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Monday, February 24

T-minus-8-days

It’s Monday.

Monday sucks. We go back to work. We wake up early. We are faced with the week ahead’s crazy agendas. But Monday is also a new beginning. Back to the old grind. How many times have you said, “I’ll start on Monday!” Well….Monday is here.

I want to lose 3 lbs this week. Is that too much to ask?? Next Tuesday, T-minus 8 days, is my one year and I want to hit the 75 lb mark. I’m going to accomplish this by really watching what is going in my mouth the next few days. I used to be one of those “a calorie is a calorie” which works when you are losing weight and you are over 200 lbs, but now at my current weight a calorie isn’t a calorie, it matters what that calorie is.  So I took the initiative and went to Jewel last night after the kids went to bed, when the store was quiet and peaceful, and I filled my cart with healthy foods. Fruits and vegetables, cottage cheese and Greek yogurt, and skinny pop popcorn. I have my Dad’s vegetable crust less quiche on hand, made Mediterranean Quinoa to keep in the fridge, and have the fixings for a nice chicken salad too, and an assortment of Healthy Request soups. I have the ammo and I’m packing.

My fitness goals this week are to hit the gym 4 times. I don’t think I can completely stop doing Zumba, even though extreme cardio is what I’m finding to be anti-weight loss on the internet, because it makes my heart happy to bump and grind on an average night. Plus, I have been asked to participate in an adult co-ed soccer team this summer and I need my endurance up because they plan on making me a mid-field runner (or whatever that position is called). Volleyball is on hold until the fall but that’s okay, as a Soccer Mom I might as well get to know the sport! Ironically, I have NEVER been on a recreational sports team before. This is new territory, and I don’t want to look like an ass out there…so in addition to Zumba, I want to add in some jogs, not 50 minute sweat sessions, but good healthy quick jogs to get the heart going and then I’m going to strength train. Do squats and crunches. That kinda thing.

One thing I did remember from my hazy high school PE class is on Mondays we had “circuit” up in the weight room. I would actually exert myself enough to dress on those days and participate (don’t judge), and I did remember how the first day we had to take a max for all the machines and then use a percentage of that for our reps. A little google digging and it looks like 60-65% is the magic number for how much weight to lift. See, high school PE did pay off. Thank a PE teacher today!


Time to get rolling.

Thursday, February 20

TTT: A Flow Chart

1.     My day started off really weird where I was self-conscious from the jump that my outfit showed one too many rolls and maybe one of those weird belly-button shadows under my shirt (don’t even pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about). But not really finding anything I’d rather wear I kept the outfit on. In my first class a Kindergartener pointed to my belly and said, “You’re having a baby!” which at any size just sucks but really sucks when you have just busted your ASS getting a Lap-Band and losing the weight of a small child. Um, no, thanks, my baby is in first grade.
2.     This (see item #1) made me think of a bunch of shit that I didn’t really have to be thinking about. Like how unfair it is that no matter what size I will be even though I am shrinking I am not shape-shifting. Even if I lost a ton more weight I will always be “showing” and that just sucks. It is completely unfair that I shed blood, sweat and tears over the past 11 months to lose over 70 lbs and still have a baby bump while my boobs are now lack-luster.
3.     I was reminded of this fact (see item #2) by a client of my mother’s that said I looked like I lost my boobs. I tried to defend my case by showing off my new 60 dollar Under Armour compression sports bra but the truth is that they are melting away. I’m going to really put it all out there now and admit that I still wear the same daily bras from a year ago. Instead of being snug they are just kinda there, with room for a finger or two under the straps and in the cups. I’m trying to pay down my Vickie’s card so I can replenish the stock but to be honest they do their job (kinda) and I’m trying to save money.
4.     The money I’m saving (see item #3) is to start getting ready for our Disney vacation in July. I did a walk around Old Navy this week just to see what there was to see and I had so much anxiety about jean sizes I ran out of there like a child in a fun house. What the hell is going on? I should be excited to try on clothes and instead I know which size will be loose, and which site will be tight, and last I checked they didn’t make half sizes like with shoes which means I’m shit out of luck. That is unless I can loose the 15 more lbs. I want to lose before said vacation.
5.     The way I see it, the vacation (see item #4) is about 19 weeks away so losing 15 lbs would be LESS than a pound a week and should be very reasonable. That would be of course if I wasn’t hot glued to a brick wall right now. I haven’t had a significant weight loss in so long I’m starting to doubt my ability to keep losing, and I’m pissed as hell about it. I truly don’t know what to do so I have tried to come up with some solutions that may not help at all but certainly can’t hurt either.
6.     I’m thinking of detoxing myself from my calorie counting app because clearly that isn’t the problem. I make my calorie goal nearly all the time and always add in my daily cardio, and when I hit “complete” the bastard tells me that in 5 weeks I will  have lost 15-20 lbs. I have enough documentation against this App to sue them but I don’t think I have a case because I can’t really prove I have eaten those things right? I don’t need to lose this much weight in only 5 weeks I need to lose this in 19 weeks (see item #5) and that’s what I’m starting to get nervous about.
7.     Unless the problem is what I have been reading about on the internet about doing too much cardio (see item #6) and not any strength training. It’s not that I don’t see value in lifting weights, but it’s not fun and it took a lot to get me so addicted to the fitness center like I am. I truly LOVE going to my Zumba classes so I look forward to them. The machines on the other hand always have those meat-heads working on them, old men or college kids home for break, and I feel uncomfortable getting in there. Plus I don’t know what to do. I have pinterested a bunch of exercises but where is the science to this? I need someone to tell me exactly what to do and I need what I do to actually work.
8.     Which is why I’m thinking (see item #7) of hiring a personal trainer. My gym does offer this for 50 bucks an hour (minimum of 8 sessions) but I have two friends who claim they can write something up for me for free. My husband also thinks he can show me what to do but I’m thinking that there has to be a difference between a seasonal athlete who knows how to work out for themselves, and someone who knows body science to design a workout for me. Sure, they know how much they need to lift to build their own guns and six-packs, but do they know how to show a 35-year-old woman how to lose 20 lbs in 19 weeks? I’m skeptical. I worked too hard to get this far and too many months getting my weight loss surgery to get stuck here.
9.     Because for example (see item #8) my husband is prescribing me to do squats. This has NOTHING to do with my desire to lose more weight and EVERYTHING to do with the fact that he likes good asses. I like good asses too, which is why I married him.

