When 7 pounds feels like 100

I don't know what is with me lately. The small bit of weight I have gained (that I have already lost a little of) is weighing heavily (haha weight pun) on me. Seven pounds should not be bothering me this much. On the other hand, maybe I'm glad that it is, because last time I gained weight (to the tune of 80 lbs in a year), I didn't really give it a whole lot of thought when my pants got tighter and tighter. But now I think on and off about my pants feeling tighter all day long. These 7 lbs are occupying way too much headspace. It's not really the 7 lbs. It's that I am all too aware of that 7 lbs could turn into 100 if I let it.

I felt more in control after visiting my nutritionist. I'm not sure what is making me feel not in control now. I've done great on exercise and good (not great this week) on food. Maybe it's that my birthday is next week, and I know I probably won't lose then. I mean, I'm not going to binge, but is my birthday and I usually eat what I want then.

I recently saw a video posted on Facebook by a girl who started losing weight about the same time as me, started out at exactly my starting weight, and had her lowest weight be just a little higher than my lowest. This video was heartbreaking and courageous all at once. When I saw her face, I knew she had gained some weight, but since you couldn't really see her body, I didn't know how much. But she said she had gained all of her weight back. All of it. She went from 160 lbs back to 328 lbs in less than a year. I feel such empathy for her. And yet, it also scared the living hell out of me. That is my worst nightmare. In fact, I did have the exact nightmare last night and woke up drenched in sweat, I couldn't imagine being in that body again. More importantly, I couldn't imagine being in that state of mind again. I had several thoughts. One, it made me grateful that I have just the 7 lbs to deal with losing again, and not nearly 170 lbs. This journey has been wonderful, but make no mistake: losing 170 lbs is super hard work, and I would not be anxious to do it again. But two, like I said before, it made me scared. This girl with so many similarities to me went back to that place we both swore we would never go. That could be me. All my hard work could be gone in a matter of months.

When I am honest and realistic with myself and manage to quell all that fear for a second, I realize that I don't honestly think that will happen to me. Not that it realistically couldn't (because I am well aware of how easily I gain weight), but because I really changed not just the outside, but the inside too. Permanently. With the way I am obsessing about my pants and those 7 lbs (not that that's the healthiest behavior), I couldn't see myself just letting my weight creep up 50 or 100 more lbs like I have done in the past. Five years ago, 7 lbs wouldn't have bothered me much at all. It is the very fact that I am all too aware of how easy it is to slowly and insidiously sink back into old unhealthy patterns that keeps me militant about not missing more than a day or so of workouts and not letting unhealthy treat meals turn into a regular things. Because I know all too well that you don't gain 170 lbs all at once. You gain it a pound at a time by telling yourself missing one workout doesn't matter just this once. So maybe sometimes I come off a little OCD about missing workouts and treat meals, but if it keeps me from gaining the weight back, it's well worth it.

In the end, I know that only I can truly hold myself accountable for my choices and decisions, but I have had talks with my family and my boyfriend Brian about talking to me if I ever look like I am gaining weight and struggling. I am well aware that that kind of talk would be very awkward for all involved. But I would rather have a few awkward, eye-opening moments than weigh over 300 lbs again. I want to be sure I have safeguards that would nip it in the bud well before that point. Last time I gained weight to reach my heaviest weight ever, no one said a word. Not a word. Not my family. Not my friends. Not even my doctor. And honestly, I don't hold that against them because it is ultimately my responsibility. They told me later that they could see I was struggling and using food to cope, but they just didn't know how to help. And honestly, I don't know if them saying something would have helped, because I was just not in a place yet where I could make a change. But even so, if that ever happened now, I still want them to say something to me. I want them to acknowledge that something is wrong and that it is not okay. Maybe it would be the eye-opener I needed. Obviously, I would want them to address their concerns in a kind and loving way, not something like, "Hey Chubs, let's lay off the cheeseburgers and go for a run!"

