itude Emmie:
  • You’re sucking wind at this weight loss thing.
  • Who do you think you are to write about getting fit?
  • You’re doomed to be this heavy forever.
  • Just give into the “fat and happy” stereotype and stop this madness of trying to lose weight.
  • Say screw it and eat a large deluxe pizza and some good lager, you know it will feel good!
• Positive, Happy, Fit Emmie:
  • This is not a race, you don’t have to be a “weight loss ninja” all the time.
  • You feel good and strong in your body.
  • You are making positive physical changes with your stamina and strength.
  • You’re doing things you never thought you’d be able to do at any weight.
  • You are the only person who sets your goals: no one else dictates who you need to be.

Source: bitsotruth.blogspot.com via Emily on Pinterest

I know I’m not alone in this battle, yet I fight it every day in my head lately on my own. So here I write, exposing flaws when I put pressure on myself to produce unicorns and rainbows and happy smiles.

Let’s go with a non-scale victory (NSV) for the past week since the scale victories have been non-existent:

Friday morning, I missed my workout. Friday evening, I decided I was going to swim 1 mile. I hadn’t swam 1 mile since January, where I was very happy for my 52+ minute time. Friday evening, I swam 1 mile in 42 minutes. 10 minutes off my time from January!

In addition to shaving 10 minutes off my time, I got complimented by the master swimmer (masters are like grown-up swim team clubs) next to me on my form, and when I was getting out of the pool, got hit on by someone. I think. I don’t really know what being hit on feels like, but his showers of compliments kind of felt like getting hit on. Creepy, but a non-scale victory nonetheless.

This week, I plan on doing the same thing exercise-wise. Combo of cardio, weights, Zumba, Bikram yoga and my new Friday night special, swimming. I also am going to see my therapist tomorrow to see if I can talk through these mental battles. I will continue to monitor my food, and try to be more conscious of every bite. I thought I was doing well with it, but there’s always room for improvement.

Do you ever have “battle royalles” in your mind? Any non-scale victories this week? Please share below!

Thank you to Yahoo! Mail for sponsoring this post about staying connected. I was selected for this sponsorship by the Clever Girls Collective, which endorses Blog With Integrity, as I do.

I’ve been slightly emotional lately. Not bad emotional, just a little bit nostalgic. I’ve gotten some really amazing, kind words written and spoken to me on this weight loss journey, and I am so grateful about the support I’ve been shown by near-strangers.
Sometimes I get the urge to share my excitement or gratitude for this experience with somoene who is no longer here – my mom, who died at the age of 50 of complications from young-onset Parkinson’s Disease.

I don’t really think I talk extremely explicitly about her passing and the progression of her disease on this blog (but you can read it here), so I will tell you something that I’m ashamed to admit:

I can’t remember her voice.

With Parkinson’s Disease, you lose motor function and have tremors, but also develop slurred speech. In the last few years of her life, I could barely understand what she was saying. I’ve been grappling with this issue ever since she passed. Friends of mine can remember her voice because they weren’t around her when her southern drawl was taken over by a lazy tongue and frustration in her eyes over the lack of communication.

Over the weekend, I was trying to clean out my email. I am an email junkie, and have a hard time getting rid of conversations, as noted in my post about how I met my husband. While looking through my Yahoo! Mail account, which I’ve had for over 13 years, I came across something that I forgot existed:

An email from my mom.

Sitting in a mail folder titled “Mom” lie dozens of emails between me and various nursing homes, attorneys, Medicaid people, etc. — all the reminders of how much I had to handle with her illness. Down at the very bottom of the pile, however, were 3 emails from my mom. They were written at a time where she could barely move her hands so I know typing them was tedious. She was being cared for by relatives in Georgia at the time, and since it was difficult to understand her, I liked to email her. In-between mistake-riddled punctuation and short sentences was proof of something that I needed:

A physical reminder of her love, and more importantly, her acknowledgement that she knew I loved her too.

So in these few emails I have from her, I have found her voice again. No, I can’t hear it in my head, but I will have these emails FOREVER and no one can take them away from me. In times of doubt about my weight loss progress, life direction, or that my memories of her will continue to fade, I have proof: a tangible reminder that she was my biggest cheerleader and someone I know would be rooting me on in this journey.

