Day 17: Some Observations.

I don't own a scale, which is something I've thought about reconsidering on and off for the last couple of weeks.

I wanted to try the plan where I give myself certain rewards for reaching certain weights, but even that takes a lot of willpower and I'm afraid I'll get overwhelmed if I have access to a scale every day.  It's really hard for me not to weigh myself all the time if I have a scale, so I'm still deciding what I want to do on that front.

Right now I'm just gauging based on how I feel and how my clothes are fitting.  This seems like a good goal, especially since my primary concern is changing my lifestyle.  How I feel has been a huge indicator and even though sometimes things get annoying I can see myself continuing what I've been doing because I feel good.

Some things are getting easier and some things are not.

For instance, I don't really have many cravings anymore, even for sugar, which I was totally hooked on.  I think it's partly because I'm breaking the addiction and partly because I eat nutrient-rich foods and drink tons of water and green tea all day, so there's nothing my body is trying to ask for.  I'm also not hungry all the time, which is nice.  But I've based so much of my food preparation in satisfying cravings that I sometimes don't know what to do with myself.

The hardest part is when I don't feel like cooking.  I haven't mastered making food and freezing for during the week yet, so on nights where I don't feel like cooking I get a little lost.  I can't bring myself to just eat some pizza or pasta, which would have been my go-to in the past, but I don't want to take the time to make a full meal.  God forbid I need to go to the grocery store.

This was part of my problem before I changed my diet, as well.  But I was just eating whatever then.

This week I intend to make a meal plan and do a bunch of the prep-work on Sunday, which will really help me during the week.  Also, it will be better for my finances than buying salads at Trader Joe's when I didn't make dinner the night before, even though they are delicious.

At just over two weeks I've reached the point where I would usually start to revert to my old ways.  Because I'm lazy and habitual.  The thing is, I've already noticed enough of a difference in my body in multiple ways that my willpower is stronger than it has been before.

My pants are looser.  My skin is softer.  My face has cleared up substantially-- I didn't have that many zits before but there is definitely a huge difference there.  I have more energy; I'm not super cranky and lethargic when I get home from work.  I feel healthier.  More inspired, actually.

I'm not willing to give up on this yet.

Especially when I finally feel like getting back in my skinny jeans might really be possible.  Also, I really want to be able to jog for more than five seconds.  Like, really bad.  But right now jogging is irritating because it entails a lot more wiggling than I really want it to.

I guess the only way to make progress on that front is to keep trying.

Day Four and Thigh Gap.

You know what I really don't understand?

Why is thigh gap a desirable thing?

I don't mean that as an offense to the women who are naturally very slight of frame; that's the way you are built and there is absolutely nothing wrong with it.  This question isn't about trying make anyone feel bad about their size.  

I know all too well what that feels like.

It's more that I don't understand how "society" (read: the media and pop culture) decided that in order to be "perfect" (socially acceptable and thin) your thighs can't touch.

We're not flamingos, man.

Even men's thighs touch.  

To be fair, this thought was prompted by the fact that I follow a lot of fashion blogs because I really love shoes.  Like, a lot.  And to run a fashion blog you practically have to be skinny, although I follow a couple of cool bloggers that are not super thin but they are much less prevalent than the slenderer bloggers. 

Which makes sense.

Thin has been synonymous with fashion for years and years.

But why would pop culture set this ridiculous standard that only few women can achieve?  Especially without starving themselves. 

I guess that probably is why.  It’s like royalty; everyone aspires but only a few can actually achieve it.

I’m just incredibly happy that feminism is helping bring about a rise of body positivity in women, especially. 

I’ve scrutinized every single detail of myself.  Picked, prodded, pinched, and pulled at myself until my skin was pink and cried in the shower because my favorite dress no longer would zip up past my boobs.  I’ve skipped dessert, I’ve skipped meals, I’ve skipped eating for an entire day and drunk a bottle of Gatorade so I didn’t pass out.

