I know it's been a while since I updated, but I've been busy.
Week one was so exciting, losing 11.8 pounds, that I was devastated week 2, when I gained 3. I knew I hadn't eaten the best...I'd lost my journal in the middle of the week, so rather than write things down somewhere else, I guessed...What's more, I didn't just guess. I took advantage of the fact that I wasn't writing things down, and ate and ate and ate at times, to my heart's content.
So I gained 3 pounds. Pffft.
Week 3, I *still* didn't have a journal because I'd forgotten to pick one up at the meeting, but rather than eat something just because I didn't have to write it down, I limited myself, and tried to make good choices. (Okay, the ice cream cake from Dairy Queen last Friday night was NOT a good choice, but it was a small indulgence. Plus, I was so ill afterwards from all the sugar, it's not likely I'll be choosing it again any time soon.) In addition to my weekly paper route, I also exercised during week 3. Once. I tried to do better, but I have the hardest time dragging myself out of bed in the morning.
I didn't make it to my usual Monday meeting due to some car trouble. I didn't make it to Tuesday's meeting due to me just wanting to get home. I didn't make it to Wednesday's meeting due to my daughter's dance class, so I had to go Thursday, or else skip the whole week, which I really didn't want to have to do. So, I ended up at a different meeting, in a different city. And it was okay. I lost 3.6 pounds, putting my total at 12.4. The meeting leader wrote my total loss as 11.4, and I didn't realize the error until I was getting into my car, so I'll have them change it at the meeting next week. The Monday meeting. (Which gives me three days...)
I'm already feeling better about myself, and I don't have a problem letting people know that I'm doing this. People in my office have started complimenting me, telling me I look slimmer. I feel silly telling them I've only lost 12 pounds. I think a lot of it has to do with confidence, though, too. The way I carry myself affects my appearance, and since I don't feel like a big, useless, lump of lard anymore, I walk a little taller.
I'll try to update more often. I've been using a weight tracker on Fitday.com, but it only goes up to 250 pounds...it's a little depressing to see my blue arrow in the same place every week.
Saturday, January 28, 2006
Monday, January 09, 2006
Celebrating...
Week one is over as of tonight. I think I did pretty well. There were a few times when I was hungry, and at least once when I ate WAY more than I should have. The difference is that now I'm reaching for better snacks...making better choices. THAT'S what it's all about.
The kicker is, even though I said I would, I didn't exercise at all, save the dancing Saturday night, and the paper route Thursday and Friday. (The distribution guy left me a message today that I need to go back out and deliver another ad today or tomorrow...part of me went, "Man, again?" but the other part went, "Woohooo! Paid exercise!" THAT'S something new...)
And the pay off? I just came from my second WW meeting...I'm down 11.8 pounds.
I know it's the first week and all water and blah blah blah, but what inspiration to keep me going...of course, I'm celebrating tonight with half a pepperoni pizza.
The kicker is, even though I said I would, I didn't exercise at all, save the dancing Saturday night, and the paper route Thursday and Friday. (The distribution guy left me a message today that I need to go back out and deliver another ad today or tomorrow...part of me went, "Man, again?" but the other part went, "Woohooo! Paid exercise!" THAT'S something new...)
And the pay off? I just came from my second WW meeting...I'm down 11.8 pounds.
I know it's the first week and all water and blah blah blah, but what inspiration to keep me going...of course, I'm celebrating tonight with half a pepperoni pizza.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Tested
Last night was my office Holiday Party. (Nothing like getting around to it two weeks after Christmas.) It's the one night a year that the Hubster and I get a babysitter, leave the girls at home, and truly have a night to ourselves.
I spent the morning running around, doing some last minute cleanup before my friend came by to babysit, and eating light so I could pig out at dinner. We ate lunch around 1:30, and then I showered, and started getting ready. When we left a little before 5, I was starving, and cursing myself for not eating before hand, KNOWING the dinner wouldn't start for almost two more hours. I convinced the Hubster that it wouldn't be THAT many points if we stopping at Wendy's for a Junior cheeseburger off the dollar menu. That cheeseburger really hit the spot, and I'm glad I ate it and didn't go over board on the punch and crudities they had there.
When we arrived at the party, there was a short ceremony, honoring the employees who have been with the company for five or more years, which, this year, included myself. I was given a framed certificate, and an envelope containing $25. Now, I had specifically not brought any cash with me so I wouldn't buy any drinks at the bar, but now I had $25, and a glass of wine sounded soooooo good. I settled on a diet soda (for $1.75) and another glass of punch.
