Sunday, August 26, 2007

The "D" Word, the Other "D" Word, and the "S" Word.

I had my yearly physical last week. I'd been looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time... you know how it is.

I really, really like my doctor. While I can't say exactly WHY I chose her, I can say that I knew she would help me do something about my weight. She's always been honest with me and I don't have to worry about her sugar coating it for me. I also don't have to worry about her telling me all my problems are weight related. (I HATE that!)

Two years ago, we were discussing my weight (I was crying, of course,) and she asked me, "Have you ever considered weight loss surgery?"

I looked at her, shocked and said, "I guess I didn't think I was that...far gone."

In her brutally honest way, she told me the truth. "You are. At your weight, you'd certainly qualify."

I was stunned. I thought that surgery was only an option for people who had far more to lose than I did. Was I really that overweight?

Yes. I was. I weighed 274 pounds. 274! Every time I think about that number, I just shudder. I can't believe it had grown so high. And SURGERY? I couldn't handle the thought. I told her I wanted to do it on my own. I thought I could.

I still think I can. But now I'm not so sure.

As for the words...

Diabetes. My blood sugar was high again this year. Not REALLY high--in fact, only 3 points above normal, but it's the third year in a row I've been high. I was dreading that call telling me I'd developed diabetes. Luckily, I didn't get it. She did bring up the term "borderline," though. I laughed and said, "I thought diabetes was like pregnancy; you either have it, or you don't." She laughed right back and said that it is, but just like you can have pregnancy scares, you can have diabetes scares, too. Next year, my glucose might be high enough to make an official diagnosis. Time to do something about it.

Diet Pills. This was the first year she offered me diet pills, which surprised me. I'm worried she thinks I can't do this on my own, and it's making me start to doubt myself. I turned down two pills that would "help block fat absorption," (read: give me diarrhea) and one appetite suppressant. I don't eat because I'm hungry...I eat because I want to eat. So now she thinks I might be a compulsive over eater...and I think she's right about that. I'm looking into it. I'm giving myself 6 months. If I can't get myself under control, I'll rethink the diet pills.

Surgery. The thought scares me to tears, really. I know several people who have gone through with it and several more who are considering it. Some really needed it for health reasons. Some, I think, saw it as an easy, lazy way out. I know there are different options, and it's not nearly as dangerous as it used to be, but still... If I haven't made significant improvement and I'm not well on my way to a healthier life in two years...then I'll consider it.

I think I can do it. I hope so, anyway.

Saturday, August 25, 2007

The Water Thing...

Life has been hectic...but moving on.

A friend of mine passed on some good advice from her doctor. What you do is take your body weight in pounds, and half that. That number is how many ounces of water you should drink every day. Believe it or not, I've heard that advice before, I just can't remember where.

So, I weigh roughly 240 pounds right now, which means I should be drinking 120 ounces of water a day. That's A LOT of water. But it's not as hard as I thought it would be.

I've actually been drinking a whole gallon of water a day, which is about 128 ounces, for the past week. I'm feeling pretty good about myself, too. There was one day that I just couldn't stomach it all, but I made up for it the next day.

On Monday, I took a gallon jug of water to work and filled up a glass all day. The next day, I brought another jug of water, and the empty jug from the day before. (I now carry a jug with me everywhere. It's borderline weird to open it in the car and take a swig.) I filled the empty and popped it in the fridge for the next day, and used the water I'd brought with me. Now I have two jugs at work, and I just carry the one I'm using that day and bring it back empty in the morning. What if I get thirsty before I get to work? Easy. I drink a 16.9 oz bottle of water, and fill it with water from the jug when I get there. Strange, I know, but it works for me. It's my system.

I've got half the people in my office doing the water thing. We're all having a great time in the bathroom.

I was worried about doing it at home today because I tend not too drink much at home--I'm not really sure why. So, this morning, I got out my sharpie and numbered water bottles 1-8. I actually drank8 bottles of water, a glass of milk, and half a glass of soda today. Wowie.

I weighed in at exactly 240 on Monday morning, and I've been going up and down all week--238 on Thursday, 243 on Friday. We'll see what the scale says come Monday morning.

Friday, August 10, 2007

Counting Down...

In just 2 short hours, I will officially be on vacation.
An entire week off...I haven't had that since my maternity leave ended almost five and a half years ago.

I. Can't. Wait.

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

That's IT.

I am just going to absolutely lose my f-ing mind. Whatever this is my page. I want to say fuck, I'm saying fuck. I'm going to lose my fucking mind.

Miss Late Every Day to Work, Lies on her Time Card, Always Takes Too Long for Break, Shuts her Phone Off for No Reason, and Would Not Shut-up Yesterday when I had the Headache of the Century just went to OUR boss and complained that *I* was talking too much today.

That's it. The gloves are off.

I WAS feeling better today until that. Time for some serious ass kicking.

Tuesday, August 07, 2007

Could it be?

Is my "Is she pregnant?" pouch a little smaller than it was yesterday, or am I seeing things?

