Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Progress Report/Rant

I am a frustrated Fat Girl.

From March 1 until August 6, I lost 40 pounds.  If my mental math serves me correctly, I lost 40 pounds in 5 months, which I think is pretty darned impressive.

From March 1 until September 22, I lost 42 pounds.  Yep, in almost two months I have only managed to shed two stinking, measly pounds.  In my book, those two pounds don't even count as I count my losses only when it's 5 pounds because I wear two pounds of make-up and hair care products daily, so the scale tally is not always accurate.

I visited with my amazing dietitian Judy and my very blunt Doctor recently, and both were singing my praises about how well I am doing.  The doctor said two more blood pressure readings like I've had and I will be off blood pressure medication, which was what kicked this off to start with.  The dietitian says my blood glucose and cholesterol look great and I am healthy.  Healthy??  I am still obese!  

Obese and no longer losing weight!  I am still eating well, getting lots of fresh fruits and veggies, no processed food, whole grains and all that other crap.  I am still working out at least five days a week.  Granted, I am still a lush and still enjoy in the occasional Chicago-style red hot or sweet treat from my kitchen, but I am human and Judy says that is okay. So how have I lost a measly two pounds in this long amount of time?  It does not make sense to me.  However, both Judy and Doc explained me to what was going on here.  It's a Fat Girl's worst nightmare:

The Weight Loss Plateau.

I am here, stuck on this god-forsaken plateau of no progress.  I thought when I was at the 25-pound mark I was at a plateau, but as it turned out I was retaining massive amounts of water due to a sharp increase in my beef jerky consumption.  Once I cut back on the Jack Links and increased my H20 intake, I was back in business.  But this plateau is the real thing, not some psych out brought on by delicious dehydrated beef.  

Apparently my body is having some sort of spaz attack.  Currently I am in the 10-pound window I was in from the ages of 16-19.  This was the most "stable" time for my body weight, ie only time I only gained 10 pounds over 3 years compared to 10 pounds in 6 months.  So my body feels comfortable at this weight.  It is natural for it to be at this weight.  It is fighting going anything lower than this weight.  Fortunately, it is not gaining either.

My body is an idiot!!  Doesn't this dumb body realize it will be able to be outfitted in snappy garments from normal retailers whose name does not include the word "Barn" or any other structure that houses livestock.  Note:  Dress Barn, do you realize how cruel it is to make fat girls who already feel like cows carry bags that say "Barn" on them.  I would take my consumer dollars elsewhere, but options are limited as there seems to be only 3-4 retailers who have figured out that there are Fat Girls in America and that we want to look cute. Anyway, doesn't this dumb body understand I am trying to make it healthier and fitter?  Doesn't it see that if it just cooperates it will not be such a hassle to stay crammed into an airline seat!?!?

Ugh.  I am on the verge of saying, "I Give Up!" and I will stay here in Size 14 land and enjoy upper arms that look like bat wings  and flaunt my beer gut and cherish these meaty thighs.  But I can't.  I put it out there that I am trying to do this.  Granted, I am not trying to be thin, because I've spent my whole life hating skinny bitches, I surely cannot become one now (clearly, I cannot even get out of obese land and into overweight land.)  But I set a goal for myself to lose 70 pounds and I am going to do it.  My Medical Team (ie Judy & Doc) both reassure me that this plateau will pass and I will soon be on that downscale slide once again, I just have to be patient and keep doing what I am doing.  But quite frankly, it sucks, as I am doing all this stuff and not seeing results.  And the self-fulfillment bullshit of, "Oh Cari, you ARE making yourself healthier by keeping it up, it's a gift to yourself," doesn't cut the mustard with me.  I just want to see less fat and possibly a size 12.  

Unfortunately, this plateau has really caused me to neglect my blog.  I am quite embarrassed to get on here and admit I am stuck at this weight.  I don't have anything to write about at the moment, as Stinky Old Man seems to have changed schedules at the gym.

So, I've decided to add a new regular (completely random) feature here at Follies of a Fat Girl called Fat Girl Favs.  It's no secret that I love to eat and I love to cook.  I have been learning many wonderful recipes and have created a lot of tips and tricks on my own and would like to share them.  So when inspiration strikes, I am going share info from my kitchen.  

For now, there is leftover birthday cake in my fridge that requires my immediate attention. After all, I am not gaining weight at this plateau, so I might as well enjoy it.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

There is a Fat Person Chasing Me- Or My New Goal

Consider yourself warned: This blog is slightly introspective, and very slightly emotional. A tad of my normal wit and snark, but what you are about to read is a result of it being it being 11:45 at night after a bottle of Pinot Noir, a few Labatt Blues and one rough start to a week. You've been warned.