The salad came around, and I picked the croutons off my plate, and drizzled a small amount of creamy Italian dressing over it. I took a roll, unwrapped a pat of butter, then wrapped it back up and pushed it aside. I ate the roll, though, and it was worth every bite. Dinner was a thick cut of sirloin steak with garlic and mushrooms over it, green beans with slivered almonds, and two new potatoes, with everything covered in about a gallon of butter. I'll be honest here...I ate everything except for the green beans, because they were undercooked. I tried to eat slow, drinking water and putting my fork down between bites, but it was so good, that pretty soon my plate was almost empty. I told myself that I just wouldn't have dessert.
But then dessert came. Sherbet in little champagne glasses with those chocolatey-shortbread-tube-things sticking out. My eyes widened, and I knew I was eating it. (I was thanking WW for those flex points, by this time; I still haven't figured out how many points I ate last night.) Dessert was wonderful, the entertainment was so-so, and then the DJ started.
Our company hires a DJ approximately every other year for our parties. One year we'll have one, and no one will stay or no one will dance, so the next year, they won't hire one, and then people complain that there isn't any music, so the next year, they'll hire one...and the cycle continues. This guy...I'm not sure if it was his first time, or if he just didn't know what good music is, but the first 10 or so songs he played were nothing you could dance to. In between each song, there would be a long pause while he got the next one ready, and sometimes a song would start, and then stop, and then a different song would start, and then stop...it was awful to listen to.
I love to dance. Part of my worries about what I look like on the dance floor, but most of me knows I know more moves and dance better than a lot of the skinnier people I work with. I was tapping my feet, waiting for him to play something good and trying to think of what I could request he play. (I didn't feel right going up to him and just asking him to play something that doesn't suck. I felt I should be more specific.) Finally, "The Twist" came on. Swing! I grabbed the Hubster, and started dancing on the way to the dance floor. People cheered that someone was finally dancing, and a friend of mine soon joined us. More people came, and soon there were 20-30 people twisting on the dance floor. It was fun, but my knees and ankles were killing me. I swore that next year, I will be in so much better shape, I'll be able to dance all night. We stayed on the dance floor for the rest of "The Twist," and then "Shout," "Rockin' Robin," and some of the other oldies, fun, Swing, dancing in a big circle songs. The Hubster and I slow danced to "Unchained Melody," and stumbled through "My Girl," while I whispered in his hear, trying to get him to step up the pace a bit. After that, "Dancing Queen" came on, and everyone left the dance floor. We decided it was time for us to go, and stopped to say goodbye to people. Someone said I had to stay, because they were playing my song, so I stepped back on the dance floor and did a little disco dancing. (Having the time of my life, ya know.) We all laughed, and the hubster and I came home.
My friend had ordered pizza, and there was a bit left over, and it was calling me from the fridge. I opened the box to find half a piece left--Little Sister's, I'm guessing--so I heated it up, ate it, and went to bed feeling pretty happy with myself.
This morning, I woke up feeling a little sore from dancing, but mostly in my feet and ankles from my heels. I ate a good, healthy breakfast, and I *plan* on exercising today. In fact, today, I'm going to start exercising every day. Well, almost every day. I'll have to see how it goes.
So, yes, I was tested. Yes, I ate a lot, but yes, I had a lot of fun. I danced a lot, too, so some of those calories don't count...Right?
I spent the morning running around, doing some last minute cleanup before my friend came by to babysit, and eating light so I could pig out at dinner. We ate lunch around 1:30, and then I showered, and started getting ready. When we left a little before 5, I was starving, and cursing myself for not eating before hand, KNOWING the dinner wouldn't start for almost two more hours. I convinced the Hubster that it wouldn't be THAT many points if we stopping at Wendy's for a Junior cheeseburger off the dollar menu. That cheeseburger really hit the spot, and I'm glad I ate it and didn't go over board on the punch and crudities they had there.
When we arrived at the party, there was a short ceremony, honoring the employees who have been with the company for five or more years, which, this year, included myself. I was given a framed certificate, and an envelope containing $25. Now, I had specifically not brought any cash with me so I wouldn't buy any drinks at the bar, but now I had $25, and a glass of wine sounded soooooo good. I settled on a diet soda (for $1.75) and another glass of punch.