How is it that that’s okay?

How is it that no matter how many “love your body” campaigns I see on tv, no matter how many articles I read, there’s still this giant part of me that feels inadequate because of my size?

The thing is, for the last four months I stopped trying.  I stopped trying to lose weight and eat to make my acid stay where it’s supposed to. 

I was stressed out and unhappy and I didn’t want to worry about it.  So I didn’t.

In a way it was nice because the entire time I was in school I was constantly shaming myself internally.  Constantly looking at clothes I felt I could never wear again.  Constantly trying to lose weight but then giving up because I didn’t want to admit that I was trying to lose weight, I didn’t want to try and then fail to get back to the size I used to be, a size I actually loved, and because I didn’t want to lose the weight again only to gain it back.  Again.  That shit hurt enough the first time.

Here’s the truth:

I would give up a lot of things to be the size I used to be, and that’s more or less what I’m working toward right now.  Holding myself accountable to giving up those things is so incredibly hard, and I’m hoping I miss them less the longer I’m actually being healthy, but I’ve realized that if I can be comfortable in my own skin again it’s all worth it.

I have a love/hate relationship with my boobs.  I’m mostly fine with them until I try to buy a bra or put clothes on or I see a picture of myself and see how dowdy I look.

I can be okay with the fact that I have a booty, but I really would like it to be more muscle than fat.

More than anything I’m tired of having a tummy, which is incredibly hard to deal with when you have a maxed out chest and sit all day at work. 

I’ve felt pressure to be pretty and to be skinny since I was 10 years old.  And after 17 years that starts to weigh on you.  It starts to crush you.  And I’m tired of feeling trapped by it.

I hate admitting that I’m on a diet, but I guess I am.  Even though I’m considering it a lifestyle change more than a diet.  I live in a place where organics and farmer’s markets are EVERYWHERE, where it seems like people actually try to be health-conscious. 

It’s so incredibly inspiring. 

I want to be one of them.  I want to jog through my neighborhood with my dog and go home to make a green smoothie. 

I can’t afford to live somewhere that will let me have a dog yet and I don’t really like drinking things that taste like Kale.  But if I can eat a cabbage salad for lunch when I decided I was more or less okay with steamed cabbage about two months ago, then I can drink some kale.

Despite how it probably sounds, I’m okay if I can’t get back to the size I used to be, as long as I can prove to myself that I actually tried this time.  I’d rather be healthy and take care of myself than be thinner, even if that does mean my bra is going to continue to have to cut through a mile of back fat in order to barely hold my boobs in place.

I know my thighs are never going to not touch and I actually like that. 

I like looking womanly.  I like having a shape with curves on the edges of it.

I don’t like having to emergency poop in the TJ Maxx bathroom because I got stressed out trying to find granny panties that would squash my belly roll under a formal gown/wouldn’t make lines in the doughy sides of my ass and my body obviously doesn’t want to process the Burger King I had for lunch all the way. 

We’ll see how things go, but for now I’m still on the wagon.  So far I really like the view from up here.

Day Two.

When I was a little girl I was always very tiny.  At times short, at times tall, but always a pretty skinny kid.

I think I started learning to eat my feelings at 11.

Really, when left to my own devices my diet was never great.  I'd come home from school and have marshmallows or mix powdered sugar into butter (not even realizing I was making frosting; I was a young genius, I tell you) and that would be my snack.

The biggest problem was that the summer before I entered 6th grade I was bored.  It was too hot to go outside and play.  It was too hot to even let the dog outside because I lived in hell.  And I don't mean that in the playful "I hated the place where I grew up" sort of way.  I mean I lived in the part of Northern California the temperature rivals summers in Arizona from late June through early September.  We had a container of chocolate from Harry & David once and when the air conditioner went out all of the chocolate melted.

All of it.

And it looked like diarrhea.

Diarrhea in a plastic tub.