My obsession with email continues.

This video below is so cute. Replace “DAD” with “MOM” and that’s what reminds me of her. Don’t get me wrong, my dad is great too, but my mom was the one playing games and frolicking with me as I navigated my childhood. And if she were still alive, she would totally love texting, I just know it

Over the weekend I was going through some old files on my computer, trying to become somewhat organized. While I don’t care to share how poorly my organization efforts turned out, I do want to share something that I found out as a result: I just hit my 2 year fativersary.

Me about 15 pounds less than my highest weight of 455 pounds.

Two years ago, I topped the scale at 455 pounds. Before topping out at 455, I had previously topped out at 445 before losing 130 pounds… and then gaining it all back again (plus 10 pounds) after the death of my mom, my wedding and a layoff from a job that I thought was my dream (turns out, it wasn’t).

It might seem odd that I didn’t notice I was in the process of gaining 140 pounds over the next year, but I didn’t. I just ate. Anything and everything. I was a leader of my own car-eating, trash-hiding gang. I called in for curb-side carry out from restaurants where they knew my order and I would tip them well for not mentioning how often I stopped by and for never forgetting the extra sauces and for including 3 sets of plastic wear, fully knowing I only needed 1 set. When not at work, my ass took up permanent residence on an oversized, reclining portion of a sectional in front of our 60″ plasma where my only exercise was the perilous act of shoveling the cheese fries into my mouth without having the extra ranch dressing drip on my shirt.

It’s been a long time since I’ve thought about that girl I used to be. Describing my life in such words used above makes me sick.

I was sick.

The past two years I’ve exercised myself physically and emotionally, fighting back the sometimes crippling urges to revert to those past behaviors that dulled my pain. I shared my experiences here in attempts to help others, and to also convince myself that I am making small steps to becoming a more improved version of myself, and towards meeting my potential. There have been months, particularly earlier on, when I remained stagnant. I teetered on the edge of binging just enough to not start gaining weight back. It was only 1 year ago that I started to exercise, and that one year has allowed me to become a multiple 5K participant and a half marathoner. I’ve made so many friends that I can’t believe I’ve lived without for so long.

In short, I have become an active participant in my life.

Right now, my body is doing some adjusting, and I’m going through yet another lesson in perseverance: learning to embrace the changes I’ve made and continuing to adapt how I must live my life in order to continue my fitness journey. These things I know are true:

I will never give up.
I am already a success story.
I will reach my goals.

Thank you for letting me share my story with you.

While working on a project today for the day job, I got hit with a thought. I started scribbling. Words started coming out, and once I got them on paper. I tucked them in my purse to ponder at a later time.

my scribbles

I wrote this in my last FitBloggin’ recap post, and wanted to repost it so hopefully this rambling explanation of my scribbles may have proper context.

I cannot adequately express my complete adoration of this community. We were all different shapes, sizes, fitness levels and blogging expertise, but we were all the same. Same struggles and emotions. It was like being wrapped in a warm hug all weekend where there was no judgement, no fear of being alone, no isolation.

When you’re surrounded by people who can relate to your struggles without you having to explain in great detail these little nuances that have led you down this path, it’s almost like things start clicking. My guard came down much faster than usual. My anxiety subsided. I loved who I was and where I was, completely in the moment.

I’m hanging onto this feeling for as long as possible. It is reinforced everyday by you who read these words and give me a virtual high-five, an “atta girl” or an “I know how you feel.” Today with this, I started to feel guilty. So I put this to you, my friends traveling this same road:

Do you ever feel guilty when good things happen to you?

Like you don’t deserve them? Don’t deserve kind words, praise or acknowledgement for anything you’ve done? For a fleeting moment, you feel joy, but then guilt creeps in. You want to share the awesome-sauce with those who love and support you, but you can’t. The barrage of thoughts like “you don’t deserve this” or “it’s just luck” start screaming in your mind. You downplay everything to those around you, because deep down you know the truth – it is a fluke. Whatever is happening at this moment wasn’t earned, it just landed in your lap.

