Thursday, April 30, 2009
My highest weight this month was 261.8 pounds, and today, I hit the lowest for the month, 256.2 pounds.
I lost 5.6 pounds this month!
Most of the weight loss has been in the past two weeks. Ever since I started back with the baseball team, I've lost weight. I know it's because I am up on my feet, I have something else going on, and by the time I get home from work around 10 o'clock at night, I really don't feel like eating anything. Instead, I wash up and go to bed. I'm also getting more sleep at night as well.
According to SparkPeople, I've averaged around 1400 calories or so a day for the past two weeks. I guess that's right where I have to eat to lose any weight.
For the month of May, my goals are to continue eating less and to EXERCISE MORE. That's one area I really slacked off on this month. I only worked out a total of four days for the month of April.
I have to go see my endocrinologist at the end of May, and I'd like to be at least close to the 240s by then. She's the doctor who told me on my 22nd birthday in October 2004, when I weighed 274.5 pounds, that if I don't take care of myself now, I will regret it when I'm older, but if I lose weight and develop healthy habits now while I'm in my 20s, I will appreciate it so much more when I'm in my 40s, 50s, 60s, and beyond.
I keep forgetting that.
Watching Tara on "The Biggest Loser" this season, I have been so inspired. I'd like to think that if I were on the show, she's who I'd be most like. I have a competitive streak a mile long, I am naturally athletic (it takes me very little time to get back in shape when I slack off), and when I have my mind set on something, I give it all I've got. I love to win. I love to succeed. I love to be the best.
When I started losing weight back in January 2005, I ran full force at that wall standing tall in front of me, grabbed the rope, and gave it everything I had to climb over it. And nearly three years later, I was down nearly 50 pounds. And then I started backpedaling. Slipping. Letting go of the rope inch by inch. I dangled in the air for a while before I lost my grip and fell completely.
I'm still not back where I once was, and I am not that person anymore. I have not lost hope in myself or for myself. I have had moments of crushing self-defeat, but I have an acceptance and love and appreciation for myself that I didn't have when I started this journey over four years ago.
Now I am afraid of throwing myself back at that wall. What if I fail again? What if I give it all I've got and then still wind up back where I'm at? What if I do finally succeed? What if I finally reach my goal weight and finally have that body I've imagined having all of my life? What if I finally am that athlete I know I can be? What if my entire life changes when I reach my goal weight? What if I reach it, and absolutely nothing changes? What if I'm still not noticed by the opposite sex? What if I get more attention than I've ever gotten in my life?
I went from people complimenting me and telling me how beautiful/gorgeous/pretty I was at 50 pounds lost back to "you'd be so pretty if you'd just lose the weight." The compliments stopped. The praises and voices praising died down and slipped away. Suddenly, I found myself back in the shadows and the spotlight dimmed and flicked off. I look at pictures of myself at 226.4 pounds and am surprised at how thin I was becoming because I didn't really see it when I weighed that. I still saw a lumpy belly, lumpy thighs, and a double chin.
And that's the other fear: what if I reach my ideal weight, but my body still isn't ideal? Don't get me wrong. I don't want six-pack abs or my thighs to not touch or anything like that. I want a normal, average body. Lean but not skeletal. Just to be healthy. I've always had a belly. Always. Even as a kid when I had skinny arms, legs, and a skinny face, I had a belly. And the more weight I lost, the worse it looked.
What if I am never totally happy with my body?
I try not to think about those things. My first goal is to be healthy. I am healthy blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar wise. The only issue I have is my weight. I want to be able to have a period on my own again and on a regular basis. The only way that will happen is if I lose weight.
I guess no one is ever totally happy with their bodies. I'm not saying I hate my body. I wouldn't want to look like anyone else. I just want the trimmed down version of me.
I have the dumbest excuses though.
*I don't want to get up earlier in the morning to work out.
*I'm too tired to work out when I get home in the evening.
*It's too hot to walk outside on my lunch hour, and I don't want to stink.
*I don't know what kinds of food to cook.
*I can't afford to buy a lot of healthy foods.
*I'm too hungry when I get off work to stand over a stove and cook.
*I'm bored with my exercise DVDs, but it's too hot to walk outside.
And so forth and so on.
And that's all they are. Excuses. I know this, and yet, I continue to make them. And the thing is, I KNOW how much better I feel when I exercise. I know how much better I sleep at night. I know that it's the only way that I will be able to lose weight and keep it off in the long run.
I sit here and whine about my life being stagnant. That nothing is going on. Of course nothing is going on because I'm not putting forth any effort to make changes. And it's because I am so afraid of change. What happens if I no longer have my weight to use as my reason for men not being attracted to me or approaching me or for my reason for other things not happening to me in my life? If it's not my weight, then I will have to look deep inside myself and wonder what is the real thing holding me back.
It's fear. I know it is. Fear of the unknown. Fear of the known rising to the surface.
I don't want to live my life or not live my life because I am afraid. That's not living.
All of the laziness and self-sabotage and excuses and nonchalance are all defense mechanisms. Ways of protecting myself but also keeping me from having this big, beautiful, exciting life. I have to allow myself to fail, revel in it, learn from it, and move on. Without failure, I'd never appreciate success. Without failure, I'd never learn or grow. I have to be okay with failing. Okay with being wrong from time to time. Okay with landing on my ass instead of my feet. But I have to make sure I get back up on my feet. Take the lessons I've learned from that failure and let the anger, disappointment, and bitterness go. Let the past go. Instead of feeling like I can't do it again, I need to say, "Hey, I did it once, I can do it again."
The first time I hit that wall and climbed, I got halfway up and tumbled down. If I were a rock/wall/mountain climber whose only goal was reaching the peak, I wouldn't stop after tumbling once (unless, of course, it killed me, which it didn't). I would shake out my arms and legs, clench my jaw, bare my teeth, grip that rope, and get to climbing.
Fear, laziness, excuses be damned.