A Watched Ass Never Grows

I have learned a couple of valuable lessons this past few months.
1. Unfortunately for me, if I don't obsess about my eating and weight, shit gets mad out of control.

         This may be sound stupid and simplistic, so let me explain. For a while I thought that if I just quit worrying about it, my weight would stay the same as when I worry constantly, but seemingly do nothing. Turns out I was really, really wrong. My constant worry must have been translating to some kind of holding pattern because not worrying about it has resulted in a much worse physical situation than before.

I don't have the guts to weigh myself right now, but I am pretty sure that I have put on at least a new 20 pounds since this summer.

2. If you lose your job suddenly and you have good qualifications, something will come along eventually.

          But this means you have to have patience. Lots and lots and lots of patience. No one wanted anything to do with me for months and then all of a sudden I had a bunch of opportunities as once.

And of course, I now wish that I would have been working out constantly and eating really well like my husband advised me to... ah retrospect.

So, for now, I am back at work and I am going back to my obsessive ways.

My newest idea is to eat like I have had weight loss surgery without having had it...

We'll see what that yeilds.

blindsided

Things have changed. Things have changed very quickly.

I had my surgery. I went back to work. And a week and a half later, I was laid off. It was one of the most surreal experiences of my life. I wish I could say that I didn't expect it, but I did. However, I expected it about 3 months from now.

This is how it went (because it was honestly kind of bizarre): I came into work at 7:30 am as usual. I hurried to edit the Bridal magazine so that I could get my changes to the designer before the day started. I had noticed that my boss was in when I got there, which was odd because she usually comes in later and stays later. During my editing I saw her come back from her meeting, but she didn't say anything to me -- which was not unusual for that time in the morning -- instead she went into her office and I heard her call her husband and the head of advertising. She murmured some things about having questions about things later and I honestly figured that she was being moved to advertising. So, I rushed downstairs to give my edits to the Bridal magazine designer and when I came back the head of marketing asked me to join him and 4 other members of our small department in an office.
He then told us that he didn't know what was going to happen but that he was asked to take us to a meeting. He told us to 'not burn bridges' and 'to leave all doors open'. He is a nice man. A truly kind man. And I really mean that, he is the best boss I have ever had.
So he led us like lambs to the slaughter. Downstairs to a conference room where the publisher of the paper told us the due to business decisions ... yada yada... thank you for your service.... yada yada... our positions were eliminated effective immediately. I think the most insulting part of it is that it is basically saying, "hey, we don't need you to do the job anymore. We are going to have someone else do it in addition to their job because you are unnecessary."
The most incredible part was that they did it to us as a group. They actually dragged us down there together and told us that we were fired.
So, I am now unemployed. I have a few leads and I think I will be OK but it's really weird. I have a few weeks of severance and a piddly 401k that I won't feel guilty cashing out and then it's on to unemployment. Which is incredibly small.
Funnily enough, through no fault of my own, I actually fit into my smallest jeans yesterday. I haven't done anything to actively reduce my size but as I get into the routine of unemployment I will start using that gym membership for sure,

Wish and wanting and ...

It's an odd thing to want to be different. Not completely different, just a little different than you are. It's funny, I only have a couple of areas of me that I would like to change...

The first of which is my body. Not the shape, just the size. I'm actually happy with it when it doesn't have so much padding... I have a great rack, good legs and a decent ass.

The other thing I would change is my total and complete lack of patience and the inability to hide it. This is actually a pretty new phenomenon for me... not brand new, I could be a total bitch in my late teens and until I was about 22. But in my proper adult life I have been a pretty nice lady.

I can pinpoint the turnaround to a little over 3 years ago when I took a promotion and landed in the Human Resources Department. This was actually a pretty good fit for the nice me. But then I changed. Under the constant scrutiny, micromanagement and passive aggressive hand of what I would argue is one of the worst bosses (and people) in history, I changed. I got so tired of people asking me to do things for them that they could easily do themselves or listen to them bitch about the dumbest things, like the purse shelf in the ladies room or the cafeteria lady or their chair that I snapped. I turned into a crab and I am slowly coming back to me.

So here I am on a mission to change two things about myself. I have made really good progress on the bitchiness actually -- the last 4 or 5 times I have spent time with my mother I have not once lost my temper, and that is a major accomplishment. The only thing about all of this that I really wish is that the people around me who have noticed this mean Angie would recognize the nice Angie that is coming back... but I'll just keep trying to earn it.