10. I need a fat-blast lazer, and a crystal ball, and a tummy-tuck (return to item #1) and some goddamned sleep.

Monday, February 17

in the DARK.

Our gym has three different Zumba instructors and each one brings something completely different to the table. One is a free spirit, she’s the oldest, and has so much energy that you can only hope to be that exciting when you are that age. She likes to bring in scarves to pass out when we are dancing, and even a mini disco ball for fun. It’s a lot of hooting and hollering.
The second one is the “middle” one I guess you can say. She is very athletic and her routines are fun and really work your muscles. She keeps the blood flowing with the right mix of fast and slow and loves to play Bruno Mars in her routines, which was really fun come the Super Bowl Half-Time show.
The third girl is the youngest and looks about my age, which means she has to really be in her late 20’s at best. She looks like me too, with long onyx hair and fair skin. I had been dying to know what she is so I finally just asked her.
Before you think this is weird you must understand that it isn’t weird for someone who looks ethnic to ask other people who look ethnic what they are. Sure, if a blond-haired and blue-eyed person asks someone who clearly is a first generation from somewhere where the population is dark and speaks a different tongue this is stereotypically intolerant, because why would they want to know and why are they noticing the differences in the first place? Though, I’m not sure why. But when you are clearly first generation yourself like I am, and see someone who looks like you, it is totally acceptable to find out where they are from. Take my new Greek bestie from my Lap-Band support group. We just gravitated toward each other and were both like, so….where are you from? We eat the same food! Since we are both Mediterranean we now have a cosmic connection. Just works that way.
So now that’s clear, back to Zumba instructor #3. Her name didn’t pop out at me pinning her to a particular culture, but her body moves told a different story. Hmmm…maybe not Italian….but maybe Greek, Armenian, Spanish, Portuguese, Iranian, Guatemalan, etc. etc.  I start by saying, “Wow you are a fricken awesome dancer, we need you at a club!” (We both laugh.) “So, are you Hispanic?” I ask.
“I’m Brazilian.”
“Cool, I’m Sicilian, I was wondering because you look like me.” (We both laugh).
So even though the above conversation, again, is not weird at all, you just have to get it, what is weird is that I suddenly want to be friends with this girl. To laugh over Margaritas. To talk about things only ethnic girls understand. But I’m not that big a freak, I’ll have to give this friendship time.
Tonight, in class, I am looking at her shake her ass in a totally non-sexual way, and thinking…damn, to look like that! What it must be like and feel like! The swim suits she must be able to wear! What a lucky husband! And then I feel kinda sad because even though my new dark-haired-fair-skinned sister is showing me how many body rolls I can muster in 50 minutes, I will never have that body. That awesome island body.
After my workout I tell my husband that I have had an epiphany. I’m no different than those Transgenders I saw on Oprah when I was a stay at home mom. They feel like they are trapped in the wrong body. I feel that way too. I have never, EVER, felt comfortable in my skin, always wondering why the me inside didn’t fit the me outside. Even now, after all these pounds are gone, I still feel like I got fucking cheated.

