Weigh in Woes

Since I re-started this "journey" on June 17th of this year, I've been setting monthly goals for myself. One of my goals in September was to NOT weigh myself until October 1st - thinking that once I finally stepped on the demon scale I would be greeted with a happier number than the one I saw on September 1st. I don't know what I was expecting exactly, but I do know, as he usually does, the scale let me down again... WOMP. WOMP.

I've been busting my ass on the reg and really figured that would be reflected by that little digital number screaming up at me from my toes. Granted, I don't have to suck or push my boobie-do in to see that little screen now, but STILL! C'MON! 

Last month I weighed 249 pounds at my weigh in... putting me at 21 pounds down (That's about a car tire... or a bag of taters... or my beloved KitchenAid mixer). That's not anything to be ashamed of. And I know that "slow and steady wins the friggin race"... and that this is a "marathon not a sprint"... and all that other happy horse shit, but I want so SEE the progress... FEEL the progress... TASTE the... wait.. This isn't a Skittles commercial. And I know the slower I lose it the less flabby skin I'll have to curse about. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. 

So, this weekend I did 3 (three) 5k's. I wogged the Komen Race for the Cure twice (timed and untimed) with some of my girliefrands and I did the Ultimate Mud Warrior in OKC (that I SWEAR was longer than 3 miles - which is likely attributed to the fact that all the "wogging" was actually hiking through sloshy, heavy mud) on Sunday - over 40 obstacles!!! Of all the mud runs I've done, I believe this one was the most challenging... or maybe the one I challenged myself the most on. Either way, it was amazing. I pushed myself harder than I ever have before. I felt stronger and more capable than on any other run I've done and I'm still feeling it in my shoulders and arms (dang you, suspension cables!). 

I set my October Goals before I weighed myself this morning and I'm hoping that I haven't bitten off more than I can chew.

I already know one of my November Goals will be to not weigh in again until January 1st - a little extra Christmas present to myself. I just let that stupid little number affect me way too much. It is a number... on a screen... it does NOT define me. I have to keep reminding myself of that. But, DAMN, does it make me feel so much better about myself when I see that my hard work, sweat, tears, and time are paying off and I'm getting closer to One-derland. 

I'll measure my flabby self tonight (maybe I need to make one of my ongoing goals to speak to myself more positively... Nah... its funnier when I'm honest) and hopefully that (measuring myself) will help me with my disappointment. Until then, I'm just going to have to be satisfied in knowing that I've lost 3 one gallon jugs of water... 5 bags of sugar... a bowling ball... an average 2 year old... 25 pounds. That's it. Just 25 pounds. I've gone from 270 pounds to 245 pounds in about 3 1/2 short months.

The scale DOES NOT define me... Nope. Nope. Nope. 

To stop a SuperVillain...

What was the point of this blog...? Uhhhhhh.... Oh! -To document and claim responsibility of my weight and the loss there of... hopefully.

Now - I know that in order to lose weight one must... what's the word... it's a bad one... it's right on the tip of my tongue... oh, yes - "EXERCISE" (spoken in a whiny, condescending tone). I've hovered around this necessity without much conviction for weeks. I've prayed that it would rain so that I would have a valid excuse to dodge my friend's request to walk two miles in the evenings. I've used "tired", "sore", "missed my husband", "must iron", "kitchen to clean, "help with homework", and "already ready for bed" as reasons why it was impossible for me to subject myself to increased heart rate and calorie burning WAY too often recently. Let's face it, Folks... I didn't get fat because I'm a "go getter"... because I DON'T enjoy sitting on the couch all cozy and inviting in front of the television in the evenings after work. Oh no! I am fat because... well... because... *sigh*... I'M LAZY!!! There. I said it. I. Am. Lazy.

I know you're all shocked. I know you must be thinking, "Now, now, MoYo, don't be so hard on yourself. You're a working mom. You're a busy wife. You have obligations and duties to your family and your loved ones that leave little time for you to indulge in such activities as *gasp* exercising!" Well... save the pity (but don't cancel the party just yet!). Yes - it's true. I agree. I AM a working mom & wife and I DO have obligations - but, really... why DID I pay for that 3 year gym membership if I was only going to use it 3 times. Why DID I buy those TurboJam videos if I was only going to use them for 3 months? (and they do work, by the way)

You see... I am a former "exerciser". There was once a time in my life when I actually did understand and acknowledge that in order for ME to be thin, I have to sweat... a lot! I would do my silly little exercise videos in the privacy of my own home - with my husband and boys laughing WITH me... and sometimes even joining me. I actually ENJOYED it, even! I know the benefits of exercising first hand - better sex life (HELLO!!!! Isn't THAT reason enough!?!?!), more energy, less sleepless nights, great attitude, confidence, natural appetite suppressant... and when I weigh those benefits (no pun intended) to the non-beneficial reasons of exercising, I got nothin'. So, really - what the hey-hey is my problem people?!?!