The other thing that I want to be different is my body. I'm about to have surgery so I am not really dieting that heavily because I am paranoid that if I do I'll have complications. And a lady from my work died after knee surgery because she went back to work too soon and didn't take good care of herself and threw a clot. I know I'll be fine, but you can't be too careful.


Also one of my most embarrassing moments was caused by starving and health. In college, because I was really poor and liked to go out all the time, I would sell my blood. It really isn't that bad and I took comfort in the fact that unlike all the crackheads in the donation center, at least my blood was usable.


But I digress.


I was heavily into my 'Diet Coke and cigarettes' diet plan and so I had nothing to eat on a day that I went in to make some cash for a night of drinking. (I never said I made good life choices) Things were going along fine, I was reading a book while my life juice was being pumped out.


Well in the plasma donation game, they take your blood out, swirl it around and take part of it out and then put it back. So there is a little more to it than the old Red Cross donation. I was in the final phase where the partial blood was going back in and about 2 minutes (2!) from finishing when I noticed that I had butterflies in my stomach. I wrote it off to hunger and vowed to eat a little something after.


But then they got worse and I started to squirm... and then I decided to close my eyes for just a second.


Well, they watch you like a hawk in those places and as soon as I drifted off, I was woken up by the tech who (it sounded like to me) bellowed "ARE YOU ALRIGHT?, WAKE UP!"


All heads swiveled in my direction and whatever blood I had left in my body was sent directly to my face.


They unhooked me from the machine, made me eat a granola bar and drink about 10 glasses of Orange Juice before I could get them to let me go.


So needless to say, I'm not showing up for surgery with any questionable diet decisions that may or may not affect the anesthetic or anything else.

So I live with guilt about eating for a few more weeks and then back to it!

Easy there champ ...

I'm trying really hard not to get out of control with my guilt. Now that I have decreased my caloric intake considerably I am starting to feel like I am failing if I eat anything at all. And that isn't great.

This weekend was really great and super productive but I caught myself feeling guilty a couple of times for eating. I know that cutting my calories is the only way to lose weight, but I have to be careful or I will get a little crazy.

This morning I had to eat breakfast because I had to give blood for myself in preparation for my surgery. It wasn't anything terrible (what I don't know can't hurt me on that one), just a veggie breakfast sandwich from Starbucks because I didn't get up early enough to make myself something.

The blood donation has had consequences unfortunately... because I gave a unit of blood they told me that I can't exercise or skip any meals today. My rational mind says that this is okay and that it won't be a big deal. But my crazy mind says that it will completely derail all of the progress I made last week.

What I think I am going to tell myself is that it's alright to have one day that isn't in line with my current state of mind but that tomorrow I can get right back on track without a problem. Let's hope that works.

Currently, according to the scale I lost a few pounds last week and it feels great. Any progress in the downward direction is appreciated. Once I have the first 15 pounds off I think it will get so much easier. I didn't weight myself the day I started unfortunately, I felt like it would derail me to see how far I have to go. But I have lost 3 pounds since I did.

Progress!

Exercises

When I hear the word Exercise I don't really think of fun. Looking back, when I was a kid 'exercise' was fun but that's because is wasn't called exercise, it was called playing, riding my bike, beating people in races and at kickball games. And I know that there is a current fad of calling working out 'playing' that some super fit person dreamed up and that's all fine and good for them, but I'm not at the play-exercising point in my journey just yet.

I used to be really, really fit. It's almost unfathomable now, and when I tell my husband he has a hard time believing me, but I used to be the best athlete I knew. I won the President's Physical Fitness Award every year without trying and I even won second place in the 100 meter dash at the Oregon State Games when I was 12. My mom isn't one for cluttery photo collages or any framed photos for that matter so no one would know what my childhood was like, other than my sisters and my senior pictures, my parent's appear to be childless to the random visitor. So when I happen upon old photos of the active, physically fit me it's a surprise.


