Rambling after too little sleep the past few nights…

How many times in life have you postponed joy because of fear?

This doesn’t have to do with weight loss or fitness necessarily – it can be anything. Going for some goal, talking to someone you admire, throwing your name in the hat for an amazing experience – they’re all things that I’ve noticed that I postpone (or avoid all together) because of fear.

Just a few of the notes of fear I’ve had this past week:

• I’m not a good enough writer.
• I’m not cool enough to hang out with those people.
• I’m going to screw this up somehow.
• I shouldn’t even ask because I know she’ll say no.
• This is just a waste of time.
• One of these days someone will laugh me out of the building.
• I’m not philosophical enough to participate in this discussion.

You don’t have to know the circumstances behind them (and there are multiple). They’re not unique situations. In many instances, they’re not even situations that exist in real life yet – they’re all hypothetical things I dream about in my head that I’ve stopped myself from doing by repeating these negative affirmations.

You would think that someone who has all of these thoughts must have failed miserably multiple times or been beat down for trying too many things. This simply isn’t the case for me, and I’m sure it’s not the case for most of you. Yet somehow we can trick our minds into thinking that we’re so awful that we shouldn’t even reach for the joy that we want to experience. We end up harboring secret dreams and wishes that we will talk ourselves out of, and no one will ever know about.

Source: addicted2success.com via Sarah on Pinterest

Sidebar: As I’m writing this I was thinking of the following example to demonstrate that fear holds us back, and I just said to myself “this is dumb, no one cares about this. Find a better example.” The insanity never stops, even when you’re writing about it!

I sent out my first email newsletter this week and held my breath. I’m not sure why it was so scary – I wasn’t telling secrets or revealing anything more than what I do here on my blog. The anticipation of a negative reaction was so strong in my mind because I put it off for two years. The fear? No one would want to read it.

You know what happened? People read it. People replied to me. No one has unsubscribed from the list. I put off this joy of making a newsletter (seriously, I know it’s nerdy <– see? negative.) for two.whole.years. And you know what? If I sent the newsletter out this past week and no one read it and no one responded and everyone unsubscribed, would it be the end of the world? Hell, no. I’d abandon ship and move onto the next thing. (If you didn’t get the email newsletter, you can view it here and subscribe from that page as well)

Like many things in this weight loss journey, I’m finding that it’s ME that’s holding me back, and I’m holding myself back in tons of ways even beyond the realm of fitness.

Have you experienced this?

Today is the fifth anniversary of my mom’s passing. Click here to read about her struggle with young onset Parkinson’s disease. This post is for her.

The Lexington Cemetery this morning

Dear Mom,

I can’t believe it’s been five years since I watched you take your last breath. I must admit that I’m quite glad I don’t remember it quite as vividly today as I did the year before, or the years immediately following your passing.

This morning, I went to the cemetery. I know that I don’t visit you much there at all, but it just doesn’t mean much to me. Yes, I know that whatever physical remains of yours that still exist lie there, however YOU are not there. In fact, I think you and I can both look back now and realize that you were gone several years before your heart stopped. I don’t think I ever came to grips that the mom I knew left when Parkinson’s started to influence your behaviors, emotions, and physical abilities. Those medications were awful, and the fights that came from the compulsive buying behaviors and decisions you made in secret were a result of those medications. I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize at the time the essence of you had been silenced by disease and medications. Perhaps if I had known this at age 18, I could have prepared better for when you passed 2 days before my 26th birthday. Anyway, I hope you aren’t disappointed that I don’t come to the cemetery often.

When I was looking at your headstone today, I was filled with guilt. I wish I could have gotten you a better headstone so I could plant flowers around it. I replayed the visits I made to your nursing home on the weekends and wonder now why I didn’t come see you every day. The honest answer is that I couldn’t handle it. Seeing you lie there and not being able to really communicate just made me so upset. I was selfish and chose to protect myself and my pain by not visiting you more often. I couldn’t handle it. I didn’t know how to make you better. I saw you struggle with your words and the frustration in your eyes with not being able to get the words out. I saw sub-standard care in the nursing home, but had no point of reference and just accepted it as the way it was. I didn’t fight for you hard enough, and I’m not sure I can forgive myself for it.

All of that being said, I know you’re in a better place now. Even in death, your body was tensed up due to disease, but I saw the strain in your face leave. I hope I never have to feel the conflicting emotions of relief and loss at the same time again.