I've already said it - but it bears repeating: I. AM. A. LAZY. ASS! I hate on the skinny "bitches" because I'm not one of them - AS I recline on my couch with my Pepsi and piece of cream cheese pie. I watch those silly VH-1 countdowns of the "hottest swimsuit bodies" and dream of having legs that would put a man (mainly, my own man, mind you) to his knees. I secretly wish I could run in marathon's and dance through a whole song without getting winded enough to sit down. In MY mind, I'm no different than Beyonce and I tell myself that if I were thin, I'd look a lot like Kourtney Kardashian with Khloe's voluptuousness. All this - as I savor the creamy sweetness of the calorie ridden pie I'm consuming. Do you see the problem? Yeah - me neither.... BLAH!

If I'm honest with myself (which I think by now you know I am) - I will slap myself and say, "MoYo - you will not accomplish any of your goals if you do not exercise. You must sweat to lose and you must move to sweat. You must commit yourself to this completely or quit whining about your inflated ass & boobie-do. QUIT being lazy. QUIT making excuses! Get OFF your lazy ass and DO something GOOD for yourself because if you do NOT make time for exercise, then it won't matter to your family what you do or don't do for them because you won't be around to do any of it anyway!"

Now that I've given myself a proper "come to Jesus" speech and admitted that I.A.A.L.A, I feel compelled to MOVE forward. I can now remind myself that I.A.A.L.A. must be stopped - like the super villain she is.

Now - where did I put that remote so I can play this exercise video?!?! =)

Mirror, Mirror on the wall...

After much thought (seems I've been doing a lot of that lately), I decided to post a pic of myself in my current condition... Granted, the profile pic I posted was taken on Mother's Day 2009 - BUT - not a lot has changed since then. I'm still sporting the lovely "boobie-do" (Don't tell me you didn't notice that my gut protrudes further than my boobies do...) and my elbows are still struggling to exist. The extra skin around my chin has distorted my face so that I could pass for a bull frog.

I think, for me, the hardest part of this whole "self intervention" has meant ADMITTING that I'm out-of-control fat. Admitting to myself that I'm unhealthy and that I do, indeed, need to get off my flabby, fat, once quite lovely ass and do something about it.

I believe fat chicks... well, THIS fat chick... live somewhere between reality and comfortable delusion. You see, I would look at other overweight women and say to myself, "there's NO WAY I'm THAT big"... or I'd hold up my size 18 britches and think, "it just LOOKS big... I'm not really that round". When I'd stand naked in front of the mirror, I'd blame the lighting. I often ask my husband when we are out in public, "Am I as big as her?" and, he answers me honestly.

My husband and I are brutally & painfully honest with one another - and I wouldn't have it any other way! He's not happy about my weight (not just because it wreaks havoc on our sex life - which sucks because the 30's have been every bit as exciting as everyone says they were going to be - but because of my health issues, as well). It's hard to see yourself for what you really are MOST of the time, but when you are blessed with a relationship that allows honesty or when you can look outside of yourself and see what others see - then you can appreciate the great things about yourself and change the not so great things... which I've had to do SO many times in my life. It's painful - but it's necessary.

Anyway - as lovely as it is for some - I just can't live in this suspended reality anymore. There's nothing great here. There's no sparkling vampire men. There's no promise of magic or wizards. There's no advance notice of upcoming lottery numbers. The only thing I'm promised is heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, and a premature death... Doesn't THAT sound like fun?!!?

My mirror and I are slowly working on our relationship, too. I no longer buy into it's bull shit theories about lighting, angles, the type of fabric my clothing consists of, or whether it's raining in Tibet. We both know that there's no denying it anymore. And, when look at my reflection and pout out the words, "Mirror, Mirror on the wall - who's the fattest of them all?", my mirror wisely doesn't say a single word! =)