The salad came around, and I picked the croutons off my plate, and drizzled a small amount of creamy Italian dressing over it. I took a roll, unwrapped a pat of butter, then wrapped it back up and pushed it aside. I ate the roll, though, and it was worth every bite. Dinner was a thick cut of sirloin steak with garlic and mushrooms over it, green beans with slivered almonds, and two new potatoes, with everything covered in about a gallon of butter. I'll be honest here...I ate everything except for the green beans, because they were undercooked. I tried to eat slow, drinking water and putting my fork down between bites, but it was so good, that pretty soon my plate was almost empty. I told myself that I just wouldn't have dessert.
But then dessert came. Sherbet in little champagne glasses with those chocolatey-shortbread-tube-things sticking out. My eyes widened, and I knew I was eating it. (I was thanking WW for those flex points, by this time; I still haven't figured out how many points I ate last night.) Dessert was wonderful, the entertainment was so-so, and then the DJ started.
Our company hires a DJ approximately every other year for our parties. One year we'll have one, and no one will stay or no one will dance, so the next year, they won't hire one, and then people complain that there isn't any music, so the next year, they'll hire one...and the cycle continues. This guy...I'm not sure if it was his first time, or if he just didn't know what good music is, but the first 10 or so songs he played were nothing you could dance to. In between each song, there would be a long pause while he got the next one ready, and sometimes a song would start, and then stop, and then a different song would start, and then stop...it was awful to listen to.
I love to dance. Part of my worries about what I look like on the dance floor, but most of me knows I know more moves and dance better than a lot of the skinnier people I work with. I was tapping my feet, waiting for him to play something good and trying to think of what I could request he play. (I didn't feel right going up to him and just asking him to play something that doesn't suck. I felt I should be more specific.) Finally, "The Twist" came on. Swing! I grabbed the Hubster, and started dancing on the way to the dance floor. People cheered that someone was finally dancing, and a friend of mine soon joined us. More people came, and soon there were 20-30 people twisting on the dance floor. It was fun, but my knees and ankles were killing me. I swore that next year, I will be in so much better shape, I'll be able to dance all night. We stayed on the dance floor for the rest of "The Twist," and then "Shout," "Rockin' Robin," and some of the other oldies, fun, Swing, dancing in a big circle songs. The Hubster and I slow danced to "Unchained Melody," and stumbled through "My Girl," while I whispered in his hear, trying to get him to step up the pace a bit. After that, "Dancing Queen" came on, and everyone left the dance floor. We decided it was time for us to go, and stopped to say goodbye to people. Someone said I had to stay, because they were playing my song, so I stepped back on the dance floor and did a little disco dancing. (Having the time of my life, ya know.) We all laughed, and the hubster and I came home.
My friend had ordered pizza, and there was a bit left over, and it was calling me from the fridge. I opened the box to find half a piece left--Little Sister's, I'm guessing--so I heated it up, ate it, and went to bed feeling pretty happy with myself.
This morning, I woke up feeling a little sore from dancing, but mostly in my feet and ankles from my heels. I ate a good, healthy breakfast, and I *plan* on exercising today. In fact, today, I'm going to start exercising every day. Well, almost every day. I'll have to see how it goes.
So, yes, I was tested. Yes, I ate a lot, but yes, I had a lot of fun. I danced a lot, too, so some of those calories don't count...Right?
Tuesday, January 03, 2006
The Goal
I bought this dress the summer after I graduated highschool, around the same time I met my husband. I wore it to the mall one day, and a few days later, he told me, "I really liked that blue dress you wore the other day." I knew he was a good catch.It's been hanging in my closet for so long...it's the one "skinny" thing I haven't been able to let go of. It's not even that "skinny," but it's a place I wouldn't mind being.
Even If I can put it on and look at myself and decide I look ridiculous, and I take it off and never wear it again...Even I end up throwing it out...If I can put it on, I'll be happy.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Excuses Already
It's one o'clock, and I'm still in my pajamas. Chances of me making it out of the house, let alone to a WW meeting are pretty slim. I *want* to go, don't get me wrong, I do. I'm still handling this whole bronchitis thing, and the meds are making me...I don't know. But they're doing something to me. I just don't feel normal. I think that if my office wasn't closed today, I'd be using another sick day. I want to crawl back in bed, and sleep for a few more hours, but I can't do that. Plus, I've been on antibiotics. STRONG antibiotics. I'm sure most women can understand what that will do to you.