Do you know what an awesome mom you were? Really. Everyone thought you were just the greatest. Your laugh and smile was infectious. I never knew how you could look at crying babies in the supermarket and giving them 1 smile that turned them into mushy, happy, cooing babies. I think they could sense that you were a good person with a good aura. I can say that when I was a child, seeing your smile made me feel the same way. Even in my teens, I couldn’t repress a smile when you tried to make me laugh or when you comforted me when I was experiencing depression.

I don’t have much more I can say right now – the words just aren’t enough to match my emotions. I am happy and healthy and have everything I need. I love you. I miss you. Thank you for everything.

Always and forever,

Emily

Less than 12 hours from now, hundreds of people will be finishing a race.

Some will be super fast and others not-so-fast, but they will all finish.

One year ago, I finished the race. I worked hard, persevered, and was DAMN proud of finishing.

I wasn’t fast, it wasn’t without pain, and I certainly didn’t do it alone.

Tomorrow is the RunTheBluegrass half marathon, and I’ve been a complete ostrich with my head in the sand. Or like a dog with a bucket on its head.

image via paulkidd on flickr

Here’s the problem when you go around with a bucket on your head:

• You look like an idiot
• All anyone can see is your ass
• You walk around blind
• Everyone laughs at you

Perhaps no one is laughing at me right now, but I am feeling like an ass. I have friends doing RunTheBluegrass. I’ve been in “la-la-woe-is-me” mode with extreme frustration over my ankle problem and feeling stuck in general. At one point I thought I’d work at a water station or volunteer in some way. Then I realized a) I would be a sad panda because I would watch everyone and their healthy bodies run past; b) my foot actually won’t let me stand on it for that long.

Instead of being a cheerleader who is holding puffy-paint posters with glitter, I’m going to be doing something random at home, like washing the dishes or doing laundry.

I’ve been in a complete funk the last several days as soon as I realized the race was coming up so soon. Even if I were completely healed, I’m not sure I would have done it. That being said, I know I wouldn’t sit here with a bucket on my head. I feel bloated from eating crap, and I’ve realized that instead of beating my bucket-head against the wall that I should take it off and use it as a reminder of why I’m doing this fitness journey. I have to keep pushing forward in order to do the things in life I want to. Like do another half-marathon. Or at least have the option.

Good luck to Krissie, Lydia, Holli, and other LexRunLadies. You all inspire me and I look foward to being able to rejoin you.

image credit: ugmonk

Sometimes, I’m forgetful. It can be forgetting little things like where my car keys are (or more likely, where my cell phone is), or more severe such as the “duh moment” that hit me tonight. It’s not a new revelation or anything, it’s actually a known fact. I just tend to un-know forget it.

There is more to life than weight loss.

<insert a collective, “well, duh!” here>

The problem is that my road to living “life” has SO MUCH to do with losing weight first. I’ve written over and over how this whole journey is about life, and that is still very much my belief. The problem is that functionally and physically, I need to be smaller to do the things I want to do. Yes, I want to be healthy and fit and live a long life. Of course. But at this point, still being over 300 pounds means there are still things I can’t do. It means there are still insecurities that come with doing anything besides hanging out with those who know me very well.

Being a weight loss blogger, I am always thinking about my weight. Even if I weren’t a weight loss blogger, I’d probably always think about my weight as it’s a habit I’ve perfected after 20+ years of experience. I don’t know how many times a day my weight enters my mind, but it’s quite often:

• When I wake up and get on the scale before I get in the shower
• When I go to look at the refrigerator to find something to eat
• When I am sitting here on my laptop typing and staring at my stomach where my laptop is sitting
• When I feel pain in my ankle and remember the half-marathon
• When I look at Pinterest and see tons of things I can’t wear and lots of adventurous things I can’t do
• When I go to the grocery store and wonder if anyone is staring at my cart contents
• When I think of what blog post to write today

It’s constant. Most of the time, I just accept it. I understand my life and actions right now are extremely directed with weight loss and fitness. It comes with the territory of being a weight loss blogger. And to tell you the truth, I don’t know what exactly I would do if I one day woke up and didn’t have to think about it. Seriously, I have no idea. It’s not like I have a list of 100 things I am going to do the minute I am of a somewhat more “normal” size or feel like my body is stronger. I’m not a really adventurous person, but is that because my true self just is cautious or is it a function of my years of worry about my size?