But I digress. I was ruminating on exercise and my current dispassion for it. I have had a few fun workouts in the recent past, don't get me wrong, the husband and I were going to a trainer twice a week until in became too expensive and that was a really fun time. I also don't think we were getting much of a workout because we ended up feeling like we were just hanging out with our trainer and shooting the breeze. We can be talkers and our trainer is a really cool guy who is also a talker so things never really felt work-out-y. I don't really recall ever being very out of breath and I'm pretty sure that's one of the basics of cardiovascular improvement. I also rarely broke a good sweat that wasn't directly related to the temperature in the room.

But as with all good weight loss endeavors, I am back at it. I bought a treadmill off of Craigslist for $100 and was rousted out of bed (by said husband) this morning at 5:45 to climb onto it. I have also been assigned the task of squeezing in a workout at lunch time (then I forgot my gym bag this morning) and one after work.

That's right people, 3 workouts a day, this is happening.

Also, thus far today I have consumed a 32 ounce Coke Zero and a Special K protein bar and it's 4:30 pm. Looks like that whole sensible eating thing is not the route I'm taking.

Slow and Steady

I LOVE instant gratification. I'm that type of girl. This trait was passed down to me by my parents and I will no doubt, despite my best efforts, pass it down to my kids. I think this is a combination of human nature, ADD and good old fashioned heredity.

I actually used to be much, much worse but I married a man who can wait for some things forever (others require no such waiting). He will allow food that he really loves to rot in the refrigerator because he is saving it. He makes me wait to see movies that I really want to see for so long that more often than not I forget that they exist. He doesn't do this to torture me or to be spiteful, he really thinks that it's better to have things out there waiting for you than to enjoy them now.

I admire this in some ways but often it just drives me bonkers.

Where this instant gratification problem really gets in the way is with dieting. People always say, "it took you a long time to put on the weight, so it takes a long time to lose it". I say bullshit. I can easily gain 5 pounds in less than a week. And I sure as hell can't lose 5 pounds in less than a week, safely anyway.

When I was 23 I had gotten pretty fat. As fat as I am now minus 10 pounds actually. It was truly shocking when I got on the scale and realized what I had done to myself. I remember it very well because at that very same time my body decided to take matters into her own hands by developing a wicked case of what I initially thought was lactose intolerance. But even when I quit dairy, things continued ... very ugly things. To be completely candid I would get the most horrifyingly painful and explosive D whenever I ate. The only pattern I could see was that if I ate anything with fat in it, even avocados, it would happen. Anywhere and everywhere. And as I had just started college, I was terrified to eat. To avoid the pain and to avoid having to camp out in a campus bathroom. This led to me not eating anything but canned green beans and white rice. I would carry a luna bar around with me at school and some days that would be the only thing I ate.

Needless to say, I lost all the weight -- 70 pounds to be exact -- in about 3 months.

I felt on top of the world.

Now that I need to diet and lost this weight again I am so tempted to go back to that. I know it's awful, I know it's terrible for my body. But I also know that it works, fast. I could lose all this weight by the end of the summer.

Or I could follow the conventional wisdom of the dieting community and count calories and 'safely' lose 2 to 3 pounds a week. That would only take me around 42 weeks, being perfect every single day.

I'm not perfect.

The Vicious Cycle

The weekend was a bit of a diet bust. But I did hold back and only have 2 bites when the husband ordered this:

I am fairly positive that I am gaining weight but I'm too scared to find out. My boobs hurt like crazy and my feet hurt, both sure signs of new pounds on my already swollen frame. I feel pretty bummed out lately and I am trying very hard not to take it out on the people who love me. I have a tendency to get defensive and be a huge bitch when I feel bad about myself.

I feel myself slipping into a depression and I have to get out of it before it starts. If I let myself slip further into this it will only get worse. I'll gain more because I am unhappy and then I will be even more unhappy because I am gaining. Then my unhappiness will make my husband unhappy because he inevitably will start to take it personally. I love my husband more than most wives love their husbands. I can honestly say that he is my very best friend. We share everything and I have no doubt in my mind that we will be together for the rest of our lives. But the one thing that we absolutely do not share is a weight problem. He has gained a few pounds here and there in the past, which have 'jokingly' been blamed on me because I'm a feeder. But he is able to lose extra weight and has a healthy self image. He tries to relate to my issues but inevitably he just ends up getting angry with me because of a perceived feeling of inadequacy at not being able to solve my problem.

I'm tired of letting him down. And I'm tired of feeling like a failure.

The only direction I can go is up at this point. I guess that will have to be my positive statement for the day.