Days 5 and 6-

Well the weekend has turned out to be somewhat of an epic fail. Breakfast and lunch on both Friday and Saturday were successful. But dinner.....that's another story.

Taco salad (good) with cheese dip (ok) and tortilla chips (sigh) on Friday night. 5 pieces of pizza (gasp!) on Saturday night. Fail. Fail.

But what was the common theme in both of those fails? Not anxiety. Not celebration.
That's right....booze. I had a glass of wine on Friday night before dinner and I had two fingers of scotch on Saturday before the pizza decision was made. And that was the key. Having very few carbs has greatly magnified the effects of those small amounts of alcohol. So with that comes the desire to sober up along with the decrease in judgement. And that equals a huge carb fest all around.

So for Sunday (of all days) comes the penance. Lots of water, no carby treats, lots of laundry.
But this time it also comes with the understanding and a new rule:

9) No alcohol before a meal, unless the meal is already planned, prepared, or otherwise underway.

This will hopefully accomplish two things. The addition of food to the drink will in theory lessen the effects. And, if the meal decisions have already been made the alcohol will not be able to derail it.

I've been pretty good about most of the rules. The exercise rule has not be followed (yet). My plan is to wake up early tomorrow morning and go for a walk.

I've gotten some decent rest this weekend. I've fallen off the wagon, but I've picked myself up again. I'm not beating myself up (too badly) about the pizza and tortilla chips, and I've tried to use those examples to gain understanding.

So, a fresh start is in order. I'll take the knowledge I've gained this week and try to use it for next week. Weigh in is in two days, so we'll see how it goes!

Day 4

 

I slept well last night. My cold is still lingering. But, I managed to stay away from food after 8:30. So that’s something.

So far, so good. The weekend will have its challenges, I’m sure. We got good news about a promotion for my husband. And I have a tendency to run towards food in happy times (and let’s be honest, in sad times too). But I’m going to hold fast to the ground rules and hope for the best. Now that I’m aware of my predispositions, maybe I’ll be surprised at my ability to resist.

My rings are a little looser. My pants don’t hurt me when I sit. This is probably the honeymoon period of water weight loss, but I’ll take it. It’s been really tempting to hop on the scale, but I MUST NOT! Not until next Tuesday!

I find myself feeling pulled between two societal messages. The first is, of course, the mandate from above that “We must be thin!” “We must not jiggle!” “We must have the thigh gap and no belly fat!”

 And on the other end of the spectrum is the body acceptance message. “We must accept people in all sizes and shapes!” “We must not be so hard on ourselves to be skinny and perfect!” “We can have that piece of pie because we deserve it!” “I’m all about that bass!”

And I think the truth lies somewhere in between. I do want to improve. I do want to feel better in my skin. I want to be more self-confident. But, I still think I’m pretty okay at the size I am. I can love my body, but I don’t necessarily have to accept that this is as good as it gets.  I don’t have to accept that my body has limitations. I don’t have to become complacent. And if I’m never “bikini-ready”, that’s fine. If I never feel comfortable in a sleeveless top because of arm jiggle, that’s fine.  All I want to say is that I have tried my best.

That’s the mission here, I think. I’ve spent my life complaining and wishing, but never actually trying.  I think actually trying and failing is one thing. But to fail because you never tried is not acceptable.

I may never get to my goal. But I want to be able to say that I legitimately tried.

Day 3

The late night eating went very well last night. No food after 8:30. But as night follows day, my anxiety monkey reared her ugly head and threw a tantrum because she was offered no treats.

I tossed and turned, unable to fall fully asleep. In my head I knew that if I went to the kitchen and filled up on carbs and dairy, it would lull me to sleep. But, I resisted at the expense of my “get plenty of rest” rule.

I tried to fight the good fight before bedtime. I read a few pages of a book while soaking in the tub. I meditated. I was in bed with the lights out at 10pm. But the What-Ifs took over and led me on a fun filled joyride in my head until dawn.

So, now what?

I must keep the momentum going with my food choices and 8:30 cut off. And tonight I’m going to try my anti-anxiety pill in addition to the other rituals I tried last night.

My theory is that once I’ve established a routine, once the anxiety monkey become accustomed to being no longer plied with treats, and once I establish an exercise routine, it will get better. I have about 30 years of doing to un-do, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

I’m still congested and coughing, so no exercise for the next couple of days. But I will get there. I will.

On a brighter note, my pants felt looser this morning.

 

41.4 carbs so far.

 

Anxiety monkey:

Day 2-

Still motivated. Still snotty and cruddy. BUT, I didn’t eat after 8:30 last night. AND, I got eight hours of sleep! So I guess I’m off to a good start.

I was thinking earlier today about my late night eating. Why do I do that? Why do I find so much comfort in that? So I started thinking about how that all began.

When I was a kid, I had two things: 1) A tendency towards anxiety, which I never outgrew, and 2) a secret, late-night snack club with my dad.