Then, there's the house...it's been getting worse and worse over the past week. When the Hubster isn't feeling well, I pitch in, and do as much as I can, so he can rest and recoup. When I'm sick, and laying around doing nothing, he takes it as his cue to do the same thing, so the house falls apart. There are so many things I wanted to do this weekend, that I couldn't. My friend is supposed to come over next weekend to watch the girls so we can go out to my office Holiday party--our one night out a year. But I don't even want her to come because this place is so messy.
Okay, fast forward. It's 7 o'clock. After I started writing this, I got mad at myself, put my bra on, took Little Sister, and left the house. We went to a "new" second hand store that everyone and their mother has told me to check out. I got 2 movies, 2 sweaters, and 2 pairs of pants for Little Sister, and a tie for the Hubster all for under $20. Wow. I wish I would have gone sooner.
I got to the WW place at 3:30, and they were just opening up registration for the 4:00 meeting. I really wasn't feeling well, and I circled the parking lot a few times, and actually considered just going home, but I didn't. I parked the car, hauled out Little Sister, and waited in line forever because everyone (and their mother) decided to join Weight Watchers today.
It's a lot different than the last time I went; more than 4 years ago. The kicker is that it's the SAME lady doing the meetings. It's funny because this is the 3rd time I've joined WW, and I've always had the same leader, even though I've been to different meetings, in different cities, at different times. Crazy. I really like that they have the scale set up in front of the registration desk, and all I have to do is stand there while they log my weight. The worst part of weighing for me is waiting to see what number it will stop at. She put the sticker on my card, and I didn't even look at it until the after-meeting-orientation-meeting when I had to look to see how many points I'll get to eat each day.
I'm going public, right? Okay. Here goes: 273.4 pounds.
It's actually around where I thought it would be, although I had horrible images of that big number 3 coming up. Let's hope this is the closest I'll ever be to it.
I came home and told the Hubster that I'm starting tomorrow, so we better have something good tonight. He's making me Chicken Parmesan with Angel Hair pasta and garlic bread. Oh sweet carbo-loading.
I also got him to take out the trash, sweep the kitchen floor, and help me clean off a counter, so we're making a dent in my huge list of chores. Wait until he sees what I have in store for him for the rest of the week.
Then, there's the house...it's been getting worse and worse over the past week. When the Hubster isn't feeling well, I pitch in, and do as much as I can, so he can rest and recoup. When I'm sick, and laying around doing nothing, he takes it as his cue to do the same thing, so the house falls apart. There are so many things I wanted to do this weekend, that I couldn't. My friend is supposed to come over next weekend to watch the girls so we can go out to my office Holiday party--our one night out a year. But I don't even want her to come because this place is so messy.
Okay, fast forward. It's 7 o'clock. After I started writing this, I got mad at myself, put my bra on, took Little Sister, and left the house. We went to a "new" second hand store that everyone and their mother has told me to check out. I got 2 movies, 2 sweaters, and 2 pairs of pants for Little Sister, and a tie for the Hubster all for under $20. Wow. I wish I would have gone sooner.
I got to the WW place at 3:30, and they were just opening up registration for the 4:00 meeting. I really wasn't feeling well, and I circled the parking lot a few times, and actually considered just going home, but I didn't. I parked the car, hauled out Little Sister, and waited in line forever because everyone (and their mother) decided to join Weight Watchers today.
It's a lot different than the last time I went; more than 4 years ago. The kicker is that it's the SAME lady doing the meetings. It's funny because this is the 3rd time I've joined WW, and I've always had the same leader, even though I've been to different meetings, in different cities, at different times. Crazy. I really like that they have the scale set up in front of the registration desk, and all I have to do is stand there while they log my weight. The worst part of weighing for me is waiting to see what number it will stop at. She put the sticker on my card, and I didn't even look at it until the after-meeting-orientation-meeting when I had to look to see how many points I'll get to eat each day.
I'm going public, right? Okay. Here goes: 273.4 pounds.
It's actually around where I thought it would be, although I had horrible images of that big number 3 coming up. Let's hope this is the closest I'll ever be to it.
I came home and told the Hubster that I'm starting tomorrow, so we better have something good tonight. He's making me Chicken Parmesan with Angel Hair pasta and garlic bread. Oh sweet carbo-loading.
I also got him to take out the trash, sweep the kitchen floor, and help me clean off a counter, so we're making a dent in my huge list of chores. Wait until he sees what I have in store for him for the rest of the week.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
January First.