Perhaps I’m still overdosing on the love-fest from the past weekend, but for some reason, I just feel like good things are going to happen. The challenge right now is to make myself realize that anything good to come is a result of hard work and effort. I HAVE earned good. It’s okay to be happy for accomplishing something. It’s okay to share excitement and not feel guilty. It’s okay to brag on yourself and not downplay everything.

I often say that the mental journey is so much harder than the physical, and this is a prime example of that. For now, I am trying to discard these negative energies to focus on positive things coming my way. Law of attraction, good vibes, karma, whatever – I want to radiate goodness and joy with the knowledge and acceptance that I deserve it.

Does anyone else have these feelings of inadequacy? How do you make yourself feel WORTHY?

A few days ago, I asked if anyone had questions they wanted me to answer. You all have given me a lot to think about! If you have a question and haven’t asked it yet, simply post a comment at this link.

I had a lot of feelings about this because I’ve worked hard over the past year or so to cut out negativity. To hear all my feelings on the subject, watch this (long-winded) video. If you want the short version, check out the 4 tips to staying positive below.

What other things do you do to help maintain a positive attitude?

It’s about to get serious up in here, y’all! Super personal, and probably very long.

Today, something really hit me and I wanted to share it because I’m not sure how much I’ve really talked about this with much candor. I had an “aha moment” and it happened while in the waiting room of my psychiatrist and therapists office.

I have a major history of depression. And on top of that some whopping anxiety (Generalized Anxiety Disorder). When I was 10, I was sent to a child psychologist where we would play the board game “Sorry” and I suppose I would talk about my thoughts. As a 14-year old-barely-a-teenager, I was on my first antidepressant because I had suicidal thoughts. I really hated myself, and remember playing with a utility knife I kept in my closet wondering if it was sharp enough to slice through my wrists. I wondered if my mom’s multiple migraine medications would be strong enough to do harm.

I promptly gained about 80 MORE pounds on my already-plump frame after starting anti-depressants. Unfortunately, no one put the association together about the weight gain and the particular anti-depressant I was on.  I felt numb. If I got emotional, I was asked “did you take your medicine today?” which would piss me off even more.

In college, I stayed on anti-depressants until my senior year when I weaned off of them. Upon graduation, I gained another 150+ pounds – a mixture of my food addiction and deep depression.

Two years later when I went back to grad school (over 100 pounds lighter after a year of no carbs), I had a lot of family drama and had to bring my mom from Georgia to Kentucky to put her in a nursing home before she was 50. Enter University health care and a resident psychiatrist who worked with me as I tried 4 different combinations of psychiatric medications while I tried not to completely melt down under the pressures of a dying mom, trying to navigate the Medicaid system and maintain a decent GPA while trying to get my MBA in 1 year. We finally found a combo of an anti-depressant and anti-anxiety medicine that kept me stable enough to weather the times, and I don’t know how I would have made it through that time period without the help of those medications and that psychiatrist at the University health center.

Since then, my depression and anxiety has fluctuated at different levels. And have I mentioned I’m a chronic insomniac? Throw that on the fire as well. Oh, and gaining back 150 pounds due to more uncontrolled depression and even worse food addiction was just AWESOME (did you catch the sarcasm)?

Back in October 2010, I had enough. I was still partly on the same medication that I was on when my mom died, and it wasn’t working very well. I took it out of habit and didn’t and ever get regular therapy to start dealing with the root of the cause. I was having panic attacks, deep mood swings, and out-of-control insomnia. After making such weight loss progress, I finally realized I couldn’t accept these things and sought out help. I fought with my insurance company to find both a psychiatrist (who can prescribe meds) and a therapist (uh, who does therapy) so I could finally start to tackle both sides. Incidentally, trying to find practitioners I both LIKED and that took my insurance gave me a panic attack also. I ended up having to go with a therapist who does take my insurance while my psychiatric nurse practitioner does not.

Since I started seeing these folks, I have been on 4 additional combinations of medications as well as navigated through negative self-talk, family matters and un-realistic fears causing anxiety. Has it been fun? Honestly- no.

Today sitting in the waiting room, however, I started to think about what in the world I would talk to the therapist about. The depression, anxiety and insomnia has gone to such a low level that the little daily stressors that would previously send me into a tailspin are laughable now. I am getting so much more sleep (although I tend to want to write throughout the night), and I wake up not feeling like a zombie.