Okay, the anxiety. It’s a problem that I always knew I had but I never realized what it was until my late twenties. When I was five, I remember taking these little green triangular pills. My mom served them to me in ice cream. I never knew what they were for. Growing up, I always felt a little more highly strung than my friends and I always worried more than they did. I just chalked it up as a character flaw. Until….I had a major come-apart around 28. I was so stressed I couldn’t catch my breath, I couldn’t sleep, I cried all the time. As it turns out, I have an anxiety disorder. Who knew!

Well, apparently my mom did. I braced myself to give her the life-altering news and she said, “Oh yeah, we knew that all along. Remember those little green pills we used to give you? It was anxiety medication. We never brought it up after that because we didn’t think it would last.” 

Seriously????

So, a major part of my life-long anxiety is trouble with bedtime. I will lie in bed and roil in my thoughts until I’m so panicked that I have to get up. And usually, I eat. I get a big glass of milk and a huge stack of saltines. I fill up my stomach and that calms me down so I can sleep.

And that brings me to my next culprit, the late-night snack club. When I was about six, I was super skinny and my parents were worried about me. So my dad cooked up a master plan. After my younger sister went to sleep, I would sneak downstairs and my dad would make me snacks while we played video games. It made me feel so special, like I was the cool kid that my dad wanted to hang out with. I didn’t find out until later that it was an elaborate plan to fatten me up. But it was too late. The comfort and excitement of late night eating were already in place.

So, what’s the purpose of this long psychological explanation?

I need to find a way to reduce my night time anxiety without using food as my comfort. I need to stop relying on food at night to fill my heart in addition to my stomach.

My quest this week is to figure out what works. Do I take my anxiety meds after dinner? Meditate? Read? I guess I’ll have to wait until the uncontrollable urge strikes. Hopefully knowing what I know now, I can manage to fight it. I'll let you know how it turns out.

 

31.4 carbs so far....

Okay, this is getting ridiculous. All day, every day I think about my weight. How much I weigh, how much I used to weigh, how much I need to lose. How do I look? Do people think I'm thin or fat? Am I being too hard on myself? Not hard enough?
So here I am, on the day after Memorial Day with the clock ticking slowly (but loudly) to my fortieth bithday. The big 40. 394 days away.
40 has become not so much an age, but a deadline. Life is still good at 40. Hell, it'll probably be much better. But, at what point to I stop looking down (at my belly flab, my stretch marks, my thigh jiggle) and start looking out? And up?

So, I'm going to make a goal of losing 35 pounds by my fortieth birthday. I'm ready to put the self-consciousness of a high school clarinet player behind me.

I want to leave my fat-centric viewpoint at the doormat of 39 and not carry it into the threshold of 40.

Do I expect to lose my stretch marks? Nope. Do I think I'll always have a respectable bit of tummy blub? Absolutely. Will I have the thigh gap? Probably not. Do I think the thigh gap is important? NO! I think it makes women look like cartoon Thanksgiving turkeys, wobbling around on crispy, bony legs.
But, now is the time to act. Now is the time to take my life into my own hands. Now is the time to figure out why I eat ravenously at night. Why can't I stop myself from diving into the peanut butter jar whenever I've had more than one glass of wine?

I guess we should start with some ground rules

1) I will track every thing that goes in my mouth. Even the eighth of the barbecue sandwich that the nice lady in the hairnet at Publix waved temptingly under my nose. Everything. Even if it's shameful.

2) I'm going to go the Low Carb/ High Fat route. Sounds nutso, huh? But after reading The Big Fat Surprise  by Nina Teicholz, I really think it's the way to go. If you're reading this (and I realize I'm proabably talking to myself here), you need to read that book

3) Exercise. Sigh. I hate it. BUT, if I'm going to get anywhere, I'm going to have to start. But not today. I have a cold that has a nasty tendency to turn into bronchitis, so I'm going to start after I'm healed. Swear to God, I have a cold. I promise. You can smell the Vapo-rub from here.

4) I'm going to try my damnedest to refrain from eating after 8pm (or okay, 8:30).

5) I'm going to try to get enough rest.

6) I'm going to give myself a break. No one looks like Giselle. Even Giselle doesn't look like Giselle.

7) I'm not going to give myself too many breaks. There's a little demon in my head who says "You've been so good this week.... you deserve that entire Pizza Hut cheese and mushroom pie with Peruvian cherry peppers and pretzel crust." She must be stopped. No seriously, the bitch must die.

8) I'm only going to weigh once a week. It's tempting to weigh after a particularly successful day. Or after a really big poo. But I'm going to resist. It's all part of that "giving myself a break" thing.

Let's just start with those for now.

How is this time going to be different, I ask? I've gained and lost and gained and lost. Weight Watchers, Dukan (which is a crock of shit, by the way), Cabbage Soup, Wheat Belly, French Women Don't Get Fat (which is also a crock of merd), all promised the skinny sliver of the moon.

I'm hoping on this (third) attempt at a blog I can drum up a little social pressure to help me on my way.

So..... here goes.

Day 1- 198.6 pounds. Waist size- 38 inches.

Carbs so far : 23.4.