The first morning of the first day of the new year.
And I had bacon.
Not much. Just two little pieces, with melted cheese inside a tortilla. I looked at the bananas on the counter, and at the cottage cheese in the fridge, but the bacon was right there. Who can resist bacon?
Apparently, not me, which is why I won't be buying it anymore.
I'm not weighing myself today. I can't bring myself to stand on the scale, because what if...what if, oh horror of horrors, that dreaded number 3 comes up this time? It's been a while since I stood on the scale, and I'm certainly not feeling any lighter. I declined getting on the scale at the doctor's office last week, with the lame excuse that I didn't want to take my boots off.
It's time for me to do something about the way I look, and the way I feel about myself. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I cringe when I see how fat my face really looks in pictures. Because, you know, you look at yourself, and you think that maybe you don't look so bad...but then you see a picture, and you think, "Oh my God, is that how people see me?" I hate feeling sick all the time, and I hate even more that I keep eating the things that I know make me feel that way.
I don't enjoy sex with my husband anymore. Not like I used to anyway. There isn't anything sexy about our bellies flopping together, or the jiggle that starts when we really get going. It's not sexy when he whispers that he wants to fuck me all night, but I'm already out of breath 60 seconds into the deed. So I avoid it, and we fight. I know it's not the solution, but I can't bring it up to him. He tells me I'm beautiful, and he loves me just the way I am. Which is sweet, really, but it doesn't exactly help me want to change.
Today, we're cleaning house as a family, and maybe we'll take a walk. If not, I'll exercise when he takes our oldest to her mom's house. I will. I won't sit here in front of the computer playing games, or bitching about how unhappy I am with my weight. I will get up, and I will exercise. Tomorrow, I'll exercise, and I'll call and find out if they're having Weight Watchers meetings, even though it's a pseudo-Holiday. (I'm off work, anyway.) My friend is doing LA Weight Loss, and has lost 35 pounds and is looking great...but she's also paid them through the nose for her "contract." I can justify the $10 or $11 a week for Weight Watchers, as long as I don't start adding it up. And I actually go to the meetings. Which I will.
So, it's January first. The first morning of the first day of the new year. And the first day of the new me...for real this time.
And I had bacon.
Not much. Just two little pieces, with melted cheese inside a tortilla. I looked at the bananas on the counter, and at the cottage cheese in the fridge, but the bacon was right there. Who can resist bacon?
Apparently, not me, which is why I won't be buying it anymore.
I'm not weighing myself today. I can't bring myself to stand on the scale, because what if...what if, oh horror of horrors, that dreaded number 3 comes up this time? It's been a while since I stood on the scale, and I'm certainly not feeling any lighter. I declined getting on the scale at the doctor's office last week, with the lame excuse that I didn't want to take my boots off.
It's time for me to do something about the way I look, and the way I feel about myself. I avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I cringe when I see how fat my face really looks in pictures. Because, you know, you look at yourself, and you think that maybe you don't look so bad...but then you see a picture, and you think, "Oh my God, is that how people see me?" I hate feeling sick all the time, and I hate even more that I keep eating the things that I know make me feel that way.
I don't enjoy sex with my husband anymore. Not like I used to anyway. There isn't anything sexy about our bellies flopping together, or the jiggle that starts when we really get going. It's not sexy when he whispers that he wants to fuck me all night, but I'm already out of breath 60 seconds into the deed. So I avoid it, and we fight. I know it's not the solution, but I can't bring it up to him. He tells me I'm beautiful, and he loves me just the way I am. Which is sweet, really, but it doesn't exactly help me want to change.
Today, we're cleaning house as a family, and maybe we'll take a walk. If not, I'll exercise when he takes our oldest to her mom's house. I will. I won't sit here in front of the computer playing games, or bitching about how unhappy I am with my weight. I will get up, and I will exercise. Tomorrow, I'll exercise, and I'll call and find out if they're having Weight Watchers meetings, even though it's a pseudo-Holiday. (I'm off work, anyway.) My friend is doing LA Weight Loss, and has lost 35 pounds and is looking great...but she's also paid them through the nose for her "contract." I can justify the $10 or $11 a week for Weight Watchers, as long as I don't start adding it up. And I actually go to the meetings. Which I will.
So, it's January first. The first morning of the first day of the new year. And the first day of the new me...for real this time.
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