While I was in session with the nurse practitioner while we reviewed my progress on my medications, the therapist had called in really sick and couldn’t see me. It was then that I realized how much better I’ve gotten. Do I still have issues? ABSOLUTELY. But am I in a much better place where I feel like I can control these issues? Without a doubt.

So why do I share this long-winded saga? I wanted to let people know:

• If you suffer from anxiety, depression and/or insomnia, you are not alone
• If you feel like your health attempts would be strengthened by psychiatric help, please pursue those options
• Do not feel shame if you have to take medication to control your symptoms. For years I hid the fact that I was on medications for “mental issues.” Today though, I know that they are essential to helping me maintain a “normal” lifestyle uninhibited by deep depression and crippling anxiety
• Do not be afraid to ask for help. I even sent people on Twitter messages asking for therapist suggestions. Reach out to whomever you need to in order to find resources for help.
• If you do not find a therapist that you click with, pursue others. You must be 100% comfortable in order to be able to open up and benefit from the sessions
• If you have feelings of hopelessness or that you may harm yourself or others, seek immediate attention by medical personnel

These are life-long issues for me that I will have to continually monitor. There is no easy cure. Today, however, I realized how much sweeter this journey is becoming now that my mind isn’t dragging my body down as much.

Want to read some past posts half-way addressing the mental issues?

• August 2009: Sing a sad song
• March 2010: Mind Games
• January 2011: Cleaning House

This weekend, I’ve seen some wonderful Twitter and Facebook updates from friends who have competed in various 10K’s, half marathons and full marathons either yesterday or today. People excited for personal records (PRs), excited for finishing a new distance, etc.

Since my half-marathon, I’ve tried to reshape the accomplishment in my mind. The way that I think tends to be very self-negative in a way that I downplay things or find reasons to discount achievements. One key example:

Nice person: Wow, that’s awesome you ran a half-marathon!

Me: Thanks, I walked part of it though, and my jogging – not running – is so slow it’s like I was walking anyway.

Nice person: That’s still amazing that you finished!

Me: Yeah. <then insert quick change of subject>

Uncomfortable, right?

I read a lot of blogs and quite frequently seeing people say how their goal is not to walk at all during the race. People mention to me that they can’t wait until they’re XXX weight to start doing races. Or people hoping they’re not the last person to finish (I have been in this camp before).

The question on my mind right now is: What’s wrong with walking? The answer is, NOTHING!

Whether you walk or jog or run any distance is an accomplishment. You’ve gotten off the sofa and have done something healthy. You put your effort behind reaching a goal, and no matter what the speed it is that you make it, you did it. If you haven’t checked it out yet, see my guest post over at Katie’s blog with my tips on walking.

My challenge to you, and to myself, is to accept that you are the only person you should measure yourself against. Most of us won’t be competitive runners, so the time shouldn’t weigh so heavy on us. Don’t wait until you feel you’re at a good weight to start running. Start with a walk. Then walk a little faster. Then jog. Then run.

No matter what speed you go, remember:
it’s just one foot in front of the other.

It’s perfectly fine if you want to jog or run or go for personal records- I’m completely for whatever goal you want to reach. My point is: don’t let anything hold you back from starting.

Does this make sense? Have you held yourself back because you thought you wouldn’t be good enough or fast enough?

One of the top questions I get emails about doesn’t have to do with diet or exercise, it has to do with what to expect when being fuller figured and flying on an airplane.

me with a seatbelt extender in September 2010

I completely understand the anxiety of the situation. We’ve heard horror stories, and even famous people like Kevin Smith aren’t immune (as I previously wrote about). Last night, I was checking out some of my favorite blogs when I saw the headline that made my heart drop: The Day Southwest Turned My Old Fears into a New Nightmare. The beautiful Kenz at All the Weigh, who has lost over 100 pounds, wrote about a horrifically humiliating experience she and her mom had to endure with Southwest Airlines. Check out her post to read all about it.

The story, unfortunately, is all too familiar with me, and is the reason why I don’t give Southwest Airlines my business. Their “customer of size” policy is the most blatant and complained about in the airline industry. (Although Token Fat Girl Lorrie had a cruel joke played on her by United Airlines.)