I thought about posting my before picture on my bathroom mirror to motivate me. But that motivation would be coming from a place of fear, and fear has never done anything but hold me back. So I found a quote that really spoke to me, and I wrote that on my bathroom mirror because I am a gigantic cornball. Here it is:

I am done running from my problems. I choose to face them now. I am going to lose those 7 lbs, not because I am afraid of what they could turn into, but because I am working to keep the happiness that this new body and mindset have brought me. 

Losing weight isn't all sunshine and rainbows: A guide for those times when you just want to eat a cheeseburger and be a lazy bum

I tried writing this post several times over the past few weeks, but the words just weren't there. It's been such a great summer for me in many ways, but weight loss-wise, it's really been blah. I've gained 7 lbs since May. I vacillate (good word, right?) between telling myself that 7 lbs is no big deal and convincing myself that I am one cheeseburger away from weighing over 300 lbs again. As usual, I believe the right approach lies somewhere in between. I find myself being kind of bitter lately and I don't like it. Mainly because that 7 lbs was oh so easy for me to gain. It's not like I've been on a summer-long bender of ice cream and french fries and have been making a permanent butt indention on my couch instead of working out. Nope, those 7 lbs hopped on simply by having a few more treats than usual and not working out at my usual intensity and sleeping in some days. But what makes me mad is that I gained weight by eating more healthy and exercising more often than probably 95% of people. And yeah, I did just make up the 95% off the top of my head, but seriously, I do eat better and exercise more than most people. But apparently my body requires more extreme measures. Because I will always gain weight easily. I will always have to work harder even to just maintain my weight. I can't just take a 30 minute stroll on the treadmill and call it a day. No, apparently to even maintain  my weight I have to run 8 miles before dawn and then work out at the gym for at least an hour 6 days a week. My doctor even said as much to me. And sometimes that makes me want to cry because it's just not fair. Sometimes I don't want to have to work so hard all the time. Sometimes I don't want to worry that having a treat day will make me gain 3 lbs. Sometimes I want to be able to skip a couple workouts and not know that it will come back to bite me. Because that's not me being paranoid. That's just true. 

I don't like this side of me. It's whiny and lazy and just generally not attractive at all. I am well aware that life isn't fair, and that there are far worse things to deal with than gaining 7 lbs and not being able to get to your goal weight. I know that I should be grateful that I am able to work out at all. I should be grateful that I was able to make such a change in  my life. And for the most part, I am. But I am also very, very human, and sometimes I just can't help but wish it were all just a little bit easier. As much as I wish losing weight and living a healthy life was all high fives and awesome runs and delicious healthy meals, sometimes it just feels like a lot of work.

These past couple weeks, I have finally been able to give up my sad little pity party of one for the most part. Self-pity is fine in small doses, but I really detest any more than that. Please forgive the corny saying, but I have been telling myself that I can be bitter or I can be better. Me being bitter isn't accomplishing a thing besides making me feel ungrateful for what I have and probably gaining more weight. I need to accept the cards I've been dealt and move on. The truth is that 7 lbs is concerning, but not the end of the world. I need to make a plan to deal with it. 

I've thought about seeing my nutritionist again for a while. I stopped seeing her around Christmas. At first, I wondered what the point what be, as I didn't really see her telling me stuff I didn't already know. Then I told myself I would see her after I lost some more weight because I didn't want to be ashamed. My nutritionist was always praising me about how well I ate, and I didn't want her to see that sometimes my diet wasn't  perfect. And then a week ago, I realized that logic was really, really stupid. That logic is exactly what got me over 300 lbs, and that more than anything else, even more than the weight gain, scared the crap out of me. The girl who was afraid to ask for help. The girl who didn't want anyone to know she wasn't perfect. Those were the traits that led to me being morbidly obese at 27. 

But as much as that freaked me out, what I did last week was equally as comforting to me because it made me realize that though I may have lapses into who I used to be, the core of who I am really has permanently changed. That even though I may gain a few pounds, the person I am now would not allow things to progress so far like before. I made that appointment with my nutritionist. And even though I was a little embarrassed to have gained weight, I was honest with her about how things had been going. I let her see my food log. I got on that scale. I let her see that I am not perfect. I did what I needed to do to get on the path to being better. And while most of the stuff she told me was not new information, she did have some good tips. What I think will be most helpful is having accountability to her. I asked her to set me a weight loss goal for next month and she did. 