Maybe it's the migraine that woke me up this morning, but I think things might look a little, teensy, tiny bit different. Was it the Pilates from yesterday morning or the 30 seconds of 5 minute abs I did last night?

Monday, August 06, 2007

Feel the Burn

Oh. My. Goodness.

Who knew what 20 minutes of Pilates after a few weeks of inactivity could do to a girl. My arms hurt, my shoulders ache, my legs and buns are screaming, and I actually checked when I sneeze to see if I had, indeed, busted my gut open.

Hmm? Does that mean:

A: I got a good workout?
B: I'm WAY out of shape?
C: Both.

I vote C. And you?

I took a sneak peek at a new video I's a 5 minute Abs workout. I know that before I can hope to see a hint of firmness, I have to get rid of the flab with some major cardio, but I thought I'd take a preview to see what it was like. After all, flat abs in a 5 minute workout sounds almost* too good to be true. (*But not all the way too good to be true, or I wouldn't have bought it.) Holy Lord. There's a ticker across the bottom...and here's me in my PJ's thinking, I'll just try the moves out, right? I was sweaty after about 30 seconds and I wasn't even trying! That's going to be one tough work out!


For the past two weeks, I've successfully manage to avoid about 20 million calories in the form of miniature candy bars sitting in a jar just a short walk away from my desk. Each time the container gets blissfully close to empty, some well meaning person refills it. It's been hard, and despite the suggestions that I could "eat just one," I've avoided them altogether because, well...I know myself. I know that "just one" will not happen. "Just 51," maybe, which is (obviously) not what I'm looking for.
This morning, temptation has been knocking me around a little harder. I think it's because I actually got my lazy ass out of bed this morning and exercised. 20 minutes of pilates can work up an appetite.
I walked into the break room to find a container boasting raspberry jelly filled doughnut holes. I spent most of the morning trying to talk myself into believing that it's a "special occasion," and I really could indulge in just one. I resisted.
I went downstairs and found a dish filled with Dove chocolates. I actually took one before I even realized what I'd done and forced myself to put it back. On the way out the door, I looked longingly at the dish, but still, I resisted.
Back to the break room to heat up my healthy lunch of Italian chicken with green beans. There are the doughnut holes again. Damn.

Before anyone pipes up saying that I should indulge at times and not deprive myself of things I want because it makes it worse...I spent most of the weekend at a friend's house, not depriving myself of anything. The booze, pizza, chili-cheese dip, peanut butter M&M's, and licorice were flowing quite freely, and I took it as "a special occasion" since I was doing something I don't normally do. Now is the time to get back on track. I'll be fine. I know I will be.

...but to any of my co-workers who might happen to be reading this: If someone doesn't eat that last freaking doughnut hole, I might just flip out.

Saturday, August 04, 2007

The Perils of Being a Fat Lady

Yes, being a Fat Lady can be very treacherous at times. Okay, so there are times when more blame is placed on the weight than should be, but for the most part, it's a dangerous place to be.

Poly-cystic ovaries? Definitely a curse of being overweight.
Dry skin? Probably not.
Asthma? Hmmm...maybe. I'm on the fence about that one.
Sore knees? Fat problem.
Ingrown toenail? No way. (But what if I have fat toes?)
Low energy? Abdominal pain? Stretch marks? Yes, yes, and yes!
Hairy legs? Yeast infection? Chapped lips? Surely not.

I tend to blame all my problems on being fat. I developed a weird pimple this week, and called it my "fat lady pimple."

I know that losing weight won't solve all my problems. Believe me, I've got way more problems that how I look. It's fun to pretend that everything will get better, though. Oh! There's a dose of self-psychology: Since I can control my weight (supposedly) it's easy to think that all my problems will disappear once I'm slimmer. Hell, when I picture myself skinnier, I'm somehow shorter, too. How does that work?

There's a woman in my office building who definitely has some BIG problems. This woman is--unfortunately, there's no nicer way to say it--huge. She wears this disgusting, musky perfume that lingers where ever she's been, and I hate it, but thank God for it because one day she forgot it wear it, and the alternative smell was so much worse. She can only fit in the handicap stall in the bathroom and, for some reason, always takes a huge wad of paper towels in with her. She spends an eternity in there just trying to get herself clean, I imagine. She has left feces on the floor, smeared on the wall, and on the toilet seat. She frequently takes the bag out of the sanitary box to dispose of her things personally in the main garbage. Woe is the person who enters that stall after her. It's disgusting.

Yet, I feel for this woman. I know the problems I have at what is probably half of her weight. I can't imagine what she goes through every day just to get out of the house. (Although, please, please stop wearing sleeveless shirts to work.) There are lots of real perils of being a Fat Lady, and I'm sure this woman has lived through every one. There are times I wish I was friends with her, or knew her, and could say, "Hey Sally, let's go take a walk on our lunch." or "Let's go grab something at the salad bar."

I'm sure it's a medical condition--according to my boss, anyway--but at some point, there has got to come a day where you look in the mirror and decide to get rid of the Fat Lady for good.