Here are posts I’ve written before about flying when overweight:

• November 2009: Leaving on a Jet Plane
• November 2009: Update on a Jet Plane
• February 2010: Too Fat to Fly?
• September 2010: Fat Travel Woe’s (or Woah’s!) – This has my tips for flying when overweight

I’m thankful that I’ve never been in any confrontational environments because of my weight and flying. I constantly get emails asking about my weight (current weight here) and height (5’10) and size (currently a 24) and if I fit on the airplane. Even after losing 110 pounds, I still require a seatbelt extender. I can, however, fit my armrests down just fine. I can’t put the tray table down on most regional jets, so I hold my drink. I haven’t tried tackling the bathrooms at this smaller size, so I’m not sure how those would go right now. 99% of the time I fly Delta, and I’ve never had an issue with being asked to buy 2 tickets, although I’m sure it could happen at anytime.

So, here’s the thing that struck me about Kenz’s story: She had the courage and conviction and balls (not literally… you know what I mean!) to stand up for herself. She questioned the employees. She took great documentation. She blogged about it and asked for answers. Many people put in that same situation would shrink and hide in humiliation, accepting the situation at face value. Kenz didn’t do that, and I’m incredibly proud of her strength. She has accomplished so much.

If you’re ever in this situation, I just ask you to have the strength Kenz did to stand up for herself and her rights… and human dignity. You shouldn’t stop yourself from traveling or flying because of the fears these companies put in us. I’m sure no one WANTS to be uncomfortable in an airplane seat. None of us WANT to have to stress about these issues when trying to get from Point A to Point B.

I know Kenz is going to post an update here shortly, so I’ll post that here when it goes up.

UPDATE: Here is the latest update from Kenz, including a summary of her over 2 hour conversation with someone from Southwest.

Have you had any bad experiences? Have any questions about flying?

I was checking out a story over at Fast Company online when my eyes immediatley darted to a photo of a big ol plate of fast food with the article heading: Your Mom is Why You’re Fat.

Of course, I clicked immediately to see what the story really was about. Apparently there is a study coming out that links obesity to what types of foods mothers eat during their pregnancy.

This got me to thinking about BLAME.

Why do we have to blame someone for our weight? Or for our failures or other conditions?

• We blame parents: For what they fed us, and now what they ate before you were born. For having a hectic lifestyle, or for being enablers. For passing on the “obesity” gene.
• We blame circumstances: For not being able to afford a gym membership. For not having enough time to cook. For living somewhere that indulgent eating is a part of culture.
• We blame ourselves: For being weak. For being lazy. For loving the convenience of fast food. For lack of motivation. For being undeserving of great things.

What does this blame game get us? It creates feelings of resentment towards others, or self loathing for ourselves. It does nothing to address the NOW and HOW behind making a change in the situation.

Yes, we must take steps to acknowledge why were are in our current situation. There have been many times where I contemplate WHY I got to 455 pounds – but those contemplations usually don’t provide a solid answer for moving forward. Pointing fingers at others or at myself do nothing to help produce positive energy towards my goals. It keeps me in a perpetual spin cycle of resentment.

Have you ever been stuck in the blame game? What are some ways you can get over that natural instinct to blame and instead act towards progress?

I’ve struggled a little with motivation this past week. My schedule has been more hectic than usual and my sleep schedule is off. This means that my gym workouts have suffered in favor of sleep. Tired mind and tired body. Food was good all week, partly because I was too busy and/or tired to think about it. My fridge was stocked with good things, thus it was easy to make good choices.

Last night, however, was a different story. I fell off 13 days straight of controlled eating and into some cheesesticks. We had hubs’ brothers and their families over for poker, and I derailed myself. It wasn’t a binge like I typically would have had. I ate what I put on my plate and didn’t get seconds or thirds. I didn’t eat the ice cream. I passed on chips and salsa, but unfortunately not on chips and french onion dip. I was going to opt for white wine but couldn’t find my corkscrew. What else did I have in my fridge? Champagne. Yep, I had a bottle of champagne. Poppin’ bottles. It’s not like there was peer pressure. I just chose to do it and did it. Hello destructive behavior.