My mood is better than ever now that I am being proactive about dealing with my weight gain. I'm doing things like making charts that I haven't done for a couple of years now in order to get myself motivated. Sometimes I think you really have to get back to the basics and do what works for you. And so far, it really is working. Losing weight and living a healthy life isn't easy. There are times it is difficult to stay motivated. But when I am honest with myself, I realize that it is very, very worth it. 

The only people who love curly hair are the people who don't have it

A haircut is probably not a big deal to lots of people. But for me, as my boyfriend Brian put it, getting my hair cut was an "event." I've had pretty long hair for most of my life, but every now and then I get sick of dealing with all that hair. Because I have an crazy amount of curly, thick hair. So much that I will never have to worry about going bald. My hair can be an unmanageable, frizzy monstrosity, but it can also be gorgeous when I take the time to deal with it. My hair has been my security blanket because even when I felt my most fat and ugly, I knew that I had great hair. It felt like could cover up all the ugliness with that one thing.

The last time I cut my hair was when I was right in the middle of dealing with hard times in my life primarily by devouring every pizza in America and gaining 80 lbs in a year. I cut it kind of as an act of desperation. I hated how I looked in the mirror more and more every day. Losing weight didn't seem possible because I couldn't give up the comfort food, but I could change my hair. So I dyed it dark and cut it pretty short. It wasn't flattering, but at least it was different. And I badly needed different. Here is that haircut:

This time when I decided I wanted to get my hair cut, it wasn't because I didn't like what I saw in the mirror. It was because I decided I didn't need my hair as a security blanket anymore. Well, also because it is approximately 10 million degrees outside and I was sick of dealing with that sweaty, frizzy mess. And also because my hair is so thick that it literally took 7 hours to air dry. And maybe also because while my hair does look great when I take the time to style it and wear it down, during April-October it is also so humid that it only looks good for about 15 minutes before it morphs into a gigantic afro, and I resort back to my ever-present side braid or ponytail. Okay, so I guess there's a lot of reasons I wanted my hair cut. I wish I could show you the horror that my hair can be after air drying in all that humidity, but I have wisely never allowed myself to photographed in that state (that I know of). So here is a different before/after shot than the ones I usually post here:

My hair looked this good for maybe 10 minutes after this shot was taken.

New do

My hair feels awesome and light now, and most importantly, I can still put it back in a ponytail for the gym (seriously, the woman at the salon probably thought I was a gym obsessed freak because I emphasized this point like a thousand times). I can wear it curly or straight or somewhere in between. I've got a lot of changes in my life coming up in the next few months, and even though it may seem silly, a new haircut helps me feel like a new person and like I can handle everything coming up (without shoving pizza in my mouth at an alarming rate). 

Back to the basics (and the foam crown man)

I came across a quote this week that has really stuck with me: Be stubborn about your goals and flexible about your methods. As of late, I have not been super flexible. Yes, I did give up the scale for 3 weeks and saw that I did not magically gain 10 lbs, and in fact, lost a little bit. But I keep doggedly running day after day, despite my lack of progress on the scale. Mainly, this is because I really love to run. And that's cool. I can still run. My problem is that I usually do nothing else. That has to change. I seem to have forgotten that it's not necessarily how long or for how many miles you work out, it's what you're doing to work out. Not exercising longer, but exercising smarter. I was about to wear out my body the way I just kept adding mile after mile to my running regimen.  I lost a lot of weight last year when I combined running with the elliptical, and also did strength training at the gym. So I am giving that another try. I am also trying to eat more protein and less carbohydrates. Not really carb cycling per say, but more like being more mindful about the amount of protein and carbs, since that is not usually something I track.

