the tenacious ten: day seven

Spent the weekend with a houseful of people and pets, thanks to our alma mater's collegiate choir being in town on their spring break tour.  Entertaining company is always a challenge for me when I'm trying to lose weight.  Or maintain.  Or any time that involves eating, which is all of my life, as I tend to eat on a daily basis.  I have the best of intentions, but once there is Mama Mimi's pizza fresh out of the oven or breakfast casserole likewise fresh, well, the intentions that were so black and white suddenly fade to gray.

One more piece of pizza won't hurt, I tell myself.  Then it's another.  And another.  Suddenly, I've had five over the course of the entire evening.  Why do I do that?  I don't know.  I wish I could figure it out.

I hate it when other people are eating things I enjoy and I can't eat them, too.  I feel punished.  It feels unfair.

I can't stand knowing there is are special foods in the house.  I cannot stop thinking about them until they are gone.  I become completely obsessed.

Here's the weird thing.  We gave up sweets for lent.  So the cookies were not even a temptation.  Why not?  I don't know.

This is what I know, and what I don't know.  The difficult truth is that this eating thing continue to be a mystery to me, despite so many, many things that should make it not a mystery.  I will think more about it tomorrow.  Tonight, I am spent.

the tenacious ten: day four

I wish someone would have reminded me that too much protein powder does not make one's stomach happy.  No reason.

Day four was uneventful.  The Kashi Go-Lean Crunch has stopped calling me, as it is no longer in the cupboard.  It can't call from within my stomach--I figured that was the safest bet for all involved.  So I am free from that temptation.  It was a tough sacrifice to have to eat it all before it drove me crazy.  But sometimes you just gotta do whatcha gotta do. 

The Zone bars, on the other hand, are very quick and easy and have CHOCOLATE on them.  They need to be gone so there are no more temptations calling me from the pantry.  Sigh.  More sacrifice.  Woe is me.

Aside from the bloatedness driving me to distraction, it has been a decent day, albeit a long one.  I will retire with a good book and try not to think about how pathetic it is that I am craving a Zone bar or about how FAT I feel after a day of IBS.  Another busy day awaits me, then another, and then another.  

But by then, the Zone bars will be GONE, and I will be home free. 

the tenacious ten: day one

After a weekend of carb-loading, today began the attack on the Tenacious Ten.Two months on the "miracle diet" did not produce a miracle, unfortunately. My weight loss stalled after a five to eight pound loss and began to taunt me from there, inching up and down but never getting any lower. I decided I would switch to the lean, restricted version of eating clean, hoping it would take that last five off. But upon weighing myself the day I was to begin, I was shocked to find that the last five was really back up to the last ten. And then, I completely lost it over not losing it.

The last week, wherein I wallowed in my post-weigh-in freak out, was spent half in futile moderation, half in an all-out carb-fest. All gains that were made in the last two months are likely gone. This is what life is like in my body. I won't bore you with how incredibly demoralizing it is to keep going round and round and round with the same ten pounds. Suffice it to say it SUCKS.There was a public service announcement that ran when I was younger that pictured someone holding up an egg. This is your brain, the caption read. Then the body-less hand flung the egg into a skillet and it exploded, egg bits scattered all over the pan. This is your brain on drugs. I don't know how effective the announcement was at preventing drug use, but the phrase became a part of our lexicon. This is your brain. This is your brain on chocolate. This is your brain on milk. This is your brain on chemistry. This is your brain on homework.

My brain on a diet is a MESS. My body on carbohydrates is even worse, though not as graphic as the egg. Rest assured, you don't want to see it, nonetheless. My body on carbohydrates—a smidgen too much whole wheat bread, one too many Kashi granola bars, a bowl too many of high fiber, high protein cereal—and my middle gets squishy and soft and my pants start to cling in all the wrong places. The problem is, as you might have guessed, that I loveloveloveloveLOVE carbohydratey foods. Love. So restricting my carbs for a month, without the tradeoffs the "miracle diet" provided, well, let's just say it's not my favorite idea.At all.

Today is one day down. Egg whites with a half cup oats. A protein smoothie. An apple with two hard boiled eggs. Chicken chili with black beans and a scant amount of brown rice. WITHOUT the tortilla chips and cheese my children used to adorn their own. Sigh. A 30 minute walk, a 30 minute weight work out. I'm not full speed ahead yet, but I'm at least facing in the right direction today. That's a start.Tomorrow brings a 10 hour work day that will hopefully end in a brisk walk. Another step in the right direction.
Provided there are no homemade baked goods in the break room.

victory

I did it.