There’s no doubt that talking these things out and being much more vocal and visible in my journey has helped me tremendously. I’ve done things I never thought I’d do and have made progress I’m not sure I would have made otherwise. Sometimes though, I just want to turn that part of my mind off to see what other thoughts might take the place.

I’m rambling on as I always do, but these are the things I think about.

Can anyone else identify with this? 

I’ve spent the weekend in a relaxed mood without anxiety from looming deadlines or chores that needed to be done. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this at peace without my head berating me with 500 things I need to do by Monday. I watched TV, read a book, went to get coffee, re-organized my closet (for fun, mind you), watched some TED Talks videos, and slept.

seriously relaxing, but what do I write about?

I sat down this afternoon wanting to write. The problem was that I didn’t know what to write about. Have I done anything epic lately? Seen anything new, done a new workout routine, cooked something fantastic, or had a funny story to share? Those are the easiest things to write about because they come so easily and are more like reporting a situation that writing out something that comes from a deeper place.

I try not to be all “woo-woo” here, because honestly, I’m not so much of a “woo-woo” person. Not that I mind woo-woo, but I tend to overanalyze and dissect instead of pontificate. I don’t work particularly well in the abstract.

In desperation of something to write (either on this blog or several other places I write), I went to my default list. It’s an electronic list that I keep ideas on. Sometimes things get put on the list that make perfect sense at the time I wrote it, and then make zero sense when I sit down to write. Other times, I’ve stalled too much and the timing of the subject is no longer relevant. It seemed everything on my list today fell into these categories.

I went to my Google Reader and was reminded of The Burning Question series from Danielle LaPorte that Holli had written about before. Danielle LaPorte always smacks me with her words (in a good way), so I checked out some of the “burning questions.” This one struck a chord:

What is one dumb thing that you used to believe in?

Perhaps I could say “the tooth fairy” or “santa claus,” but I was always highly skeptical of both figures anyway. Fanciful fairies and present-bearing bearded fellows just didn’t make sense to my overanalytical mind.

It hit me like a ton of bricks. There is something that I used to believe in, and in moments of weakness the belief pops up as the devil on my shoulder. I might not believe it anymore, but its effects are omnipresent.

I’m destined to be fat and unhappy.

I have tried to not be fat for my entire life. Weight Watchers at 8. Fen-Phen at 14. Fat camp at 15-18. Juice fast at 22. On and on. Where did all the [what I perceived as] struggle and heartache get me? I can look at certain photos and feel the desperation and sadness and it’s like a tidal wave washing over me.

visiting with my mom in one of her nursing homes

Each effort left me even farther away from where I’d started. The rollercoaster ride not only sent my stomach hurling, but left me emotionally empty. More stress came and it was too hard to cope with. So I ate. I became reclusive. I hated everything about myself and honestly didn’t think I deserved better. I told myself: “This is just how I am, approaching 500 pounds and there’s nothing anyone can do for me. I will handle work stress, family stress, appointments with the Medicaid office try to get my mom any sort of assistance to help her medical condition, find attorneys to try to get affairs straightened out before she can’t write or speak any longer. I will take it all, and handle it, because that’s what I do. I handle things.”

Except myself.

It wasn’t just a parents illness that made me believe my destiny was to be fat and unhappy. It was a complete lack of self worth and recognition of anything I had accomplished. Everything was negated because I was a super morbidly obese person with failing physical ability and self worth the size of a pea. Somehow being fat meant I was an awful person. An uncontrollable crazy genetic mutation of a human that goes through what seem to be the proper motions, but can never reach a satisfactory conclusion.

Something is wrong with me.

I’m a failure.

I physically can’t do anything.

People think I’m an idiot.

I must have no self control.

This is never going to end, so I might as well accept this as my life.

No one wants to be seen with me, and I don’t blame them.

I am embarrassed about myself, and I’m an embarrassment to my family.

With every failed attempt at weight loss, these emotions rooted themselves more firmly into my soul. I will even admit that these feelings have crept up when I have yet another week of weight loss stall or don’t feel strong enough physically to do something. Like weeds with a strong root system, these emotions have sucked out energy, life, happiness, and motivation. They feed on them and the more they suck away from me, the more wildly they grow.