So there’s my confession. Today has been filled with guzzling water and preparing meals. I’ve tried to knock off some of my to-do’s for later this week so I can get to sleep earlier and make my 5:30am workouts. I stumbled, and am dusting myself off.

I believe I can figure it out, and so I will.

This week, I had a rest week. I looked forward to this week during half marathon training: the week where I could just not do anything and take it easy so I could start a new training program the following week.

I expected to feel some sort of freedom: time without forcing myself to work out or forcing myself to eat good things (or as it turned out to be, NOT eat things). I could veg out, put my feet up, watch lots of reality tv, eat what I wanted to.

image via Andy on Flickr

I am a recovering food addict. At 455 pounds I would go get carry-out from a local restaurant: large order of cheese fries with extra, extra ranch dressing. Plus a chicken finger salad with honey mustard/hot bacon dressing. Don’t let the word “salad” fool you. It was fried chicken, cheese, potato sticks and tons of bacon drippings as dressing. The lettuce was just a method on which to get the fried chicken and bacon dressing into my mouth. For breakfast, I could go to a fast food restaurant and order 2 breakfast sandwiches plus a large order of hash rounds and some gooey sugar-disguised-as-fruit-filled biscuits. I would mindlessly stuff all food in my face until all of it was gone. Eating past the point of fullness and into stuffed and sweaty territory.

This week, my “freedom” from my new healthy lifestyle meant I reverted back to these old behaviors. It was an unconscious, robotic thing. I mindlessly went to restaurants and ate food that I know is unhealthy. I ate it without being aware of taste and how it made me feel, physically. I didn’t go as far as eating like I used to in my 455 pound days, but looking at it right now, it was shocking how quickly I could snap back into these unhealthy, self-sabotaging ways. It’s really disgusting looking back at it because I didn’t enjoy it. Some of it didn’t even taste good. I didn’t feel more satisfied than usual with it in my stomach. I feel bloated and like my fat cells are seriously screaming at me. I know that sounds odd, but it’s like the opposite of squishy fat. When I took my bra off tonight (I know, TMI), my skin literally hurt. It wasn’t too tight, but my skin just HURT. I can’t explain it. Hopefully someone knows what I’m talking about.

I don’t know why I expected for this freedom to feel good. Or why I interpreted “freedom” as “screw what you’ve been doing and all that makes you feel good.” This week, I consumed Mexican, Italian, American and Chinese food. I say “consume” because I honestly don’t remember being hungry when I ate it, or feeling satisfied when I ate it. It was completely mindless, and I really feel nasty about it. Disgusted really.

On one hand, I’m glad I feel disgusted. It is complete reinforcement – mentally and physically – that this healthy lifestyle is making a difference in how I feel every day. It affirms that my body and mind feel satisfied when I’m doing things that are good for it. I’m honestly surprised that this mindless eating-until-numbness was so unsatisfying. And that I continued to do it after 1 meal of feeling gross. It’s almost like I subconsciously thought that if I kept doing it, I would get the same comfort from it as I did before.

I completed a half marathon.
I’ve lost 108 pounds.
I raised over $2,600 for Parkinson’s disease research.
I have an amazing support system.
I deserve better.
I will do better.

I hesitated posting this because it makes me feel weak and vulnerable. But I know that I’m not. Hopefully by putting this out there, others in the same situation will realize that they’re not alone, and that we can turn our own ships around.

No, I’m not channeling the old Gloria Estefan song, although whenever I see that phrase, “coming out of the dark,” I must sing it in my head ala Mz Estefan. But I digress.

image via Jesper Egelund on Flickr

I am pretty flabbergasted (in a good way) with all of the comments I received on my last post about not being able to accept my accomplishments. On one hand, it made me feel better that there are others who have these same feelings, but on the other, it made me incredibly sad. Why are we masters at downplaying our own achievements? I’m grateful that other people take the time to share a word or two to help lift me up, and I hope that by being honest I can repay someone down the line with the kindness shown to me.