I spent an entire day away from home in a foreign land and stuck to my diet.

I sat in the car with my family as they ate bagels, and I ate veggies and protein.

I watched my husband drink Starbucks, and I had water.

I went to a restaurant and sat at the same table with french fries, and I ate my cobb salad and remained carb free.

I laid in bed while my kids had candy and caramel corn, and I had a fat free bran muffin.

For whatever it's worth, I battled temptation today and went to bed basking in the glow of victory.

One day down, two to go.

a new year, a new diet

Subtitled, "You Know You're Desperate When You Begin The New Year's Diet on December 27^th."


Two years and still the same @$#%*@! 15 pounds clings to my midsection. Here is what I know:

1. Dieting at my mother's house is not only an impossibility, it's insane.
   
2. My body loves me some carbs. My figure does not.
   
3. Eating clean and exercising regularly is not enough to overcome the carboholic fanny pack I've accumulated.
   
4. Going low carb has worked for me. It has been the ONLY thing that has worked for me.
   
5. I am going low carb again. For 15 pounds.
   

Bought a big honkin' bottle of Benefiber at Costco, and we're good to go. Literally and figuratively.


Cheers! Here's to getting off this crazy ride!

more of the same

This is the point at which I go crazy. (Nothing like jumping right in.)

I sat down tonight to a dinner consisting of a six ounce fish fillet, one cup of zucchini, one cup of asparagus, and three cups of plain salad greens. For the tenth day in a row. For someone who loves food as much as I do, this is tantamount to torture. The first night, it was pretty good. The second night, I cheated and put one tablespoon of dressing on my salad. By the fifth or sixth night, my portions were shrinking and my appetite exploding. By night ten, I could barely choke it down. I can’t eat any more.

Let me back up, as the big picture might be helpful. I have struggled with weight my entire life, sliding the little lever up and down the bar in increments that increase with each re-gain. Five years ago, with over 200 pounds on my five foot two inch frame, I determined it would not happen again. I was done. I was going to get to a reasonable, healthy weight and marry it for life.

Over the next year I lost 75 pounds and six dress sizes. At 140, I was in a size ten for the first time since probably junior high, and fairly comfortable with my stronger, trimmer, but still a little big-ish frame. Fairly. I filled my wardrobe with colorful, curve-accentuating clothes, and for the first time in a long time I felt okay. Not good, not out of the woods, but okay. And for someone who had not been okay for quite some time, okay looked pretty darn, well, okay.

I kept the weight off for four years, albeit with many points of struggle and frustration. But I kept it off nonetheless, and I was still hanging on to okay, if only by a thread.

Then came the half-marathon. The carb-craving-inducing monster that made me so hungry I could have eaten my God-awful plaid hand-me-down couch. Then came the injury, followed by the month of rest the doctor ordered right at the beginning of Christmas Cookie Season. Then came the vacation to Florida, and the four sinus infections in the last three months. Then came seasons two and three of Battlestar Galactica, delivered right to my mailbox in a pretty red envelope, paired with my increasing desire to sit on my tired, achy butt and not make myself in the least bit any more uncomfortable than I already was.

I gained ten pounds. My pants wouldn’t button, some wouldn’t even pull up. Tops wouldn’t meet comfortably in the middle—button amicably greeting hole without each pulling away from the other as if in great disdain. And so I did what anyone who has gained weight before would do. I panicked.

I reigned in my eating, when I wasn’t blind-sided by cravings for anything made out of starch of any kind. I tried to work out harder, when I could narrowly carve out the time and the energy to move a muscle or two. I tried to be reasonable. I tried to be moderate. I tried to be healthy. The scale didn’t budge.

Panic grew and spread like the layer of fat sprawled across my backside. My weight consumed my every thought—trying to figure out what to wear, what to eat, what to do. I was at a point of despair. So I did something desperate.

I went on a diet. A restricted-calorie, clean-eating, metabolism-bursting “lose ten pounds in three weeks” diet. I knew better. But desperate times call for desperate diets. I sucked it up and cut veggies and boiled chicken and broiled fish and I followed it 99% perfectly for ten days. The first five days, I lost four pounds. I was tentatively hopeful, but terrified to really let my mind go to anywhere vaguely resembling hope. I’ve been here before. I know the terrible truth. When push comes to shove, none of it matters. My body can’t be trusted.

The scale has read 150.2 for the last four days. I’m still following the diet. I’m exercising as I can. I’m doing what I’m supposed to do—I’m following the formula. I’m not losing any weight.

THIS is where I go completely crazy.