He thinks I’m crazy of course. But just like there are things only ethnic people understand, there are also things only thicke people understand.

Sunday, February 16

Serenity

Valentine’s Day is my favorite Holiday and I was excited as hell that this one would fall on a Friday night. Unfortunately, life took the reigns and it ended up being the most non-eventful Valentine’s Day ever, unless you count the puking spree. I’m a grown up, and a mom, so obviously as much as I’m disappointed that all the festivities got cancelled, both with my kids and with my Husband, I get it, this is what I signed up for when I had kids. Just sucks. BOO!!

So enough of the worrying about coordinating red outfits and candy bar cards, it’s over it’s passed, and back to my main concern which is my ever fluctuating weight.

Still stuck.

Just when I think that things are finally moving in the direction I want, I take one sniff of a cupcake from across the room and the next day I’m back up a pound or two. I’m just not understanding. I’m an educated 35-year-old woman and I am not understanding the math and science here. Work out + eat less = lose weight…..right?? Help me out here!

But then another part of me believes with my whole heart that we are all pre-determined to be a certain size. That’s why some of us can eat without gaining and some of us can’t. Why babies are all born different sizes. Why we all go through puberty differently. Why some of us get nice boobs and others flat stomachs. So if that’s the case….is this just ME? I feel like I can just lose 20 more, that my God-given size is just a little leaner, but then there is the problem of the areas that no diet and exercise can ever help and that’s my mom muffin and cardinal arms (like what I did there?)

If I was able to get some work done, that would be my last 20 just like that. I’d be slender and lighter overnight and….happy? Well who knows, not even me. But that day isn’t here yet. I can only change what I can change.

{INSERT SERENITY PRAYER}
My rebellious tragus earring.


So I do what any level headed woman of my age does to be rebellious against all things cosmic and karmic and I get an earring even I think I’m a little too old for along with my down to my waist hair. I’m two weeks away from my 1-year and I just don’t give a shit anymore if I’m trying to be 20 again. Maybe I don’t need plastic surgery, I just need a time machine. Do this all one more time and not fuck up and gain a hundred pounds when I get married. But it’s not that easy and I am here and not there, so here I will be.

Friday, February 14

A Valentine Lesson.

I always wanted to write a story for one of those Chicken Soup books. It would be a mushy, gushy-lovey one of course because that’s what I know best. It might be called Chicken Soup for the Emotionally Co-Dependent Hearts and Flowers Type.

It would go something like this:

I am a hopeless romantic. I started planning my wedding way before I even got my first period. It was designed to top Cinderella’s, and it pretty much did except for the magical carriage I couldn’t quite pull off. My husband is still my 19-year-old boyfriend. I remember our very first kiss including the exact softness of his lips and how it was the very best butterflies in your belly kiss ever...and as if it just happened this morning. I spoil him with candy, remember all the little details of our love story, rub his feet, make heart-shaped food, and text him work phone appropriate love notes every single day.

It doesn’t stop there. My kids get spa treatments including pedicures and massages. They are always groomed like chimpanzees and dressed to the nines. One year, I designed a scavenger hunt to find a birthday gift. I belt out show tunes with my rascals on my iPhone then post the videos on Facebook.  I’ve made one too many but not nearly enough black and white Photoshop pics of us smooching each other or just making funny faces.

My extended family and friends have come to know with certainty that if I love you then you will know loud and clear, and if I don’t love you…well, you might still think I do because I’m just that way.

My son asked me this week who I loved more, my husband or he and his sister. Silly child, there is no answer to that! So I explained my theory that you can’t love one more than the other because they aren’t the SAME. Say you love chocolate cake and your favorite is Portillo’s but the one from Costco is a close second. And say you love pizza, but you really love the local hole in the wall pizzeria over Pizza Hut even though you still crave both sometimes. Which do you love more, cake or pizza? Capice?

So after that long dissertation in using food as a metaphor for my family (kinda ironic for a weight loss blog, eh?) my answer if you will was, “Why don’t you ask me instead if the house was on fire who I would save first?”.

Without missing a beat he says, “us.” 

“Of course! Because you guys are ME, just not me. Get it?”

“Plus, Dad can probably figure out how to save himself.”

Something like that.