Here’s the thing though: I can rip those weeds up. Perhaps I can’t ever fully remove the roots, but I can grab them and yank them up when I start to feel them grow. I know that my life is worth so much more than physical appearance and any associated happiness with that. Life is painful and messy, but it is also full of an unlimited amount of choices. I may not ever be physically thin or fit into a certain “ideal” body shape. I may not ever finish a marathon or break any weightlifting records. Those things don’t determine my happiness or my worth. Does it sometimes feel that they do? Hell yes. When I really think about it though, I remind myself that those feelings of inadequacy are a direct result of my own distorted beliefs that somehow held on to my life for too long.

Permission to fall is a powerful thing. Falling means that when I stumble and find myself on the ground, I still have the power to get up and brush myself off. I have fallen over and over and over and over. Each time, it sucks to brush myself off and lick my wounds, but it sure beats lying in the dirt.

I’m happy to report that the boot is now off of my foot, and hopefully for good! I still have pain and stiffness, but I’m getting bumped up to physical therapy 3 times per week (versus 2) to work on strength and flexibility in that foot. Still don’t have clearance to get in the gym again doing weight bearing activities, but hubs’ recumbent bike has come in handy as I can pedal away on it without much pain. It’s been nearly 1 year since the pain started, and I can’t wait until it’s not holding me back anymore.

Last week, I posted a progress photo on Facebook. I broke out the measuring tape last week and took some updated progress pictures. I’m so glad I got the courage to just measure and get the photos because I actually DO see a difference in my body and shape, and I lost a couple of inches since last time I measured.

All the progress photos are here, but really the one I see the difference in is the side shot:

(Also, can you see how much a difference my ENELL bra in the far right makes? Seriously.)

The difference is 65.7 inches. I don’t even know how to visualize that, but I’m happy for it. The battle may be slow going, but I’m satisfied knowing that I’m winning

Hope you had a great Monday!

Get ready, deep thoughts ahead…

The past several weeks, I’ve hobbled through the doors of the physical therapist and done exercises that shouldn’t be hard for me. I’m trying to gain strength and reduce pain from my ankle injury. The extra time on my rear end has left me thinking, which is always dangerous for me

Before you think I’m going to complain about how sucky it is to be injured, I’ll spare you:  this isn’t about injury. This is about life.

In the past few weeks, I’ve shared my weight loss progress with people outside of my normal bubble. I was asked something that I hadn’t thought about for a very long time:

What was the turning point for you?

A couple of days ago, blog reader Kimberly posted a question that was similar:

I have a recurring question in my mind, when you (being you…me…overweight…obese, whoever) have a whole lotta weight on your body, where/how do you find the motivation, energy or whatever is needed to get your ass up and at ‘em and exercise?

This has always been a hard question to answer by writing out. It requires distillation of 30 years of weight struggles into an answer that makes sense. It’s messy. It’s complicated. Was there really a lightbulb moment?

The past few weeks I have been watching a show on TLC called “My 600 Pound Life.” It follows four of the heaviest bariatric surgery patients in history through their procedure and then seven years of progress afterwards. It smacks me in the face every time I watch it, because that could have been me.

At over 400 pounds, I was unable to walk or stand for more than 10 minutes at a time. I would binge eat on the most crazy things and have no idea why. My large weight gain happened around the time when I was dealing (or not dealing) with my mom getting young-onset Parkinson’s Disease. She had to move far from me with relatives who put her in a nursing home when she was still in her 40′s.

My deterioration followed hers. She lost her ability to stand very long, and then lost the ability to walk. Her mind got clouded, and her laugh faded. She developed a propensity for all things sugary-sweet and overly processed. Her days were spent watching TV and not interacting with anyone. I couldn’t help her, so I hurt myself.

I was at a press conference for a company I worked for at the time, and a photographer at the event sent me the photos to use on our company website. On the disc was one photo of myself from afar, and I couldn’t grasp what I saw. I was unrecognizable. I remembered that day and standing on my feet for about 15 minutes and going home with swollen legs and ankles. I remember that I had to walk about 1 short block from the car to the event site, and was sweating profusely when I entered the building. I remember that I rode in my boss’ SUV whose seatbelt was so tight that I feared it wouldn’t clip. I was in denial.

I straightened myself up for a while after that shock, and lost over 125 pounds. I started to get friends as I found the confidence to enter graduate school and push myself towards a better, more active life.

When my mom died at age 50 while under my responsibility (I had to move her back near me as the relatives weren’t taking care of her) at an awful nursing home, I held it together until graduation and then promptly started to destroy myself again. Old habits came back fast, as did the weight. I ended up at 455 pounds.