Another other part of the problem was that I had been a pretty active child until 5th grade when two important things happened.  1)  That year I began presenting signs of the (sometimes) crippling phobic anxiety I would experience later in life.  2)  That year my school began implementing P.E. programs for some of the younger classes (at that point the only grades at my elementary school that had an actual P.E. class were 7th and 8th).  I found that even though I loved running when I was at home, I hated doing P.E. at school.

I imagine someone will read this and think, "but why?  Running is running, right?"

No.

No, it is not.

The problem wasn't the running.  The problem was that I fucking hate being told what to do.  So if you tell me I have to run...  I won't.  And I will have an attitude about how I'm not going to.

I went from happily being active to being bitter and sedentary.  Bored, bitter, and sedentary.

I'm pretty positive this is the opposite of the effect intended by the school administrators, but hey, I was a contrary kid.

Now I'm a contrary adult.  Kinda.

All summer I watched Saved by the Bell reruns and ate nachos.  Because I was bored I would just keep eating.  That was when I started getting a tummy.

Then I moved on to 6th grade, arguably the worst year ever.  That was the first time I ever pretended to be sick so I could stay home from school.  Why would I do that?  Because all of my cool friends from the year before were suddenly bitches.

I was already pretty hard on myself, but that year I felt judged for breathing.

So I hid inside myself.  And I ate.

This sounds like the sob story of some chronically obese woman trying to justify herself.

It's not.

I didn't gain a ton of weight.  Just enough to make my belly soft.  It's really the lack of exercise I regret more than what I ate and how much of it I ate.

Once I started getting boobs it was like they just didn't stop.  Until I was probably 18.  Which is fine, I guess.I mean, I don't like fitted or strapless tops, anyway.  And I really enjoy having to show bra straps if I want to wear spaghetti straps because it's 112 degrees outside.

But then when I was 17 I gained about 30 pounds from eating fried chicken strips everyday.  I would buy lunch in the cafeteria and that was the cheapest thing I actually liked.

I've mentioned before that I lost it all during the strenuous breakup from my last long-term relationship, which was great...  I guess it gave me something to aspire to.

My first year in college I wasn't so great at feeding myself, either.  Unless it was pasta covered in cheese.  And I drank far too much champagne, so I gained almost everything back.

My worst fear, realized.

And it happened so fast that I didn't notice at first.  Then I was in denial and didn't do anything about it until it was too late.

So here I am, two years later, with reflux still acting up like crazy because I keep thinking I can get away with shit I can't and with pants that don't fit because I'm lazy and a procrastinator.

I would give anything to run a mile again...  But I haven't done that since I was probably 10.  I've spent more of my life being lazy and inactive than I did actually exercising.

Yesterday was the first day of something really difficult for me:  eating well.  Not just the right foods, but the right portions and at the right times.  Instead of eating candy all afternoon to tide me over to dinner when I got home -- or even snack before dinner when I got home -- I ate apple slices.

I was pretty sure I was going to pass out and in case you're wondering, my stomach was upset most of the day because it's so used to being overloaded with delicious carbs and sweets that it didn't know what to do.  But as a result today was the first day in a while that I felt energized when I got up. I actually felt GOOD this morning.

Then I came to work and my coworkers invited me to join them for nachos for lunch today... which I am currently smelling while dying a little bit inside.

But I brought a salad and salad I will eat.

I'm tired of the way my butt looks when I see it before getting in the shower.  I'm tired of constantly feeling my belly sit on my thigh when I cross my legs at work -- and sometimes when I don't.  I'm tired of not feeling well.  I'm tired of feeling like the largest woman in my office (which shouldn't matter, but in my heart does).  And I'm tired of imagining myself in the pants I wore at 22.  I want to WEAR in the pants I wore at 22...  Because I refused to get rid of all of them in the depressed hopes that I could wear them again one day.

So today is day two of twenty thousand.

Today is another success.