I haven't been the gym since I think about October of last year. I've been running outside (or when the weather was too cold in the winter, riding my bike inside) exclusively. It felt strange yesterday to go back to a place that once felt like my second home. I devoted numerous blog posts to this place, such as Foam crowns, free weights, and a flasher: Alliteration at its very best, Sweat, decapitation, and Tigger: All in a day's work at the gym, and the ever popular Up in da gym, workin' on my fitness. It was odd at first because I had some feelings similar to those I had when I first went to the gym at over 300 lbs. Like are the employees going to recognize me (because I was seriously there every single day, usually twice a day) and judge me because I haven't been in so long? Are they going to assume I've fallen off the wagon and gained weight (even though I'm pretty much exactly the same weight as I was in October)? It didn't help that when I went in and gave them my member number, the girl gave me a weird look and was like, "We use barcodes now."

But then there were some very different feelings even from the last time I went to the gym, being at a relatively normal weight. Back then, I still felt like I didn't belong sometimes. I still felt like the fat girl. I didn't feel like that way today. Even being away for about 9 months, I felt like I belonged there. I felt normal. It was nice to see the old regulars there, even the odd ones like the guy who wears a helmet with a foam crown on his head. I even remembered that last summer I refused to wear tank tops and tight running pants to the gym. I opted for baggy shirts and yoga pants every day.  I wore one of my running tank tops and pants today without a second thought. So I guess I have made some mental progress even since last October.

The elliptical kicked my butt. Anyone who thinks that the elliptical is just something you do if you can't hack the treadmill obviously has not been on the ellipical for any length of time. It just apparently works different muscles than running because I was soaked with sweat after an hour. I was glad to see that though. As far as strength training goes, the plan right now is for my boyfriend Brian to sign up at the gym tomorrow so we can start doing that together. Because while I may have pretty awesome self-motivation skills as far as cardio goes, I can't say the same for the strength training. I think being accountable to someone else will help that.

I'm pretty excited about these changes. They're not super big changes, but I have always believed that small changes are best because you can stick with them. Hopefully I will see some significant weight loss by the time I turn the big 31 in mid September.

Year 3: I'm all about dat bass (or something like that)

It seems crazy that as I write this, I am bringing year 3 of my weight loss odyssey (see, a different word than the ever-present journey) to a close. This year has gone somewhat differently than I imagined. This time last year, I thought for sure that I would have hit my goal weight by now. I haven't. And you know what? That's okay. It's really, truly okay. It's okay because I am living my life, and that's more important than 20 extra pounds. Sometime in the last year, I have really figured out the space in between all or nothing (shameless title plug). For awhile I beat myself up over not being super hard-core with my work-outs and eating 100% clean, but I eventually came to the realization that I would rather live my life and maybe take longer to finish losing the weight, than push myself to the breaking point getting the weight off and hating my life. I haven't fallen off the metaphorical wagon. In fact, I am driving the wagon. That dang wagon is fully in my control. I exercise a normal amount, and I eat clean 80% or so of the time. I let myself have treats. I let myself enjoy life. And you know what? For me, who has struggled with finding balance and moderation my whole life, that is a bigger win than losing 20 lbs. And though I still struggle to view it this way sometimes, I know in my heart that even maintaining a weight loss of almost 170 lbs like I have is something to be very, very proud of all by itself.

I believe a big reason for my attitude shift is my boyfriend, Brian (who will probably be embarrassed when he reads this, but I won't act like he hasn't played a big role). I've written before in here about my eternal singletude, and my disappointment that weight loss did not automatically translate to success in dating (check out Life begins at the end of your comfort zone and I guess my Prince Charming got stuck in a traffic jam). But last August, the impossible actually happened. I started dating Brian, and 10 months later we are still going strong. He's been so supportive of my weight loss efforts, but he also helps me keep a sense of balance (i.e. he calls me out for being crazy when I run 24 miles in a day or run out in the 100 degree heat). But he accepts and loves me just as I am, and what's more is, he accepts and loves who I used to be. I showed him my "before" pictures on our second date, and he wasn't disgusted by them. In fact, he said he wished he had known me then because then he could have been there for my whole transformation. There wasn't really a good way to be like, "Oh hey, by the way, I used to weigh over 300 lbs" but I felt like I needed to tell him because it has played such a huge part in my life and who I have become, that it would have just been weird not to tell him. Brian's kind and loving attitude has helped me be more kind and loving towards myself. So that kind of makes up for the fact that he can regularly eat 2 fast food dinners a night and never gain an ounce (hey, at least I've converted him to drinking water instead of soda!). If only he could let me borrow that superhuman metabolism. Here's a picture of us, because I think we're pretty cute.