So. Running. I've talked of it. Talked of how I hate it, as I tend to run into stationary objects plus have some weird Pavlov's Dog association of punishment with running. But strange things have been happening to me. I often don't want to go to the gym, so I've been running instead. I've not had time to do a full cardio workout, so I've been running. I am either too lazy/broke (gas prices!)/ inattentive to drive the 10 miles to the gym, so I've been running. Yes, I have been running a lot. It is sickening, for many reasons, but for one main one.

I like it.

I cannot run on a treadmill. When I am on treadmill *pause to get another Labatt* I tend to make deals with myself, such as: "I will only walk during this commercial break (Damn you cardio theatre! Just put Maury back on! You are NOT the Father!) or, " I will walk on a level-15 incline, then run," or "I ran 3 minutes, that's good." Throw me on some pavement, and I can run 3-4 miles (NO BULLSHIT!) but get me on a conveyor belt and I want to walk and fiddle with my iPod like it is going out of style.

So I've been running. And I enjoy it. I feel free, I feel relaxed. I push myself. I tell myself, "Make it to the post box, ok now make it to the street light, ok, Cari, just the stop sign." Next think I know I am running for miles, It's mindless and I can bullshit myself and push my body into a great workout.

I learned this week how great of a mind-clearing activity it is. Without going into details due to a respect for privacy,something horrible happened this week to someone I care about greatly and I consider a friend, and something that affected many people I care about. For a few days this week, I could not function. I was trying to process a situation that seemed unfathomable, and just shut down. However, yesterday, I decided to finally take the advice of a great friend, and decided to focus on what positives could possibly come of the situation and forget the negative as it was done. At the time, only one thing truly makes me happy at heart and clear my mind: Baking (And for those that don't know, I dropped my plans of getting a Business Master and am start Culinary school this month for Baking & Pastry.) But...dough takes time to rise. A beautiful, yeasty Calzone dough was rising on my back porch, and I wanted to wait an hour before punching it down. I needed to space out in the mean time.

So I went running. And I ran. Sort of freed myself from the ugliness I discovered in the world this week. When I was a quarter of a mile from my house, I turned around. And I was being chased!! A stocky person with a clompy gait was HOT on my trail. There is another Fat Person running in the neighborhood and they are following me! The chaser had a well-defined beer gut and was still managing to keep perfect pace with me. Wait...the chaser has two small buns in there hair. And chaser slows when I do. Chaser has well-defined yet strong calves and sloppy upper body use. Wait....that's not a chaser...

That's your shadow. And it's fat.

And that is when I realized it. Running makes me feel liberated. I don't realize that I am clinically-diagnosed Obese when I am running (Formerly Morbidly obese, soon to be just Overweight). I forget that I am a chronic smoker who should not be able to breathe. It slips my mind that there may be neighbors mocking the fat girl trotting down the street as she feels like a superstar. It frees me, but only until I look back and realize I am not thin and fabulous as I feel, and that there is a fat girl chasing me, taunting me to binge on Crisco with Bacos when I get home. Topped with cheddar cheese. Note: Cheese and Bacon make EVERYTHING better.

And so I want to become a runner. I confessed my desire to be a runner to my Husband, sprinting from the ever-approaching fat girl shadow with fabulous hair that was chasing me. I told him I wanted to set a finite running goal to keep myself honest- I want to run a marathon. He responds that he is no where near marathon shape and needs to train. He needs two to three months.


Nonononono. Fat Girl needs two to three YEARS! I confess this to him. Next thing I know I agreed to run a half marathon in 2011 and a full one in 2012. And a big part of the dynamic of our marriage is 1: We hold each other accountable and 2: We challenge one another to constantly improve.

Damn. I am screwed.

We are planning to run as, "In Memory: Team Boris." Boris is our Hound Dog, and we figure he will have croaked by then as his vet routinely tells us he is a gastric bypass candidate. No matter what we do to cut his weight, he gains. To date he has figured out: How to open our fridge, how to get the deli drawer open in the fridge, how to open the lazy susan, how to open the pantry, and how to get sad, hungry dog eyes to get food. No matter how we ration and calorie count for him, he gains weight due to his craftiness.

And that is my story. Hold me accountable, Readers. In three years I am running a full marathon. Even if I die upon the finish line, I am doing it. I will succeed.

And if I don't, perhaps Boris's vet will give us a Buy-One Get-One on Gastric Bypass.