I watch these people on “My 600 Pound Life” and see myself. Yes, it might be my former self and habits, but inside, it is still me. The stares from strangers, awful comments from strangers, inability to walk, binge eating, justification of poor behaviors… it’s like watching a time machine into what my life would have been like if I continued along that path.

left: the photo from the press conference that shocked me into change; right: 2 weeks ago, living at Blissdom

What are my options I have every day?

1. Be pissed and upset at genetics, binge eating habits, societal pressures of beauty, injury, circumstances. Give up.
2. Continue pushing towards HEALTH. Stop looking at everything as a battle.  Learn to live in order to continue living. Find life.

A weight loss journey isn’t something that begins and ends. It’s a daily struggle of fighting your habits and trying to complete a long sequence of correct decisions.

This whole blog isn’t dedicated to showing how I can drop numbers on a scale, it’s about showing how you can learn to live your life without limits. Am I proud of the weight loss? Of course. But those days that I get upset about being stalled for a really long time or having an injury from doing something you thought would be epic, I have to remember that I’m choosing life. There are people that deal with illness, natural disaster, and disability. Each day, I have to be thankful for the day I have and make the choices to best control what I do have. Thank you for helping me live.

What are you doing to live?

Warning: Ramblings ahead

Last week, I lept (um, hobbled) out of my cast into a boot. One more little step so I can get my health back on track. But what about the big picture? My anxiety, depression, stress, and insomnia are each issues in themselves, but when combined together make up for a health-killer. These aren’t issues solved by pills or time – they have to be fixed by lifestyle.

For those who don’t know, I work. I love working and pushing and trying to do my best. I’m an overachiever, to the point of campaigning to be MBA class president and winning – I thought it would be perfect for my resume. I got to speak at my business school graduation, spouting off wishes for everyone to live their dreams and do big things. Perhaps I always pushed for these things because my mind is something I could have confidence in, seeing as my body and physical ability was so deficient (in my mind.)

You see, in addition to my full time marketing job, I do marketing consulting for a couple of local companies and do the social media marketing for ENELL. I also volunteer quite a bit and am working with friends on some projects that are amazing, but can be time consuming. In addition to this blog, I also have my plus size fashion site, Emmie Loves, and the poor, abandoned Emily Sandford. In December, I formally created my social media consulting company, Authentically Social. It’s a lot.

Late last year, I took a course from the fabulous ex-Googler and author Jenny Blake. The title made me hopeful: “Make Sh*t Happen.”

How many times have we dreamed about doing more or being more and just sat on the dreams until they seem so out of reach that you are filled with despair? I know my list of things I want to do in this life are long, and with each year I realize that time is more and more precious.

I wanted to “Make Sh*t Happen.”

image by Departika on Etsy, via Pinterest

This blog has made me realize that I CAN make sh*t happen. I can push through injuries, lose enormous amounts of weight, share my struggles with others, and use my voice to help others.

Throughout the course, I made all sorts of mind maps and did tough exercises to figure out what exactly I wanted. What are the key themes around things I enjoy, and what do they involve? The answers became clear, and I knew how to make some things happen, but not all. I made a plan, didn’t set a goal date, and just stuck to the process. Things got fuzzy quickly (“I’m tired, I don’t want to write any more email pitches…”) but sticking to the plan, things happened… quickly.

I’ve gotten more inquiries for Authentically Social which makes me happy. I also had a new work opportunity come up that meant I could work from home. It’s a much smaller company, and I think I will really get to sink my teeth into some great projects whereas I’ve felt like a speedracer who couldn’t come up for air before. I love the company I’m with now, but the opportunity to work from home with less defined hours fulfilled so much of what I was looking for. I will also have the commute time (as well as my normal nights and weekends) to work on my other projects.

So, I’ve put in notice. I’m leaving the office.

I’m looking forward to the possibility of working in my pajamas, keeping my french press nearby with a kettle on the stove, taking quick breaks by walking the dog, not stressing out about the timing of my doctors appointments, and using my lunch break to go to the gym. I’m also looking forward to more blogging, more social media, and more writing.

For tonight, that’s all. I’m leaping, and I’m making sh*t happen.

PS: If you’re on Facebook or Twitter, I would love if you could “like” Authentically Social or follow @authsocial!

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 10:21 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?