Anyway, back to year 3. My year one post was filled with numbers. Pounds, percentages, inches oh my! Year 2 had some of that too, but I also talked about my other accomplishments. For year 3, I feel like I'm able to look past all those numbers and physical accomplishments, and look at the big picture....being happy, healthy, and active. You know, it's funny, but now when I look at my before picture, it almost feels like I'm looking at someone else. That girl is so different in every possible way than I am today. But unlike times past, I don't look at her with despair or regret or disgust. That girl was sad and unhealthy, but she was worthy even then. I look at her with love. While so many things have changed about me, the core of who I am remains the same, be it at over 300 lbs or less than half of that. I'm so glad that I decided the girl I used to be was worth saving. That's why I get annoyed now when people put down their before pictures or someone else's. It takes a lot of courage to change your life, and the person who first decided to do that wasn't the person who is fit and healthy today. It was the overweight person that people feel such disgust about that had the courage to take that very first step.

So as some of you know, I take progress pictures every year. The thought entered my mind that maybe I shouldn't take them this year since I haven't really lost weight. But then I decided that was stupid. I have made immense progress this year, just not in terms of pounds on the scale, and that deserves to be celebrated. So I put on my pretty white dress (a dress I never, ever would have worn at over 300 lbs for fear looking like a gigantic marshmallow), and even got a spray tan (because I rock an extremely severe case of sports bra tan lines and pasty white legs), and I went out to the park that I run in all the time to celebrate all I have been and all that I am (wow, that was super corny, but I'm allowed to get all sentimental and sappy on my anniversary). I decided that I also wanted a gigantic number 3 in my pictures. I stood in Party City yesterday and decided that, yes indeed, I would spend $10 on a huge balloon shaped like a 3. I mean, if all of this hasn't at least merited a gigantic balloon, I don't know what does!

So without further ado, year 3 progress pictures (taken, as all my other progress pictures were, by my mom), both the good and the humorous, because my face in some of these pictures is, well, special. Also. I like to try "interesting" poses, such as the one below that looks like a prom photo of me and an inanimate object. I thought about taking a picture of me wrestling and/or punching the 3, but that was too weird even for me.

Duh, got to have the before picture

 It's our official couple picture...sorry Brian

Really, I just enjoy the unintentional creepy look on my face here.

Home Alone...enough said.

I also enjoy this weird face.

It looks like I'm taking the balloon for a walk.

No, I'm not pretending to be an airplane.

 

*Gazes meaningfully in the distance*...and when picture isn't taken fast enough, wonders how long she will have to continue to stare meaningfully.

 

Me and me

You can tell which pictures I actually thought were good because of my lack of snarky comment. But seriously, when I saw these pictures, I thought that I looked beautiful (well, actually in some of them I thought I looked hilarious). But for the most part, beautiful and very, very happy. It kind of bothers me that maybe that seems arrogant, but I know in my heart that it's not. It's not like I go around all the time thinking about how gorgeous I am. For once, I didn't focus on my loose skin and gross arms and crow's feet. and blah, blah, blah. For once, I didn't think how I still kind of look fat. For once, the most kind thought I could muster up about myself wasn't "I look okay" or "I look decent." It was, "I look beautiful."

I was looking back at my anniversary blog posts from year 1 and 2, and I came across this quote that made me tear up. It hits home so much for me that I'll use it again this year too.

Take time to celebrate. Celebrate your successes, your growth, your accomplishments. Celebrate you and who you are. For too long you have been too hard on yourself. You are a child of God. Beautiful, a delight, a joy. You do not have to try harder, be better, be perfect, or be anything you are not. Your beauty is in you, just as you are each moment. Celebrate that. 