Last night I was just really, really in a bad place. Like, hysterical sobbing.  Yesterday was my 30th birthday. I wasn’t sad about being 30. I was sad because I felt lost. Some people mentioned this in the comments, and I had heard about it before, but I never thought it would happen to me.

Post race blues.

I read this wonderful overview at active.com about post race blues, and identified with it 100%:

We have been taught that the attainment of the goal is the reward. Now the goal is attained and you are puzzled by your unanticipated unhappiness. The goal has turned out to be an illusion. The joy was in the dream and the process of moving towards your goal, in mobilizing your physical and mental potentials to their fullest. Once the goal was accomplished, the dream died. The joy ended. And now it’s time to regroup and start over again.

This is completely it. I’m not insane (or more insane than usual). To realize that this is a common occurance gives me some sense of peace. Not only did I spend the past 10 weeks or so training for this big, life-goal event; I set forth to raise an amazing amount of money for Parkinson’s disease research in honor of my mom. I worked hard, and begged for money.  My reward for the physical work paid off at the finish line and the generosity of your donations paid off when I passed my goal. I exhaled for a fraction of a second.

So here I sit on my sofa with my feet up wondering: what’s next? No longer does it seem like enough for me to just continue working on my weight loss. Tonight, I went to check out some of the items on my 101 in 1001 list, and to cross off the half marathon goal.

I have no idea what the next challenge will be, but I’m getting some peace by knowing that the half marathon will not be my last accomplishment. It’s just the beginning.

On a side-note, I had a few people ask me if I’m still accepting donations for my Parkinson’s disease fundraising. YES! I am currently working with the Kentucky Neuroscience Institute on a date and time to present the donation, so until I have that nailed down, please continue to give at this link if you are so inclined. I will announce when I present the donation. Also, if you won a bracelet from me or if you made a donation and haven’t received a thank-you note, please know that I’m working on them! xoxo

Can I be honest? (I always am here, LOL). I’ve had a rough day.

Yesterday, I did something that my mind knows should be incredible. But I don’t feel incredible.

I have been flooded with the most wonderful messages of support and loveliness through Twitter, comments here, and Facebook. My sister surprised me with some beautiful earrings in the mail. My wonderful training partner sent me beautiful flowers at work.

I carried my finishers medal with me in my (mega) purse today. I was hoping it’d make me feel something- the happiness that I think I should feel for accomplishing something I once thought would be impossible for me.

At lunch, I put the cute 13.1 decal on my car that Amber got me. Perhaps driving around with this accomplishment everywhere I go will make me feel happy and proud.

I realized yesterday at the end of the race that my birthday is tomorrow. I think I’ve suppressed this in my head during this half marathon training. I got so focused and worried about the half that my big ol “dirty 30″ birthday planning went out the window. I have no plans to celebrate this milestone. Instead today I’ve been flooded with thoughts of how my 20s could have been better.

I really am not trying to have a pity party right now. I don’t expect anyone to respond to this. It’s almost like I’m having an out-of-body experience where my recent accomplishments are detached from my emotions. Examples:

• my head: a half marathon is an amazing accomplishment; my heart: I should have gone faster
• my head: $2,600 is an amazing amount of money to raise for Parkinson’s Disease research; my heart: it won’t bring my mom back
• my head: I know people are saying I’m an “inspiration”; my heart: what kind of “inspiration” is it to still be over 300 pounds?
• my head: 108 pounds is a lot of weight to lose; my heart: this isn’t even halfway to goal – no reason to celebrate

The only thing that my head and my heart are in sync with today:

• my head: wow, my friends, family and the people who read my blog are incredibly encouraging and wonderful; my heart: wow, my friends, family and the people who read my blog are incredibly encouraging and wonderful

I’m trying to work on re-framing my heart and mind so they’re in sync. This would be “re-positioning” statements such as:

• I have raised an incredible amount of money for Parkinson’s Disease research. It WILL make a difference.
• I have lost 108 pounds. This is how much a heavier punching bag weighs
• I have established a strong workout routine, and my body is healthier because of it.
• I completed a half marathon. 13.1 miles of perseverance, hard training and pain. This is amazing no matter what the weight or the time.

Does anyone have an idea of what I’m talking about? How from the outside you know you’ve done something good, but just aren’t getting the joy you expected from it?