What do I hope for in year 4 (seriously, it really does seem crazy to write that!)? I hope I continue to keep this great sense of balance. I hope I continue to be kind to myself (but also give myself a come to Jesus talk when I need to). I do hope I hit my goal weight, even though that one single number isn't as important as it once was.  I hope I get more and more comfortable with the concept of being perfectly imperfect. For that matter, I hope I get more comfortable with the fact that while losing weight did improve my quality of life exponentially (SAT word!), it didn't suddenly make everything perfect.  And finally, I hope I keep living this amazing life that I could only have imagined and wished for 3 years ago, and never, ever take it for granted. 

The siren song of the scale

I'm a week and a half into my no weighing experiment. And while the scale still calls to me with the persistence of a spurned lover (I just wanted an excuse to use the phrase "spurned lover" there really), it's nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. There have been moments where I have freaked out not knowing what I weigh. Then there have been moments where I freaked out because I wasn't freaking out not knowing what I weigh because part of me, however small, still fears going back to that girl who lived in denial about her weight and kept the scale hidden under the sink. And because I'm a little crazy. So basically, yes, there have been some freak-outs for multiple reasons. But here's the thing: they are getting fewer and fewer.

I thought during this experiment that I would be extra careful about what I ate and make sure I got tons of exercise because I would be terrified of gaining weight. But sometimes life gets in the way. For the most part, I have been careful about what I ate. But I made cookies last weekend, and I ate some. Not ALL THE COOKIES, just a normal amount. I've worked out every day, not an increased amount like I intended, but my normal amount. In short, I have lived my life (wow, that sounded more dramatic than I intended). Whether I intended it to or not, my lack of scale has not controlled my life, eating, and exercise habits.

It's been freeing to feel strong and in control of my body, and not have to worry about a number wrecking that feeling. I think it is interesting (and somewhat ironic) to realize that I let my weight control me at over 300 lbs but also at less than half that number, for very different reasons and in very different ways, but yet at both extremes I allowed my weight to control my life. I know now that I am doing what is right for my body, fueling it with the right foods and exercising in a healthy way, and for once, that is truly enough. I am at peace for the most part, whether I lose weight at the end of this or not (but of course, duh, I hope I lose weight lol). While the scale may not reflect my effort, I feel like as I close out my 3rd year, I have fought for and learned some very valuable lessons.

The break-up of my scale and me: It's not you, it's me finally realizing you're terrible for me

I'm breaking up with my scale. The scale and I have a long angst-ridden relationship. You can read about it in Tales from the scale: Confessions of a weigh-in addict and Holding my scale hostage under the bathroom sink. Seriously, you should read them; they're pretty entertaining, if somewhat disturbing, if I do say so myself (and I do). Sometimes it comes as a revelation to me that some, if not most, people can go weeks or months at a time without weighing themselves. The mere thought of going that long without weighing makes me shudder. It also is somewhat of a revelation that most people can step on a scale at any time of the day, after eating drinking, whatever, and not care if they have on a heavy sweater or if they went to the bathroom before or if they have water retention....blah, blah, blah. I put so much thought into it. I'm fed up with it. I'm fed up with me...more specifically how I continue to let the scale dictate how I feel. I can feel fantastic after a week of working out and eating great and all that can vanish with one step on the scale. And on the other hand, I can feel great for losing weight when reating a mere 800 calories a day while running way too much. That's just messed up. I don't want a number to dictate how I feel. I want to decide how I feel. I want to know that I treated my body right, and have that be enough, number on the scale be damned.

With that said, I will not be weighing myself until my 3 year anniversary of when I started all this (still not sure what to call it since it is much more to me than a mere "weight loss" anniversary) on June 26. That's about 3.5 weeks away. This scares me and that is how I know it is exactly what I should be doing. Usually the things that really scare me end up being exactly what is best for me. It's pretty risky too since I am involved in a weight loss competition that also ends on that date. But even if I lose the competition, even if I don't really lose weight (hopefully I don't gain!), I think taking a break from the scale is more important than all that. I think it will help me really realize that that number is just that, a number, and it in no way defines me. It's ironic that I've spent so much of this journey losing weight and having a number define me, as in "I'm Kristen who's lost 168 lbs," only to recognize at the very end that the number is the least important part of it all. I want to be "Kristen who's healthy, fit, and happy."